Page 1 of Love & Other Drunken Mistakes
Chapter One: Alex
Everything is set up for the perfect proposal. Candlelit dinner at an upscale restaurant. My best suit, including a tie she gave me for my birthday. A copy of my prepared speech in my pocket. The ring–fuck, where's the ring?
I check my suit jacket pocket for the velvet box, only to feel empty fabric. Panicking, I pat myself down until I feel the lump in my pants pocket. I open the box, just to make sure the ring is really inside. It’s right there, on its little cushion, sparkling innocently up at me.
The box itself is a little worse for wear, sections of the velvet rubbed smooth from nervous fiddling. Maybe I should replace it with something newer. That’s the kind of detail I’m supposed to notice well before this point. There’s no fixing it now. I shove the box back into my pocket, hiding it from view, right as Theresa enters the restaurant.
Her face is glowing, auburn hair perfectly curled. She’s wearing her favorite little black dress, the one with a sweetheart neckline and an asymmetrical skirt, and the heels that make her my height. Damn, another detail I didn’t consider.
When she sees me from across the room, her eyes light up and she sashays toward me. “Alex! You look wonderful.”
I stand to greet her, placing a chaste hand on her hip while I softly kiss her cheek. The kind of tasteful PDA she prefers. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
She preens at the compliment but her pleasure fades quickly. It takes me a second to understand the expectant look in her eye before I remember what I’m supposed to do.
I step to the other chair and pull it away from the table, careful not to scrape it across the floor. As soon as she sits, I gently push it back in and return to my own seat.
The waiter arrives and asks what we’d like to drink. I stick with water, since I’ll need a clear head tonight.
Theresa’s lips purse slightly before she gives the waiter a dazzling smile and orders a glass of white wine. As soon as he leaves, she says, “I thought you might order something different tonight.” It’s a simple observation, but it’s pointed, leading, waiting for me to explain myself.
Should I just do it now and get it over with?No, if I’m thinking like that, this definitely isn’t the time. “I might later, depending on how the night plays out.”
The hint makes her smile. I’ve learned by now that she wants to know, but she doesn’t want toknow. It has to be a surprise that she can see coming.
The waiter returns and we order our food. When it’s Theresa’s turn, she’s silent for a beat, again staring at me expectantly.
Clearing my throat, I add, “And she’ll have the roasted half chicken.”
Again, the twitches of displeasure. “Actually, I’ll have the scallops.”
Then why didn’t you order for yourself?I push the thought aside because I already know the answer. She loves it when I order for her. When we first started dating, she’d never eaten sushi before, so I ordered all the things I thought she’d like. Hereyes lit up with each successful bite, and for months afterward, I researched every restaurant we went to beforehand so I could figure out what to order for her.
The problem is: she only likes it when I order for hersometimes. Other times, when I choose the wrong thing, it annoys her. I still order for her every time we go out for sushi, but anywhere else, she usually orders for herself. I’m more surprised that she expected me to order for her today than by her disappointment in my choice.
“I had chicken for lunch,” she explains.
I nod and mutter, “Of course.” I take a long drink from my glass. It’s not as satisfying as it would be if it was full of wine—or something stronger—but it gives me something to do other than mutter inanities.
“So?” Theresa says, smiling expectantly. “It’s not often we come to Pedestal. Are we celebrating something specific tonight?”
That’s a prompt if I’ve ever heard one. I clear my throat and sit up straight.Should I get down on one knee? No, she wants a spectacle, but only if it’s respectable. A respectable spectacle.
“Theresa,” I begin. Last time I started with a pet name, so I thought I would try something different. “We’ve been together for a while now.”
Twitch number three.
“Sixteen months,” I correct. “And I can’t imagine”—spending my life with anyone other than you—“spending my life with you.”Shit.
Her eyebrows raise toward her hairline. “Excuse me?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I rush to say. “I’m sorry, I’m just ... this is a big moment, and I want to get it right.”Because if I don’t, you’ll make me do it again.
“Go ahead,” she says, nodding regally.
But I’ve already lost my train of thought and forgotten my prepared speech.
Theresa sighs. “Did you not write any of this down?”
