More flowers came today. Ethereal pale blue roses. I didn't know roses came in blue. I have been staring at them curiously. They're softer, more pastel than Jacob's washed blue eyes, but deeper grey undertones than the sky. This entire week is a glorious departure as I fight to catalogue the hundred million ways Jacob is proving his worth as the world's most romantic man and completely ignore all the other stuff that's going on in between his gestures. So far so good.
Last night was a tailgate party for two.
He's silly. He told me to bundle up good, there was something out in the garage that he needed help with. I swore at him mildly and he laughed. It was after 9 pm. I was warm, I was snuggled under a blanket embroidering pillowcases. Because my fingers always have to be doing things and it's not always convenient to have them trailing over his skin somewhere on his lanky frame all the time. Especially when he's ticklish. Ticklish and on the phone and slamming doors as he stomped back and forth between the den and outdoors.
He waited for me in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, wearing my favorite quilted flannel shirt that he wears. It's blue plaid and I steal it every chance I get because it smells like him and it's warm. Much warmer than his old corduroy jacket but not quite as cumbersome as the big Carhartt.
He smiled, his eyes full of mirth and pleading.
Just come, princess.
For you, I will, but if anyone else asks, forget it, buster.
I got ready and followed him out to the garage. I could hear music, he has music on constantly when he works. I picked out Bryter Later. Drake. Uh-oh, he's totally up to something.
Raise your hand if you've ever walked into a candlelit garage.
He had the tailgate down and the window up on the cap of the truck, a blanket spread in the box, and a picnic all set up. Champagne (a tiny bottle just for a toast). Take-out chinese. I don't know how he managed that. Apparently they deliver to our back door now. Cake. Our stadium blankets to put over our legs while we shared the meal.
We ate out of the boxes with chopsticks, snuggled together in the truck. I noticed the baby monitor on the workbench just as I was about to suggest we sneak in and check on the kids. I think he thought of everything.
After he cleared away our dessert plates and refilled my glass he got all flustery and weird for a moment. The same way he was when that hot air balloon rose up into the air and all I could think was, well, don't be stupid, he already proposed and you've been married forever, now.
Of course.
So I just watched the antics on his face as he tried on twenty different expressions and settled for sheepish pride. Or what appeared to be sheepish pride, maybe it was embarrassing gloat.
He raised his glass.
I...
Then he stopped and turned away and fumbled in his pocket and he turned back around and started over.
I really wanted you to have a new necklace that you can wear all the time because you can't wear your pearls every day and I know you always had your heart necklace on all the time before and..just open it, princess.
He passed me the box and took my glass.
A blue box, from Birks.
I opened it slowly and light poured out everywhere.
Look, if you don't like it I can take it back and we'll find you something different but I think it'll look pretty on you.
Bridget couldn't speak. She became a deer in the headlights. Bridget just sat there and stared at it and nodded. It was a diamond pendant, one that slides. He had a habit of sliding my old necklace around and around my neck when we were having conversations in bed and I haven't worn a necklace other than my pearls (but not to bed) since that night in May. We had looked at this one once before but I pulled him out of the store because it was a small fortune.
He put it around my neck and centered the pendant in the hollow, that hollow. The giant flaming erogenous zone that sends fireworks off inside my head when he touches it.
Now it's a permanent touch, and permanent fireworks.
He sat back and stared at me, relieved in reading my expression of dazed adoration.
You like it, then?
I nodded and put my hand up to touch it.
Good. Cause I kind of like you.
I'm very poor company at this point. A nodding speechless Bridget. Jacob is not the kind of man who buys diamonds. Ever. I don't think his first wife had an engagement ring even.
He laughed. Finished both the champagnes and then swore at the cold night and suggested we go inside and find some warmth. He blew out all the candles and turned off the stereo. We loaded the plates into the picnic basket and locked up. He told me I looked even prettier now and he didn't know how that was possible.
I briefly began a trip on a train of thought that involved remembering I don't deserve this, that no one should be buying me diamonds and putting an effort into making me happy, and he read my mind and he shook his head and whispered to me and I heard it clearly and I listened and followed his advice.
Don't, Bridget. Don't harbor any doubts about anything. Just know that I love you.
And then he laughed because I was crying. Because I was happy.
