“Seth,” she says, “I love you, but the food is going to get cold. Let’s eat.”
But I’m in it now. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
And I don’t want to. I only want her.
I take a deep breath. “I’m grateful for all the years we spent apart, because they helped us become the people that could be together.”
In the distance, I can hear the music starting, right on time. She hears it too. She looks at me with this terrible expression. “Okay,” she says. “What’s going on? Seriously.”
There is flight in her eyes. Like she knows exactly what’s going on and is frantically running through her options for making it stop.
My stomach turns over. I have never prayed harder than I am in this moment, hoping this will turn out okay.
“I think it’s coming from outside,” I say in a voice much calmer than I feel. “Let’s go look.”
Molly stays planted. “What are you doing, Seth?”
“Come on,” I say, forcing a grin and taking her hand. “There’s something I want you to see.”
She doesn’t move. There’s a wild look in her eyes, like she’s a cornered animal.
“Baby,” I say. “Just trust me. Come on.”
She lets me lead her through the living room and out onto the front porch. In the yard, in a clearing among the Joshua trees and ocotillos, a string quartet is seated in front of a ten-foot-high screen projecting a starry night’s sky. At the sight of us, they break into “I Found a Love” by Etta James.
It’s one of our songs. One we played over and over at my cabin that first week we spent together.
Lights that I had brought in from LA go on all around us, projecting vertical beams into the sky.
Molly covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes are filled with tears. In the darkness, I can’t tell if they’re happy ones. All I can see is the sheen.
I rummage in my pocket for the ring I bought her at Roman & Roman. It’s an antique Georgian-era cluster of diamonds forming a flower on a delicate gold band. It reminds me of the charms on the many strands of necklaces she always wears.
“Baby,” I say raggedly, “I’m so grateful I get to share this holiday with you. For the chance to make new traditions with you. And for the chance to honor old ones. Like this one.”
I bend down on one knee.
At that cue, the lights begin to change colors, projecting a swirl of beams into the sky. Behind the musicians, the projector lights up with images of fireworks. (The real thing is illegal in Joshua Tree; this is the best I could do.)
“Molly Marks,” I say. “I’m so grateful I found my soul mate. Will you marry me?”
The music swells and tears stream down Molly’s face.
I reach out for her left hand. It’s limp, and clammy.
She pulls it away.
I pause, the ring dangling in midair.
She puts the back of her hand to her cheek, like she’s guarding her fingers from me.
Her eyes are wide and focused just beyond me, on the lights.
My body is growing cold, because I know this isn’t good, this isn’t happy, this isn’t the way things like this are supposed to go. But my dumb smile is still on my lips, and my dumb lights are still going nuts, and a question I thought I knew the answer to is still in my eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says. There’s true anguish in her voice. “Please, don’t ask me. I can’t. I just can’t.”
She turns around and runs inside.
