“MARIO! You’re here! Did you tell Mom about the proposal?”
Every adult in the room froze.
“What proposal, baby?” Lily asked carefully.
“The one June’s Facebook group is planning! There’s a whole event page. ‘Help Mario Propose to Lily.’ It already has two hundred members!”
“Two hundred?” I felt faint.
“Well, it’s a small town,” Mrs. Sage said reasonably. “People are excited.”
Olivia dug in her backpack with the focus of someone on a mission. “And look! I made this in art class!”
She pulled out what appeared to be a pipe cleaner ring, twisted into a lopsided circle and covered in enough glitter to be seen from space.
“It’s for when you propose to Mom!” She pressed it into my hand with the solemnity of someone passing over nuclear launch codes. “Mrs. Smithers helped me with the sizing. I measured Mom’s finger while she was sleeping.”
“You WHAT?” Lily’s voice pitched up an octave.
“Very carefully! With string! Like a spy! A love spy!”
The pipe cleaner ring sat in my palm, shedding glitter like radioactive fallout. It was ridiculous. It was chaotic. It was perfectly them.
“Keep it safe,” Olivia instructed. “Mom likes morning proposals because her hair looks better before humidity gets it all crazy. And she cries at everything, so have tissues ready. OH! And she pretends she doesn’t like public displays but secretly loves them, so maybe do it somewhere with people, but not too many people.”
“How could you possibly know all this?” Lily asked faintly.
“June’s Facebook poll about dream proposals. You answered after wine at last year’s Christmas party.”
“I’m moving to Alaska,” Lily announced. “Alone. To live in an igloo where there’s no internet.”
“We could visit!” Olivia said brightly. “Mario likes snow, right Mario?”
Before I could respond, the door chimed AGAIN. This time it was Ben, and he was laughing before he even got inside.
“Dude, I just got three texts asking if I’m the best man. THREE. Gary from hardware says you’re proposing at the Harvest Gala?”
“There’s no proposal!” Lily and I said in unison.
“Tell that to the event page,” Ben said, showing us his phone. “’Help Mario Propose to Lily’ now has a suggested timeline, a color scheme, and the flower shop—sorry, the OTHER flower shop—is offering a discount on rose petals.”
“Traitor,” Lily muttered.
“Oh!” Mrs. Sage brightened. “Rose petals would be lovely. Very romantic.”
“Mom, STOP.”
“I’m just saying, if there WERE a proposal?—”
“Which there isn’t—” Lily interjected.
“—rose petals would be nice.”
My phone buzzed. A text from my mother.
Margaret says December wedding? I book flights?
Before I could even roll my eyes, another message popped up. From my father.
