Will He? Will She?

“When did you get back?” Eden asked.  She had sequestered herself in an alcove at work so she could talk to Steve almost confidentially.

“Two days ago,” Steve admitted, sounding tired.

“And you didn’t think to call?”  Was that nagging?

“Ah, the charm offensive begins.  Look, Eden, I’m playing it safe.  I was in no-man’s land part of the time, I was on several airplanes.  I’m waiting and testing and making sure I brought nothing home but myself before I see anyone.  Except the delivery guys.”

“You don’t sound good,” she said, semi-sympathetically.

“It was rougher than I’m used to, I’ll admit.  And I’ve had a lot of zoom meetings since I’ve been back.  Also I’ve been trying to catch up on my sleep.  But, yes, as you’re my intended, I should have called you as the plane was taxiing.  Sorry.”

His intended!  She smiled.  “I’m a very understanding person.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.  But you’ll have to be a patient person, at least for another few days.”

As the word “intended” kept circling in her mind, she could wait.  And wait she did, as he developed a fever and went to see an infectious disease doctor.  If he died, she would never forgive him.  So close but no cigar—-engagement ring!

But it was a simple virus; and two weeks after Steve’s return from Kenya, he sent an Uber for her.  The car dropped her in front of his building, she had to ring to be let in, and then there she was, in his pristine apartment that seemed to have more air purifiers than last time.  Hugging Steve, she could tell that he lost weight.  “Couldn’t eat for a while,” he said, when she commented on the loss.

“Feed a cold, starve a fever.  Or is it the other way around?” she puzzled.

Smiling, he said, “It’s good to finally see you in person.  FaceTime doesn’t quite capture your essence.”

She answered his smile with a wicked grin.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t drag you to bed first thing.”

“And why not?”

Why not indeed!  Oh, heaven, thy name is a roll in the hay with Steve Applebaum.  Then she wondered while he was dozing off.  Should she be like Delilah and cut his hair?  Flopping on her back, she thought perhaps not.

Eden’s watch vibrated the next morning to wake her.  What she felt was either love or hunger pains.  She was guessing hunger pains, as they hadn’t had dinner.  Steve was tired and she didn’t want to leave him and check his refrigerator in case there was something scarily out of date in it.

Easing herself out of bed, she crept out of the bedroom into the second full bathroom and got ready for work.  She had only the basic makeup essentials, but a different blouse.  No one would guess and she wasn’t telling where she had spent the night.  Her roommates were her friends.  Her workmates?  Questionable, sometimes copasetic, sometimes not.

Fortunately, her Metro stop was surrounded by fast food options.  She’d eat at her desk while checking over the next catalogue, fabric fashions of 1960s San Francisco.  Nothing to break here at least, as opposed to the ceramics.  Not much for her to do either, as Millicent was handling the model assignments for the opening of the exhibit and Greg was dealing with catering.  It should be a fun night.  Maybe she’d be holding her wine glass, flashing a diamond ring on her third finger?

Steve texted at 9:46.  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because my darling teddy bear needed his sleep after his monumental efforts last night, pleasing his mama bear.”

“You’re crazy.  Lunch?”

“Twelve thirty?  Roti?”

“Romantic.  Save a spot in line.  No, better yet, get your fanny into a booth if possible.  I know what you like.”

She smiled at that one, and she wasn’t thinking about food.

Fortunately, at this moment she was so nonessential that she could leave for lunch whenever she chose.  She chose twelve-fifteen.  There were people waiting in line when she arrived at Roti, but she did spot a booth just vacated near the window.  Slobs didn’t bus their table, but they could be foreign tourists so she wouldn’t blame them.  Perhaps this was good in any case because people would think she was just finishing up and not shoot daggers at her for taking a booth before she got her food.

Eden spotted Steve, as he rushed in and got in line.  She texted him that she wanted the lamb with double sweet potato and the red shug sauce.  So far he hadn’t had the sense to look at his phone. Why?  Someone with a tray passed by her booth, asking, “Are you finished?”  “Not yet,” she replied sweetly.  She would be finished if Steve brought her a salad. She needed more than a salad today.

He paid, looked around, she waved, he came over and unloaded the tray, she put the remnants of the other people’s meal on it and sent him forth again to dump that and get the drinks and napkins.  Thank god, no salad.  But no lamb either.  Both harissa chicken.  Oh well.

Finally, Steve was with her, looking exhausted.  “This is—“

“Well, I have to get back to work,” she explained.

“Union Station,” he finished.

“Hell, no.  Union Station has a lot more room than here.”

He smiled weakly.  The food was good even if he didn’t appreciate the ambiance.  “Could you get me more ice tea?” she asked.

“I’m dying to get you more ice tea.”  But was he?  Really?

She smiled when he returned.  “What’s that smile for?” he asked.

“I like to see you suffer.  And I’m also saving you money because I’m sure you can’t be expensing this lunch as you could if we were traveling.  Together.”  She cocked her head like a sparrow.

He looked—hesitant?  “Let me get more napkins.”  He was off again.   Then back with, yes, napkins.  And, “I wanted to ask you something?”

Eden sat poised.  Wouldn’t this be a story to tell the grandkids.  Unless—  Why was he looking so aggravated.  And fiddling with his straw.  What was that all about?  Something ecological?

“Would you be interested in marrying me,” he finally blurted out.

A worker came by.  “Can I clear the table?” he asked less than gently.

Both of them burst out laughing.  They grabbed their coats, Eden her bag and they left Roti behind them, stepping out onto the sidewalk, headed back toward the Renwick.  Eden put her arm through Steve’s, looked up at him and said, “I’d love to marry you.”

They entered the Renwick to get out of the chill and the pedestrian traffic, walked up the stairs and back to the permanent collection, where they sat on one of the benches.

“If anyone interrupts us now, I just might sock ‘em,” Steve said.  He put his hand in his coat pocket and brought out a small plastic box.  Plastic? Eden thought.  “I got it in Kenya.  If you don’t like it, well, I can’t take it back.  It’s a stone they’re famous for.”

Enough already.  Open the damn box, Eden was thinking.  And so he did.  She was surprised.  It was a blue stone, oval, surrounded by tiny diamonds on what she thought might be a platinum band.  “Tanzanite,” Steve explained.  “I thought oval because I love the length of your fingers, like a pianist’s.”  He slipped it onto her finger and it fit perfectly.  Had he checked her other ring for the size somehow?

“I took piano once.  For six months.  But I never practiced.”

He nodded.  “Sounds very Eden of you.”

“Steve, it’s beautiful.”

“If you don’t like it—“

“I love it.  It’s from you.  I shall wear it every day.  And hope to god I don’t lose it in the washroom,” she added.

“Do you think I can kiss you in here?”

“You must.  Forget the tourists and the docents.  This is our moment.”  She leaned forward and lifted her face to his.  His kiss was sweet and tender and lifelong.  She was going to be married to this man forever.