“Oh, good,” Mom said in tones of deep satisfaction. “She’s so good for you, Ben.”
“Yeah, Mom, she is.”
“And yet we’ve never met her!”
“As you said, Mom, we’re busy people,” I defended myself. “We have time for each other, but we haven’t really had time to travel. We started dating in January–until we get to the holiday season, there’s not really any obvious time for us to get away, and that won’t be for a while yet.”
“I know, Benny, I know.” I winced. I’d never liked being called Benny, but I’d never quite managed to break my mother of the habit. “That’s why we’re coming out to see you for a few days!”
“Oh!” I was taken by surprise. “When?”
“Next month some time,” my dad interjected. “Still nailing down the details, but wanted to give you some advance warning. I figured you’d probably want to do something special to celebrate six months together, so we’re planning to wait until after that, at any rate.”
“I appreciate that,” I said quietly.
“Knew you would,” Dad told me, and I knew he was grinning.
“Would you like to stay with us?” Shay asked. “We have a spare bedroom with its own bathroom, and the way the apartment’s laid out, there’s a decent amount of privacy.”
“Huh,” Dad responded, clearly surprised.
“We hadn’t been planning to–we figured we’d get a hotel…” Mom chimed in.
“It really wouldn’t be a problem,” Shay told them earnestly. “We’re not using the bedroom for anything, and we rarely even use that bathroom; I’m not sure there are even sheets on the bed.” (In truth, she knew full well there weren’t; the last sheets on that bed had been the ones on which we fucked that first night.) “It would be good to have as much time as possible to get to know you while you’re here.”
“Well, if you mean that…” Mom wavered.
“We don’t want you to feel like you have to put us up, or like we’re an imposition,” Dad rumbled, “but if you want us to stay with you, we’d love to.”
“Yes, we do,” Shay said firmly, and so it was decided.
After I hung up, she asked idly, “So what’s your ringtone for me? I’ve never thought to ask, and it’s not like I’m around when I call you.”
I grinned at her. “The chorus of ‘Coming Home’ by Sheppard.”
Shay laughed with delight. “Not ‘Symphony’?”
“Almost,” I conceded. “But–well, partly, as much as I like ‘Symphony,’ I like ‘Coming Home’ even better.” She nodded at that. “More, though, love, the best part of my day–even on the best days at work–is coming home to you. That’s how I think about you: I’m coming home.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she caressed my skin with her lips. Her voice was a little husky when she responded, “That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.” She paused a beat, then continued, “I love you, Ben.”
“I love you too, Shay.”
The next day at work, my mind kept drifting back to Shay tying herself to my bed. She tried to do that for Ted because she knew she was losing him–it was something she could try to spark his interest, not something she wanted to do for its own sake. She did it for me because she wanted to do it. She wanted to give herself over to me completely. And she deliberately chose to do it on a day when she knew I might be selfish and thoughtless, just to give me the best possible way to deal with all that negative emotion.
I would die for this woman, and I think she just laid down her life for me. I think it’s time to take the next step in our relationship.
Finding Shay’s ring size was a bit of a poser initially, as she only wore one ring–on the ring finger, at least, but she never took it off. I finally decided to ask her parents. I’m old-fashioned enough that I wanted to ask them for their consent anyway–not that I would have taken “no” for an answer, if it came to it. We hadn’t visited them yet either, but as with Shay and my folks, we’d talked on the phone a few times. They were still surprised to get a call from just me, though. They were a little wary until I asked her mom if she knew Shay’s ring size. That question produced a moment of complete silence followed by the sound of her mother weeping.
“Ma’am, is everything okay?” I asked, concerned. I repeated the question a couple times before she got herself under control and said firmly, “Shirley. Or Mom. Not ma’am–not if you’re joining the family.” And that was that. Her dad sounded (and was, I’m sure) completely sincere and truly happy when he said, “We will be thrilled to have you as our son-in-law,” but it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d said the opposite: his wife had already made the decision.
It turned out she didn’t know Shay’s ring size, but she did have a ring that Shay had forgotten the last time she was home for a visit; she told me she’d head right out to the jeweler and tell me what size it was. Once I had the size, I paid a visit to my own jeweler–a classmate and friend from BSU, as it happened, who has an artistic eye I’ve always admired. I found a ring set, one of those sets that fit together, with a Marquise cut diamond solitaire–a beautifully colorless stone–on the engagement ring and the wedding band set with emeralds for her beautiful green eyes.
I took Shay out to dinner for our demianniversary (or whatever you want to call it) at one of the best restaurants in the city, an Argentine steakhouse that we had visited twice before; the steaks were superb, the wine was amazing, and the company by far excelled both. The restaurant was on the riverwalk, so we followed the river for a while hand in hand. It was a perfect moonlit summer night, with just enough of a breeze to feel fresh. We kissed, and then I dropped to my knees and held out the ring. “Shayna Lauren Reeves, heart of my heart, love of my life,” I asked, “will you marry me?”