that I’m opposed to the outer boroughs in general. I’m the first one to hop on the subway to Yankee Stadium or the Staten Island Ferry for a weekend outing at my friend Brenda’s.
Maybe not the first one. But I’m generally open to visiting the boroughs, with good reason, advance notice and nothing better to do.
I’m just not open to moving to a borough at this stage of the game. I mean, if I’m going to live in the city, it’s going to be Manhattan. And if I’m priced out of the city…
“I can see us in the suburbs, can’t you?” I ask Jack, who grimaces. “Like Westchester or Long Island, Jersey, maybe…”
For a second he just looks at me. Then his famous dimples reappear in his lower cheeks at long last as he laughs. Hard.
Maybe a little too hard.
Okay, maniacally.
When he stops, he says, “We’ve been engaged less than a half hour, and you’ve already got us buying a house in the suburbs, Trace.”
“Or a condo.” Two bedrooms, two baths and a permanent parking spot for the car we’re going to get the second we move. Nothing fancy. Maybe a little sporty, but not red. Sleek and black might be nice….
“House, condo, whatever.” Jack shakes his head. “Why are you suddenly worrying about moving?”
“Because not only are we running out of room here, but things keep breaking down on a daily basis.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“Not really.”
“Name one thing that broke down today.”
You, I think, when you decided to pop the question at last.
Bwa-hahahahahahaha…that’s one quip meant for my personal amusement only. No need to remind Jack that he dragged his feet all the way to the fateful waterlogged gutter where he finally proposed.
“The toaster.”
Jack blinks. “The toaster?”
“It refused to pop after I shoved it down this morning. I scorched three pieces of bread.”
“But the toaster isn’t part of the apartment. That’s ours. Let’s just buy a new one. It’ll be cheaper than a colonial in Scarsdale by, like, one point four mil and change.”
I crack a smile, but also point out, “The toaster wouldn’t be on the blink if there weren’t something wrong with the wiring in the kitchen outlet.”
“Who are you, Bob Vila? How do you know that?”
“I just know. Come on, Jack. There’s a lot of stuff that needs to be fixed around this place, and every time something crashes, we have to wait for other people to do something about it. Wouldn’t you rather have a place of our own?”
He tilts his head. “You mean, would I rather be the one calling the electrician and paying him than the one calling the guy who calls the electrician and pays him? Or, better yet, would I rather be the one who gets a bad shock trying to figure out if an electrician is necessary in the first place?”
“You don’t have to be so negative. You’ve never gotten a shock in your life.”
“I’ve gotten plenty, since I meant you.”
His tone is light and I can’t help but grin. “You mean the little lightning bolts of passion, right?”
“Definitely.” He grins and kisses my forehead affectionately. “Whoa. Sparks.”
I make a face at him.
“Come on, Trace. Do we have to discuss this right now? Don’t you think you should try and live in the moment a little? You know…bask in the glow?”
“I’m glowing,” I protest. “Sparking, too. Remember?”
“Maybe on the outside. Inside, you’re fast-forwarding, scheming real-estate strategies…”
“Scheming makes it sound like I’m doing something wrong.”
“Planning, then. Is planning better?”
“Much. And I can’t help it. I’m excited.”
“So am I. Let’s just enjoy it for a while. This is the only time in our lives we’re going to get engaged. So tonight, let’s bask, dammit.” The Candell dimples deepen charmingly.
“I’m basking. I’m definitely basking,” I say with a laugh, feeling a little sheepish. “Basking, glowing, sparking…”
“Good.” Jack gives me a squeeze, kisses my forehead again and opens the fridge.
What I don’t dare admit aloud is that in my heart, I’ve been engaged to him for months—ever since his mother, Wilma, told me he had the heirloom ring in his possession.
We…will raise…a fa-mily…a boy…for you…a girl…for me…
See, I like to be proactive. Not only have I got our entire future mapped out, but I already picked a wedding date. Which reminds me…
“While we’re basking,” I say to Jack, “what do you think of the third Saturday in October?”
“For what?”
He didn’t really say that, I tell myself, watching him grab an Amstel Light, then head to the living room to fish the remote from beneath the toppled stack of magazines on the coffee table.
What he really said was, I would love to marry you on the third Saturday in October, darling.
And he isn’t really turning on the television and flipping the channel to ESPN.
No, in reality, he’s heading for the shower to wash his stinky feet for the romantic candlelight dinner we’re going to have tonight to celebrate our engagement.
Except, he’s not.
“Jack—” I am incredulous, watching him bend over to unlace his dress shoes, one eye on the television “—are you watching TV?”
His gaze flicks in my direction.
“Yes?” he says tentatively. “Why?”
“It’s just—” I break off and try to think of a way to phrase it. A delicate way. Or at least a way that doesn’t involve any four-letter words.
I settle on, “I thought we were basking.”
“We are. I just wanted to check a couple of scores.”
“But…” The mind boggles. “We just got engaged, remember? For the only time in our lives. Don’t you think we should…celebrate? And maybe…talk about the wedding?”
“You mean, plan it?” he asks, wearing the same
