“No.” I run my hand over her knotted hair. There will be whining when I brush through that mess later. “Not yet.”
She groans, rolls her eyes, and flops into the pillow.
I pick up my coffee.
Decker is watching me. Hazel straightens and tucks her hands in her lap, watching me.
Something is absolutely going on.
“Okay,” I say. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” Hazel says immediately.
I look at her.
She stops bouncing.
“Nothing is happening,” she says, slower this time, with the exaggerated calm of someone who was briefed on this question and prepared an answer.
I give Decker an accusatory glare.
He looks at the ceiling.
“Hazel,” I say.
“Decker has something to?—”
“Hazel,” Decker says.
She claps both hands over her mouth.
I set down the coffee.
Hazel is vibrating, both hands still pressed to her mouth, eyes enormous, looking between Decker and me.
Decker sighs.
“Sorry,” Hazel says.
“Don’t be.” He pulls a box from his pocket, opens it, and places it on the breakfast tray.
Simple. Classic. A round solitaire. Perfect and so very me.
Hazel makes a sound behind her hands that isn’t quite a word.
“I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old,” he says. “I have been careful and managed and controlled about it for far too many years, and I am completely done.” He holds up the ring. “I want to marry you. I want to live in this house and go to Portillo’s and sit in school auditoriums and find out what the dog’s name is going to be because we both know it’s happening.”
Hazel laughs, and I roll my eyes. He’s probably right about the dog, but I’m putting up a good fight.
“I want every ordinary thing with you. Just you. For the rest of my life.” He steadily looks at me. “Marry me, Pen.”
“What do you think I should say, Hazel?”
Hazel gets up on her feet, and the tray wobbles.
Decker quickly takes it and moves it to the dresser. “Just in case. We don’t need you wearing the breakfast, although it’s probably not that good. Part of the proposal is cooking lessons by the way.”
“Say yes, Mommy. I did.” She holds her hand out to me.
