"I got an A in that class."
"And yet here you are, emotionally illiterate."
"You're carrying around an engagement ring like it's a lucky rabbit's foot," Christian says. "That's not rational behavior. That's feelings."
"I had a plan. Proposing here isn't it."
"Exactly," Roman snaps back. "The fact that you brought a ring to my wedding without knowing why means you're about to do something impulsive. And impulsive Victor is my favorite Victor. Remember spring break Year One?"
"We swore we'd never speak of that spring break."
"The Tijuana incident says otherwise."
"There was no Tijuana incident."
"There were three Tijuana incidents," Christian corrects. "And we have the arrest records to prove it."
"Those were expunged."
"Emotionally, they live on," Roman says solemnly, hand over his heart. "But we're getting off track. The point is—Victor, you're spiraling. And when you spiral, you do stupid shit. Remember when you almost married that Instagram model because you were stressed about your thesis?"
"I didn't almost marry her. I took her to one dinner."
"You bought her a ring."
"That was a friendship ring." I stop. "Wait—How did we get here?"
"You brought your wife's engagement ring to my rehearsal dinner," Roman says. "We're just following the evidence."
Through the windows, I can see the snow falling harder. The ocean is barely visible now.
"I'm not proposing tonight," I say firmly.
"Okay," Roman says, in a tone that absolutely means he doesn't believe me.
"I'm not. The plan is Christmas Eve. Quebec City. Dinner with a view. It's perfect. Romantic. It's?—"
"Calculated," Roman finishes. "Controlled. The opposite of how you actually feel."
"What's wrong with calculated?"
"Nothing, if you're doing taxes. Everything, if you're proposing to your wife." Christian shifts in his chair. "Look, I'm going to be real with you for a second. You have two options here. Option one: stick to the plan. Quebec City. Christmas Eve. Everything perfect and controlled and exactly as you planned it, complete with your three backup restaurants and color-coded timeline."
"I have four backup restaurants."
Christian ignores me, continuing. "Or option two: you trust your gut. You stop trying to control the moment and let it happen naturally. Tonight, tomorrow, Quebec City—whenever feels right."
Rasputin meows in agreement, his elf bell jingling.
"Even the Christmas elf agrees," Roman mutters.
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the crackling fire and the distant sound of laughter from the rehearsal dinner.
"I'm not proposing tonight," I say finally.
"Okay," Roman says.
"I'm not. The plan is Christmas Eve."
