With the new medication, shifting familial dynamics, and the acceptance of my diagnosis—I was able to pull my love for him out of that repressive, social milieu.
A watery laugh escapes me when the morning sun, streaming through blinds, catches the ring. And I promptly turn in Levi’s embrace, snuggling up with him.
I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he notices the ring.
??????
Well, I wasn’t entirely wrong. Ididknow I’d enjoy the look on his face when he notices the ring. But his reaction is basically him noticing theabsenceof it.
Who am I to stop a stumbling, fumbling, mumbling man from embarking on this very serious quest? He looks genuinely distressed. Perhaps I should put him out of his misery by—say—waving my left hand in front of him?
But he looks quite occupied with frantically rummaging through all our drawers.
“The pipes. Pipes!” he shouts suddenly, sprinting to the hallway cupboard for the toolbox and then dashing back to the en-suite.
Uh-oh.
I jog after him. “Babe! Wait—stop!”
He doesn’t even slow down.
A few minutes ago, I thought I’d smugly lift up my hand and wiggle my fingers. Watch his face shift to that adorable boyish grin I love.
Now I’m wondering if he has enough comprehension left in him to even notice the ring in his panic.
He’s emptying out one of the bottom cabinets that lead to the plumbing when I quickly grab his arm, stopping him.
“Levi, babe,” I say a little loudly, turning him toward me. “You don’t need to do that.”
“What if it fell into—”
“I know where it is.”
He freezes.
“I know where the ring is.”
His eyes widen at first, before confusion washes over his whole face.
I can’t stop smiling. Then, I gently grab his free hand with my left one and squeeze. Pulling his attention to it.
That’s when it happens.
His head snaps down. The ring on my finger fully visible. His chest shudders on a ragged breath, but he doesn’t look up from our joined hands.
Then he lifts them up, slowly, hesitantly. His jaw working as his lips turn downward.
He brushes his thumb over the ring with heartbreaking tenderness. In sheer reverence. Like he’s making sure itreally ison my finger.
And I’m melting under the rapt attention my hand is getting. But I don’t move a muscle. I don’t rush.
I let him process the meaning of this on his own.
Finally, he lifts his head, his bright eyes catching mine. He exhales softly before a tremulous smile curves his lips. I smile back, tears already streaming down my face.
“Well,” he rasps, brushing one away with his shaking fingers. “I’m gonna need a date that’s sometime within the next month, baby.”
Logically, I probably should have huffed, or maybe even made a show of being shocked at his words. Instead what leaves my mouth surprises even me. The word flying out before I can stop it. “Seventeenth.”
