“This won the Brit Award for Song of the Year, didn’t it? Back in 1988?” I ask.
My driver’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, wondering if he’s found a new member of the Rick Astley fan club. “It did.”
“A shame. ‘China in Your Hand’ was better, in my opinion. Totally underrated.”
That earns me another bump of the volume, and I smirk.
My rating for this ride has reached the depths of hell, and it’s about to get even lower.
There are things to do. Plans to put into motion, and I ignore the notifications that greet me when I pull up my social media. Iangle my phone and press a couple buttons, going live and waiting for the video to start rolling.
“Hey, y’all,” I say to the viewers jumping on. “I’m back in Orlando after a great trip out to Colorado, and I’m a few minutes away from home. I feel lucky I get to travel and meet so many people for my job, but there’s something grounding about coming back to the place you love most in the world. The person you love too.” I toss the velvet box in front of the camera. I hitch it open and show off the ring inside; a blue sapphire on a metal band. Unique, just like her. Beauty in the small things, calm like the air before the start of a summer storm. “Today is a big day.”
Comments flood in. Someone saysfinally!Another adds a string of sad faces,guess he’s off the market nowfollowing the emojis. There’s one offering me congratulations, telling me they called this months ago.
Funny.
I knew the day I met her.
“I’m a lucky guy. I love a lot of things in my life: my family, my friends. I love weather and the sense of purpose it brings me. I love doing something good in the world, but I’ve always struggled with how to describe love. Words don’t seem sufficient when you’re talking about the things that bring you joy. Then I think about Quincy.”
I rub a palm over my shirt. A nervous laugh escapes from my chest.
“I’ve finally figured it out. We’ve all been caught in a storm while driving on the highway, right? I’m not talking about a sun shower. I mean an absolute downpour where you can’t see more than six inches in front of you. The rain is so loud, you can’t think.”
I take a breath. I didn’t realize my hand had started to shake.
“Then there’s that … that moment when you drive under an overpass, and there’s instant relief. Silence in the best possible way.That … that feeling of complete peace? That’s exactly what it’s like whenever I’m with her. But the moment never ends. It’s there constantly. When she steals the covers from me. When I kiss her in the rain. When she’s eating a bowl of cereal and a drop of milk gets stuck in the corner of her mouth. It’s a never-ending reminder of how fuck—sorry, kids—freaking lucky I am to have her by my side.”
New comments come in. One from a guy who saysI know exactly what you mean, man. If there’s another version of myself out there, I would go to the place where I first saw her and wait, hoping to meet her again. Another from a woman who writesI hope a love like this finds me.
“Quincy isn’t going to see this live,” I say. “She’s busy working and changing the world and, man, y’all. I’ve missed her so much. I was only gone for seven days, but it felt more like seven lifetimes. I see our driveway up ahead, and it feels like I can finally breathe again.”
Rick Astley’s biggest fan pulls up to our house and I practically throw the door open. I hop onto the curb, taking in the shutters we painted bright yellow and the new mulch we laid two weeks ago. The hibiscus plant I bought for Quincy looks freshly watered in its clay pot, and the bird feeder she set up next to the crape myrtle bush has a visitor.
“I’ve been in some of nature’s most powerful storms, but this right here? Knowing I’m about to ask the woman of my dreams to spend the rest of her life with me? I’m a nervous fucking wreck. Wish me luck, y’all.”
I end the live and shove my phone away. We might be chronically online and easily accessible with our jobs and social media platforms, but this is something I want for ourselves and no one else.
I take the porch stairs two at a time. The house is quiet when I slip inside and drop my bags on the foyer floor. I see the door to her office open, and I make my way toward it.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say, finding her with a book in her lap.
Quincy lifts her chin, her eyes bright. She slams the book closed and runs toward me, not stopping until her chest crashes into mine.
“There you are.” She kisses my cheek then stands on her toes to reach my forehead. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Did you have a good week?”
“Better now. How about you?”
“The Rockies are nice, but I’m an East Coast guy at heart.”
“It’s a good thing the East Coast likes you too.”
“Are you busy?” I run my fingers through her hair, working out a small knot near the ends of the dark strands. “Or can I distract you for a second?”
“You can distract me for as long as you want. If I have to read one more article about simulations performed with the Weather Researching and Forecasting Model, I’m going to go out of my mind.”
