Her hair is plaited back in tight braids, and the strap of her favorite pink swimsuit sticks out from beneath her shirt. It’s a beach day, I know it. She woke us up pretty damn early to go to the beach.
I retreat beneath the fabric again until the engine slows and the car jerks to a stop.
Her fingers are cool against my skin, and when the sunlight hits my eyes, I make a dramatic show of the light blinding me, flailing my limbs around. She gives me an unamused look.
The ferry terminal for Catalina Island sits in front of us, and she ushers me from the car, demanding I stay put while she collects something from the trunk.
A teal strap flicks in and out of view. Why is she fiddling with scuba gear?
With a grunt, she hauls my dive gear and another duffel out of the trunk, dropping them on the ground.
Her cheeks flush a coral hue, and with a nervous smile, she says, “I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”
“Oh?”
My eyebrows snap up on my forehead. She’s not the best at secrets, hence her precautions.
She pokes the second dive bag with her foot. “While you were in Seattle a few months ago, I got dive certified.”
Words fizzle from my tongue.
“You—What?”
An awkward pause elapses between us. I stare at the bag, then her. Down at the ground, up to her shy smile. Sofía shifts on her feet, fiddling with the strap of her bag.
“I know I told you I would never scuba dive because I value my life—”
“You made a PowerPoint outlining every freak accident you could find on the internet,” I remind her.
It was so thorough, even Doug and Molly—both of whom were required to listen after Sofía watched a cave-diving documentary—found her presentation mildly disturbing.
“A woman can change her mind,” she continues, lifting a brow and daring me to argue with her. “I decided my desire to experience diving with you outweighed my fear. Plus, I can always swim to the surface after a three-minute safety stop, of course.”
I suppress a laugh, affection for her warming my skin.
She’s on my mind daily, but the dreams of our life, our future together, grow stronger by the day.
Her mom, sisters, and Mateo’s abuela have helped me practice my Spanish so I can propose. It’s all planned.
A romantic, quiet dinner at home of our favorite foods in matching pajamas. The ring is hidden on the top shelf of the highest cupboard in the kitchen, where I know she won’t find it.
I’ll get down on one knee and offer my practiced speech—the one I’ve mumbled in the shower one hundred times.
I always imagined if I proposed to someone again, it would be accompanied by fear and uncertainty. Instead, nothing has felt so right in my life. She speaks of what our wedding will look like: massive floral arrangements of peonies and soft lighting, only our friends and family, married on the back deck overlooking the ocean at sunset.
She imagines the wedding, and I imagine her. White dress, hair in soft curls, that timid smile she gets when she’s excited and overwhelmed.
I’d throw that plan away and propose right now in this parking lot if I had the ring.
“Of course.” Seagulls caw, surveying our bags, and I drop a kiss to the crown of Sofía’s head, holding back the full strength of my excitement. “This was a wonderful surprise.”
Her cheeks flame red, and she hikes her purse over her shoulder. A glance at the time, and she ushers us onto the ferry. The boat ride to Catalina Island is filled with pockets of uncomfortable silence between my questions about her dive courses.
Sofía’s knee bounces up and down, and she fiddles with the loose stitch on the hem of her top. I lay my palm on her thigh in what I assume is a comforting gesture. The motion only worsens, and by the time we arrive at the dive shop, she’s a mess.
“We don’t have to dive if you’re nervous,” I assure her.
I’m proud she took the courses and was certified, even though I know she’s not the ocean’s biggest fan. Over the last few years—since our trip to Australia—she’s grown more comfortable with the wildlife residing beneath the waves.
