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“You didn’t ask me,” I say, and my voice cracks right in the middle, and I hate that too.

“No.”

“Most people ask, Sasha. Most people get down on one knee like a normal person and ask.”

“I don’t ask for what’s mine.”

“I’m not yours…”

He takes my left hand and holds it up between us. That diamond right in front of my face. His big hand wrapped around mine, scarred knuckles and black ink against my brown skin, and that ring sitting there like it was always supposed to be.

And whatever I was about to say? Gone. Left the building.

“Saturday,” he says.

“…Huh?”

“Saturday. On the cliff. Out back.”

“This Saturday?” I snatch my hand back. “Sasha, it’s Wednesday!”

“I know.”

“I don’t have a dress!”

“It’s in the closet.”

“I don’t have people! My mama’s in Oakland! Tasha’s in LA! I can’t just…”

“Misha’s driving up to Oakland Friday morning. He’s bringing your mama. Your auntie. Your cousin and the two kids. And Pastor Moore.” He picks his coffee back up. “The jet’s getting Tasha.”

I stare at him.

My mouth is hanging open. I can feel it. I can’t close it. My jaw done quit on me.

“You talked to my mama?”

“Every Sunday.”

“About this?”

“She said you need a dress with sleeves. She said you still got a church to answer to.” He looks down at my bare shoulder sliding out his shirt. “I didn’t get sleeves.”

* * *

I call my mama from the bathroom with the door locked. Like that’s gonna stop him.

She picks up on the first ring.

“Mama…”

“Is it Saturday or Sunday?” she says. “‘Cause he said Saturday, but Sister Moore wants to know if it’s before church or after, ‘cause Pastor got a funeral Friday, and if it’s Sunday, he can’t come, he got service.”

I sit down on the edge of the tub.

“Mama. You knew?”

“Baby, I been knew. He called me two weeks ago.” Drawers opening. Hangers. She’s packing. “I’m bringing my purple. Gwen wants to know can she wear white. I told her absolutely not. Is it cold out there? Santa Cruz is cold. I’m bringing a shawl.”