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“Just trust me, Eight. If we trust each other, if we feel secure together, then lap dances and videos, none of that shit matters. Where we land at the end of the day, what we call family and home and love, that’s what matters. That’sallthat matters.”
They sat like that for a while. The cold sank into Marcella’s bones, made her toes ache inside her boots. But she didn’t want to go in, not until she was sure Eight would come in from the cold with her.
Minutes passed in frigid silence. Finally, Eight stirred himself and spoke.
“Let’s get married.”
“What?” She couldn’t have heard right. They were out here in the midst of trouble. No way was this man, when he was feeling threatened and vulnerable, going even farther out on a limb.
“Let’s get married.”
“Eight.” She sat up tall, and he dropped his arm from her shoulders. “What are you talking about? I’m sitting here worried I’m gonna lose you over the stupid video, and you’re proposing?”
Neither of them had ever brought the M word up. Sure, it had occurred to Marcella a few times, but they’d been together only a few months, and it seemed the pinnacle of wisdom to take things slow with a fifty-seven-year-old man who was only just now figuring love out.
“You’re not gonna lose me. I’d be a fuck ton less twisted up right now if I just walked away. That video fuckinghurt, and I fuckinghatethis feeling. I don’t want to deal. But I love you, and I’m sticking. So I’m dealing. I want to get married.”
“Why?”
“What do you meanwhy?”
His expression showed hurt and confusion. He’d expected her to say yes. She wanted to say yes. But not if he wanted it for the wrong reasons—like pinning her down because he didn’t fully trust her. Or to make his jealousy not hurt so much. Or as a cookie for not bailing while he hurt. Marriage needed to be right for its own sake.
“I’m surprised you want marriage. I’m wondering why you do, and why you’re bringing it up now, while we’re sitting by the dumpsters.”
That made him laugh, and she felt half his tension drain off. “Okay, yeah, my timing fucking sucks, but it’s not the first time I’ve thought about it. I never thought I wanted any of the shit I now know Ineed. I want you and Ajax in my life. All the way. I want to be in yours. All the way. I want the whole dream package, Marce. The reason I’m asking now isn’t the video. It’s what you just said—what we call home and love and family, that’s what’s important. You and Ajax, you’re all that for me. That’s why I want to get married.”
“We haven’t even combined houses yet, or figured out how to do that. Isn’t this a jump over most of the steps?”
“Are there steps? Are they required?”
She laughed. “Not required, no. But maybe smart.”
“I’ve never been that smart.”
A gust of wind whipped around the corner of the building and blasted them like a freeze ray. Marcella shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Fuck, you’re cold. Let’s go back in. We can talk later.”
“No, let’s finish it. You really want to get married? Commit to the rest of your life with us?”
“I’m already committed to that. If you don’t want to get married, we won’t. I’ll still be committed to you for the rest of my life. I love you, Marce. And that’s a hell of a thing.”
Behind Azure, beside the dumpsters, sitting on a stack of pallets, Eight had, in his typically inimitable style, managed a proposal that was better than a diamond ring and him on one knee.
She snuggled under his arm again and circled his waist with her arms. “I love you, too. I’m committed to you, too. Okay. Let’s get married.”
EPILOGUE
the following summer
The water turned suddenly to ice in the middle of Eight’s shower. “FUCK!” he yelled and jumped out of the spray.
As he stood on the soaking bath rug, reaching for his towel, the door slammed open, and his sister-in-law stood there. Her eyes widened to saucers, and then she burst out laughing.
Eight dropped the towel over his package and gave Yvonne the look he used on assholes he was about to end. “You fuckin’ mind?”
“Sorry, sorry. I thought you’d be in the shower, behind the curtain.”
