Page 142 of Rumi: The Hawthornes


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“We?”Rumi joked. “If it was a group effort, Bird owes me money.”

I would’ve laughed, but I was too nervous. I stepped inside the apartment and found Bird opening and closing drawers while Nana stood frozen in the middle of the room.

“It was a selfish idea,” I admitted, walking toward her. “We wanted you close. I probably should’ve asked first.”

“I love it,” she breathed, her eyes filling with tears. “Iloveit.”

“You do?”

“It’s perfect,” she choked out.

“Oh, thank God,” I said, laughing a little.

“You did this for me?” she asked Rumi.

“We’rereallysick of Nova’s cooking,” he joked uncomfortably. “Plus, free babysittin’.”

“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter,” Bird spat indignantly.

“Wasn’t talkin’ about you,” Rumi said, glancing at my brother.

“Are you pregnant?” Nana asked, her eyes wide.

“No!” I glared at Rumi.

“Wishful thinkin’,” Rumi said, dodging as I swiped at him. “I’m hopin’ she’ll give in and marry me at some point. Pretty fuckin’ annoyin’ that my baby brother got married before we did.”

“Otto and Esther’s marriage isn’t exactly something to be jealous of,” I snapped back.

Nana stopped our bickering when she walked over to grip my hands in hers.

“Look at you, all grown up.” Nana looked at me, her eyes soft. “What are you waitin’ for, Bossanova?”

“You,” I replied simply.

“What?”

“I couldn’t get married without you.” I shrugged. “Who would walk me down the aisle?”

Nana pressed her lips together, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Finally!” Rumi yelled, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and lifting me off the floor. Nana giggled as our hands were pulled apart.

I laughed as Bird cheered.

“Are you serious?” Rumi asked, putting me back on my feet so he could look into my eyes. “You’ll marry me now?”

“How does tomorrow sound?” I teased.

“Hell yeah,” he cheered quietly.

For a split second, I had a vision of the thirteen-year-old boy who’d invited himself along to the river with us.

Telling him I’d finally marry him felt a lot like that afternoon when, with Pop and Rumi watching, I’d finally jumped off the rope swing.

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