Block Seventeen by Kimiko Guthrie

Author:Kimiko Guthrie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2020-06-10T22:56:10+00:00

Twenty-Seven

I suppose I should back up and explain the night of our anniversary.

I’ve avoided it until now because the details have a way of eluding me. The more they elude me, the more they haunt me—this is a perfect example of one of those random memories that, because we don’t fully comprehend it, festers and grows unmanageable, taking up much more space in the mind than it warrants.

Or maybe it’s the opposite; maybe the reason it haunts me is that its significance is larger than I’ll ever comprehend.

I’m hoping that today, my mind being clearer as I speak to you, I can finally get the details straight and extract them from my consciousness.

The day started out nicely enough. We had a wonderful, carefree afternoon at the beach—picnic, sandcastles, cuddling, gazing out at the Pacific.

Afterward, we drove to a restaurant near Tomales Bay, where we got a great table overlooking the water and ordered grilled oysters, garlic fries, and champagne. We were both giddy, from the champagne and the fact that we’d made it as a couple exactly five years that evening.

At one point your dad leaned in close to me, almost knocking over the ketchup. I closed my eyes and he planted kisses on my lids, sealing them like old-fashioned wax stamps.

When I opened them, he was holding a small box out to me. I lifted the lid to find a gold band lying on light-green tissue paper.

“Well?” he asked.

I wanted to speak, but no sound came; my heart had sprung to my throat.

“What’s wrong—cat got yer tongue?”

I laughed, my cheeks flushing. “It’s . . . it’s lovely,” I stuttered, suddenly shy, reaching for the edge of the box.

He lifted the band and held it out to me. “It was my grandmother’s. Want to try it on?”

“What for?” I wanted him to come directly out with his question.

“Well . . . we’ve been together for five years . . .” Now his cheeks flushed.

The waitress approached, but he waved her away.

“Cat got yer tongue?” I asked. We laughed; he never suffered from speechlessness.

He cleared his throat and looked down a moment. When he looked up, his dark eyes stared right into mine. He pushed our water glasses aside and took my hands.

“We have our differences—we see the world through different eyes. But that keeps things real. More exciting. We teach each other. I love how you obsess about finding the perfect produce.” His face broke into his dimply grin. “I love your amazing cooking. The fact that you fucking sew your own clothes . . . What I’m trying to say is, the first time I saw you, I thought we should be together. It felt just like that, like fate. And you know me, I’m not a mystical, fate kinda guy. But we’re meant to be together, simple as that. So—what do you say? Will you marry me?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but, again, no sound came.

“I love you,” I mouthed instead.

“No rush,” he quickly assured me. “I didn’t even expect an answer tonight.

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