He straightens up and turns around, and while I thought perhaps our parents would be busy discussing us, they’re not. Their eyes are fixed on Logan and I, and it would appear that my words have silenced them.
Mary-Gene’s reaction is gratifyingly similar to mine. Her bottom lip trembles violently as she gets to her feet and bypasses her own son to pull me into a warm hug. “I think it’s wonderful,” she whispers to me, making me smile broadly. “You have my full support.”
“Thank you,” I say to her.
We then watch as Rupert approaches Logan, trying his best to be stoic, but as he hugs his son, he too loses his composure. “You two telling us this news here…well, I don’t think it could be anymore fitting. I’m full of pride tonight, Logan,” he says, his eyes watering. “You’ve exceeded all of my expectations of you, truly. I’m in awe of the man you’ve become. I love you, son,” he manages to choke out, before embracing Logan once more.
“I love you too, dad,” Logan says earnestly. “But what about Taylor?” he then asks his parents.
“Don’t you worry about Taylor,” Rupert tells him. “He has his own demons to conquer, like you had yours. You two focus on you,” he says to me, “and you leave Taylor to us,” he says to Logan, and Mary-Gene nods in agreement. They got one son out of a dark space, here’s hoping that they can get the other one out too, I think.
“Thank you,” Logan says to his parents.
Two down
,
one to go
. The four of us grow silent, awaiting my mom’s verdict. I look at her, and see her surveying Logan carefully, and it finally dawns on me where her resistance is coming from.
This moment is really hard for her. She’s never had to let me go before, never had to give my hand over to someone else, never, ever been replaced as my number one person. Although it was never spoken about, there was no danger of this ever happening with Jerry, not even when we moved to Paris together. I was always hers, and it was always just the two of us, ever since my father died. That’s changing. It’s
already
changed for me, but now I’ve sprung this on her and she’s trying hard to play catch up.
“Mom, I’m sorry that—” I start, but she holds up a hand to silence me.
Getting to her feet, she walks over to me and takes both of my hands in her own. “Sweetheart,” she starts, “when you’re used to living with a closed heart it’s not easy to open it. My protectiveness of you comes because I’ve felt pain, and loss, and anger at the hands of love,” she explains, “but I’ve never, not one single time, felt brave.” She then smiles at me, and I know good news is coming. “You are my inspiration, Gemima,” she tells me meaningfully. “I’m so proud of you for opening your heart, especially after your dick of an ex boyfriend,” she says, making me laugh out loud. “And Logan,” she releases my hands and moves to stand before him, “you might just single-handedly restore my faith in the concept of marriage. Look after her, always.”
“Always,” he promises her.
She looks at me once more. “You don’t need my blessing, but you have it anyway.”
I lunge at her, throwing my arms around her neck and hugging her tightly. I can’t explain why this moment feels like a moment of separation, but it does. We’re two fully grown adults for goodness’ sake, and yet it’s as though our parents are releasing us and sending us off to begin our journey, our own life.
“I love you so much,” I mutter to my mom.
“Oh, I love you too, darling. More than life itself,” she whispers. “And the two of you make a really beautiful couple,” she says observing us, after we break apart. “You quoting Gem’s father…well, that was something else,” she compliments Logan. She only uses that expression for things that have really,
really
impressed her.
“Have you kids given any thought to
when
you’ll make it official?” Rupert asks.
“This summer,” Logan nods happily. “Do you think you two could fly over again?” he asks his parents.
“The entire US Military couldn’t stop us,” Mary-Gene says, and I don’t doubt her.
“Will it be in Paris?” my moms asks.
I shrug and point at Logan. “He’s the ideas man,” I grin.
“It might be,” he says elusively, probably because I’m standing right next to him and he’s clearly not quite ready to share his plans with me yet.
A sudden idea coming to me, I ask Mary-Gene and Rupert, “What was your wedding song?”
“I’m a believer by Neil Diamond,” Mary-Gene smiles at the memory of it.
“It was the song that was playing the first time I saw her,” Rupert reveals, “and the words were so fitting that we used it for our wedding.”
Wait a second
… “You fell in love at first sight?” I ask Rupert in disbelief. He nods and I immediately start giggling, saying, “It all makes sense now — it runs in the family! Is that going to be our song too?” I then ask Logan.
“Nope,” Logan shakes his head, grinning at me.
Rupert surveys me for a moment, before saying, “If I had to pick a song from him to you, it’d have to be—”
“
Don
’
t
say it,” Logan stops him. “Whisper it to me,” he tells his father dramatically, making my eyes roll playfully. Rupert whispers something in Logan’s ear and then Logan looks at his father in complete amazement. “
How
could you possibly know that?” he exclaims.
Rupert laughs and claps Logan on the shoulder. “You’re an old time romantic, just like me,” he says.
Old time romantic, I start pondering… “Sinatra?” I guess.
“A little closer to home than that,” Logan tells me.
A little closer to
which
home? Charleston? Paris? Oh, I’ve no idea!
“Mom, you’re suspiciously quiet,” Logan says to Mary-Gene. “I’m waiting for you to go crazy.”
“She did that earlier already,” Rupert tells us, and Mary-Gene unabashedly nods in agreement.
“Totally loco, kid, it’s all out of my system,” she assures us.
“I think we need champagne,” my mom announces. “Can we tell people?” she then asks eagerly, her excitement making me beam in happiness.
Logan gives me a
what
-
do
-
you
-
think
kind of look.
Hmm
…on a night of such a professional high, it does seem like the perfect opportunity to let word slip out about this personal high too.
“Sure,” I tell my mom. “What’s good news if not shared, right? Besides, once everyone knows, a whole new party can begin,” I laugh.
The five of us begin walking towards the bar, and I can’t help thinking —
we so took back the night
.
* * *
It’s four AM by the time the elevator pings, admitting us into our apartment. I feel like the living dead — we’ve been out at the party for ten hours! Not even in my wildest youth did I ever manage such an impressive feat. I kick off my heels and groan at the heavenly feeling of the flat floor underneath my feet. They’re going to hurt tomorrow, I know it already. Even without my heels I still sway where I stand, and it sure looks to me like Logan is doing the same.
We’re ever so slightly inebriated, except for the ever so slightly bit.
Totally not our fault
, I tell myself. The news of our engagement spread like wildfire, and because most of the people in the room have no idea how long we’ve been together, what questions and muttering there might have been had they known — things like:
are you pregnant
? Or:
isn
’
t it a bit soon
? — gave way to lots of toasting and celebrating. One glass of champagne turned into two, and two into three. This pattern continued for quite some time.
“Considering you only wanted to make it through the speeches, I’m impressed with your stamina,” I say to Logan, my speech incredibly slurred. I stumble into the kitchen to fetch two large glasses of water, praying they’ll be enough to stave off our hangovers.
“I must take after my father,” Logan quips, taking the glass that I offer him and downing it in one.
I follow suit, and then I take his hand and lead the way to the bedroom.
As we walk, he wraps his arms around my stomach and tucks his chin onto my shoulder. It’s a combination of this awkward walking stance and our high level of intoxication that makes us stagger down the short, glass-sided walkway. When we reach the bedroom, Logan kicks off his shoes mid-step and then proceeds to trip on them, ending up sprawled on the floor amid a fit of laughter.
I tower over him, looking down in amusement. He really is gorgeous, I think sleepily. “Can you make it to bed, baby?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Well,
I
’
m
going to bed,” I tell him, though I don’t move a muscle.
Instead I start stripping on the spot, and a short moment later, Logan copies me, his hands fumbling with the buttons on his pants while I reach for the hem of my dress, both of us engaged in similar movements to those on the rooftop earlier. Unlike then, this time I pull my dress over my head, aware, even though I’m drunk, that this dress is precious and needs to be treated with care. At least, that’s what my drunken brain tells me.
I dodder through to the dressing room to hang it up and by the time I’m back by his side, Logan is still lying on the floor, now sans his pants and boxers. He starts on undressing his upper half as I undo my bra, with a little more difficultly than usual —
is this how men feel all the time
? — and when it’s loose I let it fall on the ground. I then teeter dangerously as I step out of my panties, which I pulled back on after our sexcapade on the roof, and as I do so, Logan somehow manages to outstrip me despite his position on the ground.
When I’m finally free of my underwear his hand starts gliding up and down my calf as he looks up at me, his eyes sleepy but appreciative. A smile overcoming his face, he starts humming
It
’
s My Party
once more and I can’t keep the responding grin from my own face as I remember what his
new
lyrics are. Does he want to do that,
again
?
Answering my unasked question, Logan sits up, and then shuffles over to the window, sitting with his back to it.
“Are you coming to bed?” I ask him again, still grinning.
Again, Logan shakes his head. He holds out his hand, which I take readily, and he pulls me closer to him. I go with a giggle, standing on either side of his legs, my bare crotch level with his face. His hands grip my ankles and slowly, so slowly they begin moving up my legs, and all the while he’s humming away.
When his hands reach my backside he squeezes me and a small, amorous growl escapes him, sending a shiver of late night desire through my body. He pulls me closer to him, and I take one long, measured step forward, my toes only inches away from the window.
Logan then slides down the glass a little, and tilts his head back, creating a seat for me to sit on. My throne. I give him what he’s asking for in humming his little tune, I move my sex over his face. His hands hold my backside firmly, and I press my body against the cold glass, my arms reaching up above me.
There
’
s really something magical about this window
, my drunken mind muses. Then Logan takes me into his mouth, I moan loudly, and my entire capacity for thought is gone.
* * *
It’s twenty to one in the afternoon when I wake up on Sunday. I stretch, taking stock of how my body feels.
Oh
,
shit
, I’m aching all over. My poor feet are killing me, giving me hell for keeping them cooped up in those heels for so long, and my head throbs painfully. Last nights last-ditch attempt at avoiding a hangover has failed.
Ow
. Wanting to see how Logan’s faring, I inch closer to him on the other side of the bed.
Slow movements
,
Gem
. I rest my cheek on his bare chest, and something on his bedside table catches my eye. I stare at it for a long moment, then finally registering what it is, my eyes dart wide and I suddenly feel irrevocably awake.
It’s a little black velvet box. The type which typically holds a ring in it…Logan told me that
my
ring would be delivered today. An excited albeit potentially premature smile spreads across my face. Is that what’s inside of it? What does it look like? A plain band or bejewelled, I wonder.
My heart hammering, I sit up quickly. Too quickly. My head spins.
Ow
, I think again. Not wanting my aching hangover to ruin this moment, I ignore the pounding pain as best as I can, and I reach over him to pick up the box, giving it a little shake.
My fingers itch to open it, just a little bit, just so that I can have a tiny, teeny peek inside, but my conscience forbids me. I peer down at Logan, checking how asleep he is, and judging from the fluttering of his eyelashes that he’s sleeping deeply.
He
’
d never know
…
But
I
would, and it would haunt me forever, I think dramatically. If I don’t want to kickstart the rest of our life together with a lie, then I
have
to wait until he’s awake, I tell myself.
I summon all of my willpower to do so. I lay back down and place the box on Logan’s chest a few inches over from where I rest my head. I stare at it continually — perhaps in the hope that it will miraculously open itself, which of course it doesn’t — until Logan wakes up I-don’t-know-how-long later. He stirs under me, making sweet, rousing noises, and then feeling something untoward on top of him, he pats his stomach until his hand finds the little box. He starts laughing sleepily when he realises that I’ve moved it.
“I found something intriguing,” I tell him needlessly, propping myself up on my elbow and leaning over him.
“Did you look?” he asks quietly, blinking his eyes open to gaze at me.
I shake my head vehemently, infinitely more awake than he is. “I’ve be willing you to wake up for
ages
,” I smile at him. “Where did it come from?” I ask, tapping the box.
“The jeweller came around this morning. You were sleeping,” he explains. “We could hear your snores all the way from the elevator,” he grins, stretching next to me.
I pinch him in retaliation, making him laugh. I do
not
snore.