Pretty Hurts (11 page)

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EPILOGUE

Edgar

I knew from the minute I woke up to her declaration in the hospital Efia was the woman I wanted to marry. I would’ve proposed to her sooner, but I needed to let the drama die down. I wouldn’t allow anything to taint the start of our lives together. I finger the old-fashioned, Art Deco diamond with filigree that once belonged to my abuelita. She left it to me in her will, but I never dreamed of giving it to Marilyn knowing the two hadn’t gotten on the best. Efia, however, she would’ve loved as much as my mother does.

Almost a year to the day when we started dating, I’m ready to pop the question. Liv and Houston’s son, Ryder, is three months old, the past is firmly behind us, and we’re at the point where we’ve been discussing where we’ll live together. It’s our time to hold the spotlight. The doorbell rings, and I know phase one is starting. I’m jittery as I open the door and allow the flower delivery men to bring in vase after vase of tulips in various shades of pink. I place them all around the tables I’ve gathered from everywhere in the house and a few stands I purchased.

“Man, I have to ask … what did you do?” the delivery man inquires.

I throw my head back and laugh. “Nothing. It’s what I’m about to do,” I reply, showing him the velvet ring box.”

“No way she’s saying no, brother,” the dark-haired, stocky man says with a shake of his head.

“It’ll be an expensive rejection if she does. But I’m ninety–nine percent sure she won’t.”

They continue to bring in blooms and I admire the garden taking shape before my eyes. I nod my head in approval as they finish unloading the van.

“All right, man, sign here,” his tow-haired partner instructs.

I scrawl my name beside the x.

“Good luck,” he says as they salute me.

“Thanks,” I reply, seeing them out. The door closes and I go to work getting out the large glass candle holders I brought in from my workshop. Once they’re strategically placed for lighting—something I learned from my sisters who helped me come up with this—I run to the shed for the carvings. I place the letters in their stands so they stand up tall and proud. It took the better part of three months to get ‘Will you marry me?’ just right in the same Butternut wood similar to what I used to craft her a wooden stingray. I walk to the door and put myself in her place. Pleased, I nod.

Now to handle the libations
. I move to the fridge where I’ve kept the sparkling champagne chilling, and place it and ice in a bucket. The time’s ticking down. With the stage set, the only thing to do is wait. It’s the longest hour I’ve ever spent on the Earth. Her car pulls into my driveway and I stand up, smoothing down my gray vest. The key turns in the lock and I move to stand behind my letters. She opens the door, steps in, and covers her mouth as she takes in the room. My stomach clenches.

“Edgar?” Her shoulder shake as she walks toward me covering her mouth. Seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to hours as I wait for her to vocalize something. She stops in front of me and I kneel.

“Efia, I cannot imagine my life without you in it. I want to spend the rest of our days making love, having adventures, and growing old together. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, Edgar.”

I grin as I slip the ring onto her finger.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“It was my abuelita’s.”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“She would’ve wanted the woman I’m going to spend the rest of my life with to have it.” I stand, pull her to me, and devour her mouth. I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist.

Tonight we celebrate—tomorrow, we’ll make the official announcement.

THE END