Hills Like White Cupcakes
It's worth a try. Maybe he will get lucky. Maybe she will say yes. Maybe she will change. He's willing to take the risk. Or chance. He's not getting any younger. The clock is ticking. Just yesterday he found his first grey hair. He's getting old. He can feel it in his bones. He can see it in his deepening wrinkles. It's time to end this game. He will get down on one knee. He will present her with the cupcake, and the ring. It's a Bulgari. Platinum and round cut diamond. Cost him a fortune and several limbs. He'll make it worth it. He'll paint her life with happiness. He'll give her children. They will, hopefully, have her blue eyes and his charming smile. He will give her no reason to regret. His dreams will be fulfilled. Yes, she will be happy, so happy. She may even burst into tear when he holds her captive with his enchanting Italian eyes and asks, "Cupcake, will you marry me?"
He turns on the TV and starts waiting. He tries his best to hide his nervousness and anxiety when she lets herself in. The aroma of pizza and sub fill the room. He breathes in the sweet scent of parsley, cheese, rosemary, and thyme. This will be the most perfect Sunday night. They sit down on the couch, watching the baseball game, eating, occasionally chatting. He can already picture their happy family. The smell of sour milk and diapers. The sound of baby laughing. Bob's happy barking. He wipes the tomato sauce off his lip. He washes down the food with a gulp of beer. The hitter hit a home run off the pitcher. The fans cheer. This is it. Time to make things right. Time to make that leap.
He stands up and strides into his small but tidy kitchen. Soon it's going to be well-equipped. He knows she will love the cupcake. He believes she will accept the ring. He walks back into the living room and gets down on his knee. He smiles as her eyes widen. In his hands is a giant Boston Cream cupcake with a beautiful diamond ring on top. It's a promise, a sacred bond, a ticket to a lifelong happiness.
"Cupcake," his eyes twinkle as his smile deepens, "will you ma—"
His big orange drooling dog shows up from nowhere and, in one gulp, devours the cupcake, the ring, and his ability to speak. He gapes and gawks at the empty plate in his slightly trembling as the dog burps, farts, wiggles its tail, and trots away. He blinks. He looks up. He sees the look on Stephanie's face. He knows what her answer is long before she finally manages to squeak, "Joe, I'm sorry" and then escapes. He stays kneeling on the floor till the ball game ends. He gets up, staggers upstairs, crawls into bed and pulls the blanket over his head. He has no idea who won and who lost. He doesn't give a damn.
A part of him knew all along this was a big mistake.