So I was on hollerday, drinking Pepsi, and listening to Weezer, when I thought to myself, "Schwartzi, wouldn't it be great if you shared all this happiness with the rest of the world?" And while I can't mail you all a copy of the first season of Growing Pains on DVD or the sci-fi thriller Phantom Town, I can update. I know, I know -- it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have -- but it's a start, Harry, it's a start!
"Married?"
He'd been pressing his face into the comforter, but grinned tiredly up at me. "Yes, Mia," he said patiently. "For the fourth time…yes, I want to get married. If we're playing twenty questions, you kind of suck."
I didn't even register this insult. It was difficult to register much after your tumultuous twelve-year relationship with a guy your family doesn't even like amounts to a sudden, totally unorthodox marriage proposal.
Which is why I really can't be blamed for my vocabulary being limited to one word for the last ten minutes.
"Why?"
"Why do you suck? Well, I don't mean to get so technical, but the game's got twenty questions, see—"
I sat beside him on the mattress, nudging him slightly to make room. "Why do you want to marry me?" I asked, my tongue feeling odd as it wormed its way around such a complicated phrase.
The mattress shifted beneath me as he rolled over, his fingers tugging the blue satin tie away from his collar. "Why not?"
"Do you realize we've been communicating in just questions for the past few minutes?"
"Are you sure?" He grinned, adorably so, and flung his now-loose tie onto the carpet.
"Mia," he stated quite firmly. "I am going to marry you. It was always gonna happen…so I figure now's as good a time as any. We're in love and, as far as I can tell, we've resolved our most pressing issues. How's that for an explanation?"
Of course it was a great explanation. Thorough, calculated, persuasively presented—Michael's public speaking skills overpowered mine by the thousands.
"You're not kidding?" I said, careful to keep the excitement out of my voice. Funny how after all we've been through these past few weeks, I still feel the need to stay on my toes with Michael Moscovitz.
"Mia, I wouldn't embarrass myself in front of your family for a good laugh—and I don't make jokes about lifetime commitments, all right?"
His hand rested on my knee and I held back the urge to jump him right then and there. At least until I'd said my piece. "OK, now I know why. But why now? You…you used to say that we didn't need rings. That we had enough already."
It had been his old mantra when I'd tentatively bring up the subject—and I only did so once or twice. Michael hated being reminded of my Genovian obligations, and I hated reminding him. But it didn't stop me from worrying that, no matter what he believed, Michael wouldn't be my Prince Charming till he said, "I do."
And then I didn't have to worry any more. At least not about getting Michael to marry me. Because for years and years, Michael wasn't even an option. In fact, despite all Grandmere's efforts, I didn't really have any options at all. I guess it's always kind of been "MICHAEL OR BUST" for me.
"I was stupid," Michael admitted humbly—with a strong emphasis on the 'was.' "But I'm ready for some pull-ups. I'm gonna be responsible. I'll do my duty. Whatever it takes, Mia."
"Mrs. Moscovitz," I corrected.
"Princess Moscovitz," he rejoined.
"Fair enough," I giggled, curling up beside him. Off my toes.
"That's 'fair enough, your highness.'"
- - -
Early the next morning I went into Grandmere's room, toting a peace offering: breakfast in bed.
I'm sure she would have preferred my word that I'd never see 'that boy' again, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.
"Morning, Grandmere," I called gently, opening her windows and placing the tray on her table. "Wake up, come on."
After a minute or so, she finally pulled herself up into a sleepy sitting position.
"Oh, Amelia, there you are. Still by my side. Thank the Lord. I had a horrible dream that you up and married that boy and joined the circus with him."
Does this mean she's forgotten about last night?
"Well no, that didn't happen. But you do remember what happened last night, right?"
In preparation for her memory to come back, and for her to hit the roof, I passed her the bacon. She's never been able to resist bacon, and has never understood how I can.
"Thank you," she said, taking a piece. "And what happened last night?"
God, she's like one of those people who block bad things from their mind, as a way of dealing with it. Or not dealing with it.
"Michael proposed," I said simply. It's probably best to just spit it out, get it over with.
"And just what did he propose?" she asked, in all seriousness.
"Um, marriage?"
She dropped her fork like a hot potato. And by the look on her face I knew it was all coming back to her.
"Oh, oh, Amelia, this wasn't at all how it was all supposed to go! No, you absolutely cannot marry him, I forbid it."
"Grandmere, you can't stop me from doing anything. I'm nearly thirty for Christ's sake! I'm not fourteen anymore. And I'm not a child. So if I want to marry Michael, then I will."
She sighed and picked up the bacon with her fork again. "I'm not happy about this, Amelia. You were supposed to go to New York and bring back an heir to the throne, not a husband as well."
"Maybe this was meant to be, Grandmere. Things happen for a reason, you know. I wasn't ready for a child six years ago, but I am now. And I'm ready for a husband as well. And at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what you say or think. I will marry him."
I walked out of her room feeling a little stronger, and a little better about things. At least now she knows how it is.
- - -
"How'd it go?" Michael asked when I walked back in our room. He was sprawled out under the sheets of the bed. I hopped in next to him and made him move over a little.
"She'd had a memory lapse. Didn't remember a thing about what happened last night. I filled her in, and told her she couldn't stop us from doing what we wanted. I'm not a child anymore, Michael."
"Hey, you don't have to convince me of that."
"The thing is though," I started, resting my cold hand on Michael's warm chest. He shivered a little at my touch. "I don't think she'll ever accept it. You, I mean. Or us. She'll never be on board with it."
"So what do you want to do about it?" he asked.
"Okay, I have an idea."
After a quick explanation of my plan, Michael grinned and kissed the top of my head. "I thought you were never going to come up with that. I thought of it weeks ago, but didn't want to say anything."
"So you agree?" I asked.
"It's perfect. Everything's going to be perfect."
- - -
After dinner that night, Michael and I approached dad about something. He hasn't gone back to the castle yet so we thought we'd better talk about it before he goes.
"You want to go on vacation?" he asked, not comprehending the word. My father hasn't had a vacation since...forever.
"Yeah. I think it's best if we get away for a while. It'll give Grandmere some time to grow accustomed to the idea of Michael. And things have been so hectic lately we need to get away."
"And you want me to throw an engagement party when you get back?"
"Well we'd have it before we go, but we really want to get going as soon as possible. Like tomorrow..."
He nodded and I knew he understood.
"You're taking Olivia?"
I nodded. "Yeah. She needs this as much as we do."
"Have you told your grandmother?"
I looked at Michael. He answered for me. "We thought it was best if this was done in secret. The vacation, I mean."
"She's not going to be happy," dad stated.
"She doesn't have a choice."
He nodded again. "You've got guts, kid. I could never hide something like this from my mother. She'd flay me."
- - -
The little chapel was absolutely gorgeous. Stained glass windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling, depicting events like the birth of Jesus and the banishment from Eden.
Michael shivered, inspecting a little portrait on the wall. "Kinda creepy, isn't it?" he said in a hushed voice, as though the weeping virgin in the painting would attack if he didn't keep his voice down.
"I think it's perfect."
His arm went around me as we headed back down the aisle, Olivia wandering around behind us, gaping at everything in sight. Tomorrow this little trek would be a lot more significant.
Michael was just so infuriatingly calm about the whole thing. I tried my best to play cool along with him, but it's one thing hinting about this to my father—it's quite another to actually go through with it.
We stepped back outside, and I took a deep breath. It was definitely easy to see why people liked to vacation in the countryside. All the tourists in New York have got it completely backwards. How are you supposed to relax with the symphony of car alarms and police sirens that fills the city night after night? Not that I don't love New York. But I'd never go there for some R&R. And I need to be as calm as possible for the task before me. "You're really not nervous at all?" I asked him.
His face, which had grown unnaturally tan over the last month, broke into a comparably blinding smile. "Why, are you?"
"Kinda," I admitted. After all the turmoil my little white lies had caused recently, I decided it was best to stick with the truth. "I mean, it's not that I don't want this. It just seems like a pretty big step, you know?"
By that time, we had reached the rental car. Olivia broke through our adjoined hands, as if we were playing Red Rover. "Shotgun!"
"I don't think so," I laughed, playfully wrestling her away from the front passenger side. She giggled, though she still frantically scrabbled for the door handle.
"There's an air bag, Liv," said Michael firmly.
With a slight scowl fixed on her impossibly cute face, she crawled into the back, her arms folded across her chest. "I'm almost as tall as Mom anyway."
"Maybe if she was standing in a ditch." He turned on the car and with it came a full blast of the Wilco CD we'd been listening to on the way over. "So what were you saying?" he asked me.
"I…I just don't want to rush things."
His white t-shirt clung almost indecently to his lean body. As long as no giggly French girls took notice, I was perfectly fine with it. They're my washboard abs. "If it's what we both want, Mia, I don't see how it's rushed."
Of course we both wanted this. But there was one little thought that wouldn't stop nagging at me. "But a few weeks ago, we practically hated each other—"
"Did we?" asked Michael airily.
"—and now we're getting married? I just think it might come as a shock to everyone."
"Elopements are supposed to cause a stir, Mia. That's one of the main attractions. Besides, this is a me and you thing. Not Clarisse. Not Rene. Not even that dumpy guy with the mole who once offered me a thousand dollars for my hair."
"You mean my great uncle Jean-Paul?"
Michael fiddled with his fringe nervously. "Yeah, he's not still around, is he?"
"Nope. Struck by lightning two years ago."
"Oh…" He made a valiant attempt at looking morose. "That's…anyway, the important thing is that we're together. That we're here with Olivia. To heck with your family."
"To heck with 'em!" called Olivia from the backseat.
The knot in my stomach loosened slightly.
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