31. An Engagement To Remember

31

AN ENGAGEMENT TO REMEMBER

QUINN

A MEMORY

Sorry, can't make it. Held up at work. Patrick's text thrusts a disappointed sigh out of me.

I'm standing behind a concessions window handing out cups of water and hot chocolate to grabby, sweaty students in ice skates and winter coats.

Across the way, on the other side of the rink, the school choir is singing, accompanied by Mrs. Birch on a keyboard plugged into an amplifier that is more static than sound, but we're making do. It's not a wealthy school district by any means so we're scrappy, and that often entails teachers taking on multiple duties beyond the classroom.

Case in point, I am now the drama club's co-advisor. As such, I helped put together this fundraiser for the spring musical, Frozen Jr. , which is off to a pretty solid start despite Patrick's absence.

That's okay. See you at home. Though I'm worried I won't see him. Since he began at Carver & Associates last year, if I arrive home any time after eight P.M., he's either locked into his work or conked out in our bed. It's silly maybe, but some nights I find myself missing him, even when he's inches away on the opposite side of the bed.

I give my uneasiness away alongside mini marshmallows in another cup of cocoa. "Thanks for lending a hand tonight," I say to Veronica, needing a change of topic.

"Oh, it's no biggie." She offers a cookie to a passing kid. "I would've been here anyway." Her head rocks back like a bug has flown in front of her face.

I'm about to ask what she means by that and what that reaction was for when a girl from my class, Katie, comes over holding a pair of ice skates that look to be about my size. "Mr. Muller, you're needed out on the rink."

I kindly maintain that I can't leave my post, but Veronica assures me she can hold down the fort.

Minutes later, confused, I skate out onto the rink on Bambi-legs. Under the sound of my heart in my ears, the opening notes of "Love Is an Open Door" ring out, then when the chorus kicks in, the doors to the rink thud open.

Patrick, surprising me, skates out onto the rink, cheeks pink and eyes bright, green scarf flapping in the breeze behind him. Effortlessly, he slides down onto one knee, stopping an inch from me. He plants himself, and then in front of a majority of Oakwood Elementary School, he pops the biggest question there is.

"Mr. Muller, will you marry me?" Patrick's blue eyes sweetly bore into mine. Veronica, off to the side, is filming this spectacle on her phone, surely so we can share the happy moment with our families after the fact.

I'm speechless. We didn't discuss this. I mean, in the abstract we have "one day when we're married" conversations like every long-term couple does, but those plans always feel far-off, something we can aspire to. I never imagined I'd be staring down the barrel of marriage so young.

Is that how I think of marriage—a loaded barrel, a threat?

Conflict crisscrosses inside me, pummeling elation into the recesses of my heart. The one emotion that can't be beaten back, though, is my love.

My love for Patrick is undeniable.

I love our life together. I love the closeness we share in our tiny, messy apartment. I love his lopsided smile and his collec tion of unstylish sweater vests that somehow look good on him regardless of the occasion. I love his willingness to take on challenges headfirst.

But do I love Patrick enough to be the husband he deserves?

Scratch that.

Can I be a husband, period?

"What do you say?" Patrick asks, his voice a gentle hook reeling me out of my mind and back into the present. Optimism shimmers across his expression.

The rink is awash with anticipation for an answer. I don't want to disappoint them, myself, or most importantly, Patrick, so I give one.

I hold out my right hand to him, beaming for everyone to see. "Yes, yes. A million times yes."