Page 11 of Twelve Days of Christmas

I laugh at my stupid tears, close the box and slip it into my pocket. “Come on, we can’t be late.”

He’s obviously surprised I didn’t put the rings on our fingers, but says nothing.

Not that I really give him time to.

I grab the pen I gave to him on the seventh day, slip it into his breast pocket without a word of explanation and hand him the two bottles of wine and the two vinyl records, telling him to put them in the box of gifts for his family.

I tell him I’ll grab our coats and meet him downstairs. When I slip into the walk-in-robe, I slip today’s present – the very best of presents – into my breast pocket.

I’m still not nervous.

Even in the car on the way to his parent’s house, I’m not nervous. I want this. I know he does. He tells me all the time. He just doesn’t know about it happening today.

It’s snowing, and it’s a beautiful Christmas day.

And it’s about to become a whole lot more beautiful.

We pull up in front of his mom and dad’s, grab the bottles of wine and climb out of the car. He’s a step ahead of me when he gets to the front door. “Cameron, stop!”

He turns to look at me, and I pull us closer to the door, out of the wind. I take the box of presents and put them on the doorstep. “I need to give you today’s present.”

“Now? Out here?” he asks, looking at me like I’m crazy. His hair is blowing, and his cheeks and nose are tinged pink from the cold. “It’s freezing fucking cold out here!”

I nod. “Yes, now. Yes, out here. You need to read this first.”

I reach into my inside breast pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. It’s thick, heavy, expensive paper, but that’s all it is; a folded piece of paper.

I hold it up between us, but before I give it to him, I tell him, “On the twelfth day of Christmas…”

He takes the paper, looking at me cautiously.

And then he opens it.

And he reads it.

And I’m still not nervous.

I fucking should be. But I’m not.

His eyes go wide, and he stares at me. He pulls back his sleeve to look at his watch, then he stares at me.

I nod. “Twelve o’clock.”

He opens his mouth; I think he’s trying to say my name. He swallows and blinks, reading and re-reading the piece of paper.

Only it’s not just a piece of paper.

It’s a wedding invitation.

To our wedding.

Finally he speaks. “Right now?”

“Only if you want to,” I tell him. “If you don’t want to, then none of what’s behind that door has to happen. We’ll just havea wonderful Christmas lunch with our family, and we can work out details later,” I tell him. “But you’ve been saying ‘I’d marry you tomorrow if I could’ since we got engaged.” I take his hand, his freezing cold hand, and look into his still-wide eyes. “I’m not asking you to marry me tomorrow, Cameron. I’m asking you to marry me today.”

And then, so fast I hardly see him move, he picks up the box of gifts, grabs my hand and drags me inside. Then the box is gone, and he’s pulling my coat off, just throwing it somewhere before he’s dragging me through the double doors into the formal lounge.

Where his family is waiting, where my Momma is waiting; all with smiles a mile wide.

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