Page 43 of #Awestruck

It was much nicer than I’d anticipated. Maybe too much. We should refuse. “Maybe we shouldn’t ...” My voice trailed off as everybody pushed past me to get inside.

My family entered the box, oohing and aahing over the leather couches, the massive big-screen TVs, and the full spread that waited for them on several dark-wood tables. Instead of having something fancy like sushi, the table was loaded with premium stadium food—like nachos, buffalo wings, mozzarella sticks, pretzels, fried chicken, and sub sandwiches.

There was no way I was going to be able to convince them that we should leave and go back to our regular seats.

I also saw Jacks tote bags on the couches with our names pinned to them. My mother opened hers, and inside were a football, a T-shirt, an umbrella, a tumbler, and a ball cap with the Jacks logo emblazoned on it. “Come over here and look!”

Each football had been autographed by the entire team. The bags for the kids had a shirt in their size, a tiny rubber football, and a stuffed Paul Bunyan, the Jacks’ mascot.

It was really, incredibly thoughtful. And nice. And unexpected.

Another chunk of my protective barrier came crashing down.

Cassidy went around the room, putting paper wristbands on everybody. “These will allow you to come and go on this level.” Then she approached me. I offered her my wrist, and after she had put the band on, she said, “Ms.Bailey? May I speak to you alone?”

“Yeah, of course.” I followed her out into the hallway, and she handed me a small box wrapped in bright-purple wrapping paper.

“Mr.Dawson asked me to give this to you in private.”

She walked away, and I waited until she was out of sight before opening it. Inside I found a jewelry box.

And in the jewelry box was an engagement ring. Even though I knew our situation was fake, I still gasped when I lifted the lid. The ring was sweet and simple—a platinum band with a large circular diamond in the center.

The words of the women at Tinsley’s tea party echoed inside my head, and I realized I should have thought to offer him one of my rings in order to size it. I hoped it would fit.

I took it out of the box, then slid the box into my jeans pocket. I put the ring on, and it fit perfectly. Like it had been made just for me.

Which didn’t mean anything at all. There was no hidden symbolism or metaphor here. Right?

I returned to the luxury box. On the way I threw the wrapping paper into a trash can and slipped the jewelry box into my purse, hoping no one would notice. I wanted to flash my ring for everybody to see but refrained from doing so. I was hoping they didn’t notice I’d had it for only, like, two minutes. Maybe I’d pull Aubrey aside and show it to her.

Somebody had opened the big window so we could hear the roar of the fans and the announcers the way they were meant to be listened to—not on a television screen but in real life, thundering in your ears.

My family was gathered around the food table, loading up their plates. They were all smiling and chattering away.

I’d told Evan that my family didn’t like him because of our high school situation. He’d offered up this box as some kind of quid pro quo for the pretend engagement, but now I wondered if he’d done it for other reasons. Because it was pretty clever of him to use my family’s love of football and free fried food to win them over.

“Dad, you spilled some of the melted cheese from your nachos,” Rory complained, trying to dab at it.

My father took the napkin from her and said, “Don’t worry. It’s nacho problem. I’ll get it.” We all groaned in response, as if on cue. He picked up some salsa and spooned it onto his plate, next to his nachos. “Hey, I’ll have you guys know this salsa was born to be mild.”

If he did this for another three hours, I was going to toss him out that window. Most of my family went over and claimed spots on the couches to watch the game. The kids were seated on the floor to eat so their food would have a shorter distance to fall.

Since Aubrey’s kids were situated, she came around to my right and stared at the food selection. “This is all so bad for you,” she murmured, but I didn’t notice her gravitating toward the vegetable tray. “I really love buffalo wings.”

“You know what they say. If you like it, you should put a wing on it.”

I heard my dad go, “Ha!” behind me.

“Really?” Aubrey asked.

“I’d say no pun intended, but I knew what I was doing.” I added some pepperoni pizza to my plate.

“What’s happening right now? Has Dad infected you with his cheesiness? I didn’t realize it was contagious. Or genetic. Am I going to start saying stupid things?” she asked.

“You made your point,” I said, nudging her with my elbow. “But maybe I’m just feeling a little giddy because of this.”

I showed her my ring, and she gasped, much as I had done when I first saw it. “Ashton! This is gorgeous! And it’s just so you. Nothing too frilly or fancy, you know?”

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