Page 19 of Consummation

“What time is it over there?” I type.

“Almost 4:00 a.m.”

I look at my watch and do a quick calculation. They’re ten hours ahead.

“Are you just getting to bed or just waking up?” I write.

“Been lying here wide awake for hours while Sarah’s been sleeping next to me, blissfully unaware my every happiness hangs in the fucking balance today. FUCK ME! I can’t stop thinking about my big speech.”

“Your big speech?” I write, chuckling to myself. “WTF. No big speech required, bro. Just say, ‘Will you marry me, Sarah Cruz?’ Easy-peasy.”

“No, you DUMBSHIT. Any man who says ‘Will you marry me?’ and nothing more when asking the woman of his dreams to be his wife is a DUMBSHIT of epic proportions. Either that, or he fundamentally doesn’t understand what makes women tick.”

“Jonas,” I write, rolling my eyes. “Don’t make poor Sarah listen to a long, drawn-out speech or she’s gonna jump off the mountain before you push her off just to get the fuck away from you.” I laugh out loud as I press send.

“I don’t need your advice this time, Josh. I got this,” Jonas replies. “I can’t ask Sarah to marry me without telling her WHY I’m asking her to be my wife or I’d never be able to look myself in the fucking mirror ever again. She’s the goddess and the muse, Josh. She deserves to know that—and to understand WHY.”

“Dude. First off, the all-caps are totally unnecessary. You’re hurting my ears. Second off, you’re overthinking this. Make it memorable, sure. Sweep her off her feet, absolutely. But too much talking and poetry and babbling about ‘goddess and muse’ shit and she’s gonna think you’ve got a fucking vagina.”

“Josh, please trust me, just this once I know more about something than you do. SO FUCK OFF.”

“Testy, testy,” I write. “Okay, okay. I’m hereby officially fucking off. Hey, can you talk instead of texting? My fingers are getting tired.”

“No. Sarah’s lying on my chest, fast asleep. I don’t wanna wake her. So enough about me and my soon-to-be-fiancée (I HOPE AND PRAY).” He attaches a praying-hands emoji. “How’s everything with you?”

I sigh, considering my reply. On our flight to Seattle earlier, Kat and I agreed not to mention the Colby situation to Sarah (and therefore not to Jonas, either).

“Knowing Sarah, she’d drop everything and immediately fly back to Seattle to be with me,” Kat said during our conversation on the plane. “I’d never do that to her—or to poor Jonas. He’s been planning this proposal for weeks.”

“Agreed,” I replied to Kat. “We’ll tell them both what’s going on when they get home. Hopefully, by then, Colby will be up and around and feeling like himself again.”

Kat looked out the window of the airplane, her beautiful face etched with anxiety. “I pray that’s true, Josh.”

I quickly tap out my reply to Jonas’ question: “Everything’s good here.” I give him a quick update on the refurb-job I’m overseeing for our twenty gyms and also regarding the buy-out of our shares of Faraday & Sons. “Oh, and escrow closed on my Seattle house yesterday,” I type. “I’m officially your neighbor. I clocked it the other day and it takes exactly eleven minutes to drive from my house to yours.”

“Awesome,” Jonas writes. “So when do you think you’ll move in?”

“Three or four weeks at most,” I write. “Don’t forget to send me a housewarming gift. Patron is greatly appreciated.”

“Pretty weird you didn’t tell Kat you’re moving,” Jonas writes. “She looked really upset about it at the karaoke bar.”

My stomach twists at the memory of that horrible night. “Yeah, thanks for blabbing about that, motherfucker. That was super awesome.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know you hadn’t told Kat you’re moving? And why exactly didn’t you mention it to her, btw? I’m still not sure I understand your thinking on that.”

“I just didn’t wanna get her hopes up,” I write, but even as I tap out the words, I know they’re douchey.

“Well, mission accomplished, huh? I’d say Kat’s hopes are definitely way, way down.”

I roll my eyes. Does my brother really need to remind me how badly I fucked up with Kat? That’smyjob—to remind Jonas whenhefucks up with women.

“Was Kat really pissed at you?” Jonas writes.

“Worse than pissed. Crushed,” I write, my heart squeezing.

“Poor Kat,” Jonas writes. “The Faraday brothers strike again.”

“More like DAD strikes again,” I write. “He’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

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