Page 48 of Ripped & Shipped
“Those two words.”
“Yeah. Those words. I do. I really do.”
“Well, congrats! I’m so happy for you both. Sorry I was … weird. Probably all the junk food I ate short circuited my brain.”
“Oh my gosh, yes! The junk food with Drake! How did it go?”
“I’ll fill you in, but first, go get cozy. I want to hear all about this proposal.” I pause, smiling up at Meg. “You’re getting married.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we are.” She turns to head upstairs and shouts back over her shoulder, “And I want you to be the maid of honor, of course!”
Meg comes back down in a pair of sweats and a loose T-shirt. I’m still carefully sprawled on the couch, feeling like a mama sloth who just raided a Taco Bell.
No. More. Junk. Food.
Meg sits on the loveseat across from me and pulls her legs up under herself. The ring is still on her finger.
“I’m happy for you. You know that, right?”
“I know you are, even though that was definitely one of the weirdest reactions to an engagement I’ve ever heard of.”
“Sorry. It’s me, not you.”
She laughs.
“Oh, I know. It’s you. All you.”
Meg tells me all about the proposal. She and Joe went to get a steak dinner. Then he drove her out to watch the sun set. He had a picnic blanket laid out under twinkle lights strung in the trees on a friend’s ranch. He served her dessert there, on the blanket, while the two of them watched the sun go down. Just before it dropped behind the horizon, Joe turned to Meg, raised onto one knee, and pulled the little black box out of his pocket. The things he said to her almost brought tears to my eyes. Though I’d probably cry ketchup and nacho cheese sauce after today’s eating frenzy.
Meg said yes before Joe even finished asking. Then they stayed out there under the stars, holding one another and talking about their future together and how lucky they were to have found one another.
After hearing Meg describe the proposal, I’m certain she and Joe are right for one another—in love, and ready to commit for life.
This old song by Queen runs through my head:Another One Bites the Dust. I can’t remember what that song was really about, but in my life, it’s about people moving on and finding their happily ever afters while I remain here on the island of one that is Ella Mae. At least it’s a fashionable island with great taste. I’ll always have my knock-off Prada and my poodle purse. And my followers. I’ll always have them.
“So,” Meg asks. “What about this day with Drake? Tell me everything. And how are the responses from your followers?”
I fill Meg in on Drake, the weird way he complimented me, his hugs that lasted a little too long for comfort, the fun we had with the drivers. I tell her about Andy, and the way Drake tipped each driver a little extra. No wonder I’m exhausted. After a while, Meg moves to sit next to me so we can watch a few clips of the live videos together. Then we scroll comments.
“What’s with this guy?” Meg asks, reading a comment aloud from beefitupfitnessdude.
“I don’t know. He’s probably harmless, but he makes comments like that every post lately—about how he wants to meet me, be with me … How he’ll rub my feet if they’re sore … He’ll take care of me. You know. I get that from guys who don’t know me. Once they know me, well … You know how that goes.”
“Okay, no. Most guys we know don’t really know you. They know the Ella Mae that parades around town making videos and being over-the-top to please her followers. They don’t know this side of you—at home, Ella Mae. Though, they should. It’s not like you’ve hidden your huge heart from everyone.
“You’ve always stepped in when asked. If they could see past the age-old lines in this town, they’d realize you helped Jayme get her contract with Heracles Publishing. Jayme probably wouldn’t even have a book deal if it weren’t for you. You stepped in to shoot the photos for that fireman calendar and didn’t even ask to be paid for a full day’s work.
“You always pitch in. You’re never mean or catty. You build people up. You may be an acquired taste for a bunch of provincial small-town people. But you’re awesome.”
I can’t help smiling. I wish I saw myself the way Meg sees me.
“You’re sweet.”
“I am. But that’s beside the point. I’m telling you the truth. If those men, well, most of them are married now, but if they knew you—the real you, which includes your over-the-top, super-fun side, but so much more—they’d be lining up to get a chance with you. Plus, you’re drop-dead gorgeous. All the fire emojis, girl. And you know I mean that. Besides, Jimmy Shaller always wanted you.”
“Oh my gosh! Do not bring him up!”
We both devolve into a fit of laughter.
