Page 17 of It Couldn't Be You
I remembered the butterflies I felt when Jordan first held my hand as we walked in our little downtown, the way I would reread his text messages. I remembered studying a cookbook as I made him dinner all by myself. And telling my mom when we were on a family trip at the lake, “I think this is serious, Mom.” She had brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear and said, “I think so, too.”
I felt lucky that day. I still felt lucky, but like I had somehow wound up with someone else’s winnings.
Five
Katie
Call me after the party, Em!
Jordan’s Uncle was a cotton farmer who saw a considerable amount of success and liked to pour his earnings into his big farmhouse. There was an Olympic size swimming pool, a tennis court, a patio styled for entertaining, his souped-up truck, and thoroughbred dogs that ran all over his property. There was even a massive, loopy slide that splashed straight into his swimming pool. Jordan had fractured his wrist going sideways down it once.
Jordan said that his aunt and uncle liked any occasion to show these things off, or rather, “They loved to host lots of parties.”
It was his house where the family hosted every holiday party, from Christmas to Easter. But Christmas was the biggest and best. I had been excited and admittedly a little nervous because it was the first one where I was officially a guest.
I walked inside and was greeted by “White Christmas” crooning throughout the house’s speaker system. There were people chatting, holding shiny red or green paper plates stacked high with food. Kids were squealing and hiding underneath the enormous Christmas tree in the middle of the foyer. I made my way through the people and decadent Christmas decorations until I found Jordan.
He saw me and took in a deep breath. “Hey, Emma.”
I smiled at him. “Hey, you.” He was cozy in a lush green cable knit sweater and dark jeans and his blond hair was cut short.
“Merry early Christmas,” he said, then gave me a kiss on the forehead.
“Merry early Christmas,” I returned.
He pulled me in close to his side. His heart was racing, and his breathing was shallow, much like it was when we were watching a close football game or his dad was talking about the business.
He was nervous, I realized, as he anxiously smiled and asked me if I wanted hot chocolate. The hot chocolate bar at this party was enviable with a dozen tall silver carafes of steamy cocoa and various flavored marshmallows and whipped cream options.
“Are you okay?” I said, keeping my voice low for privacy.
“Sure, of course, yeah,” he said, agreeable affirmations tumbling out.
He was definitelynotokay. I wondered if he was nervous to have me around all of his relatives. If he had caught on to my odd behavior last night. Or something happened that he’d tell me about later. I tried to tune more into the party and less into why Jordan was so jumpy.
In the following hour, I was introduced to various relatives of varying degrees of closeness. I was given so many delicious plates of food. I made so much small talk that I was starting to feel like a Christmas party robot. It turned out Jordan’s family had a tradition of everyone piling into one of the family rooms to sing holiday songs while one of the uncles, or aunts, pounded away on the piano. Jordan’s dad volunteered as tribute this year, making some funny remark as he donned elf ears to play.
I was grinning, caught up in the celebration. I felt like I had somehow been written into a holiday movie. But instead of playing some holiday classic, he started playing the “Wedding March.” People started laughing, confusedly looking around at each other for answers.
“What’s this about?” someone asked loudly.
“Come on, Mark!” they jeered.
He wiggled his eyebrows at all of us and said, “There’s more to celebrate in my family this year than just Christmas.” After this remark, he started playing with more gusto.
I turned to look at Jordan to see if he knew what was going on, but he wasn’t standing beside me. I had to drop my eyes to find him because he was kneeling close to the ground for some reason. He was down on one knee. As he cleared his throat nervously, I felt my body flood with panic.
“Emma Brown,” he said. “I saw you years ago after some time apart, and my heart stopped when I saw your face. My heart still stops when I see your face.”
Funny he should say that, I thought, becausemyheart had just stopped. It felt as if my heart had plummeted right through the floor. He was proposing to me, down on one knee, with a romantic speech. Was the world playing a joke on me because of last night’s game?
I said I couldn’t say yes to a proposal from him to a room full of people, so the world decided to test me.
“You have become my best friend, Emma, and the love of my life. And now I want you to become my wife. I want us to have kids and grow old together.” He was bellowing, so everyone around us could hear.
His tone sounded like a command and not a question. I wondered if he’d even need a reply from me, or if he’d just finish his speech, slip the ring on my finger, and wish everyone a Merry Christmas.
Then it was all quiet, everyone collectively holding their breath in anticipation as he pulled a little black box out of his jacket pocket and popped it open in front of me. I swallowed hard at the sparkling silver ring peeking up at me. He probably picked this out, imagining me in it, like he did my red dress.
