Page 95 of Pregnant By the Playboy
“Soon I’ll be too big for you to do that,” I say.
“I’m sure I’ll manage.”
I look at the clock. “It’s not even seven, and it’s Saturday.”
“I’m aware. But what if I’m bringing you to a cheesecake buffet?”
This is a good point. Probably not true because if so, he’s just ruined the surprise. But perhaps it’s something equally good.
I get dressed and curse the fact that pregnancy doesn’t allow me to start my day with three cups of coffee.
We’re out the door ten minutes later without eating breakfast, but Vince is carrying a picnic basket, so apparently food is coming with us.
Good. I used to skip breakfast sometimes, but no longer.
A car is waiting for us outside his building, and it takes us west, dropping us off on Parkside Drive.
We walk into High Park. It’s a little chilly at this hour, but Vince puts his arm around me and it’s not so bad. I haven’t been here in years. We pass the adventure playground, which reminds me of a castle, and I imagine him catching our child at the bottom of the slide.
Next, we pass cherry trees at peak bloom.
Ah. That’s why we’re here. To see the cherry blossoms before the park gets busy. A few people are walking their dogs or jogging, but it’s not crowded.
Yeah, okay, maybe it was worth waking up for this, even if the sky is a little gray.
We’re approaching the pond when Vince stops walking and puts down the picnic basket.
“I want to take a picture of you,” he says. “You’re pregnant and cute, remember.”
I make a show of rolling my eyes, but I pose beside a cherry tree and hope I can smile properly at this time on a Saturday morning without any coffee.
But I’m with Vince, standing under a blossoming tree, and it’s kind of magical here.
And then he gets down on one knee, and I freeze.
Oh, no.
He pulls something small out of his pocket. I know exactly what it is.
Sure enough, he opens up a velvet box, revealing a ring. It’s white gold or platinum, with a sensibly-sized diamond. It’s just the sort of engagement ring I’d want.
And it scares the crap out of me.
“Marissa Chan,” he says, smiling up at me, “will you marry me?”
This time, I know he’s not joking.
This time, I don’t kick him in the shin.
I cover my mouth with my hand, and I shake my head.
“Marissa?” he says.
Perhaps he thinks I’m overcome with joy.
I slip to the ground, and I keep shaking my head.
He reaches out to steady me. “Marissa?”
