He nodded his head, and with a shaky hand, he plucked a napkin off the table, wiping the perspiration from his brow. Emily handed him her water, and within a few gulps, he drained the entire glass. She looked over to his parents to gauge their reaction on his freakish demeanor and found both of them smiling like the Cheshire Cat in his direction.
Huh?
When her eyes traveled back to Dillon, he was rising from his seat, one hand gliding not so smoothly into the pocket of his pants. For the next few seconds, it was as if the sights and sounds played out in slow motion for Emily.
Her heart began to race like a frightened little mouse fleeing its predator.
Dillon pulled his chair away from the table.
Thump…
Dillon slowly got down on one knee.
Thump…thump…
Dillon produced a small black velvet box.
Thump….
Thump….
Flat line….
Beeeeeeeeeeep….
Somewhere in the midst of what Emily was witnessing, her now fogged brain registered the distant sound of other patrons letting out gleeful gasps as they watched what her boyfriend was about to do. A thick dryness—one that could easily mock the Sahara Desert—plagued her tongue. With blurred vision, she scanned the crowd—most of them holding wide smiles, some pointing in her direction, one man even yelling “Go for it, buddy,” ending his hoot with a whistle through his fingers.
Staring down at him kneeling in front of her, interminable anxiety had Emily stuttering most of her words. “Dillon…wha…what are you doing?” she whispered.
Pulling in a hurried breath, he lifted Emily’s hand to his mouth and planted a soft kiss on it, his voice quivering low. “I love you, Emily.” He cracked open the box, highlighting a Princess-cut engagement ring well over a carat in size. His eyes twinkled with what appeared to be tears. “You make me whole in every way imaginable. Would you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Still trying to process his proposal in its entirety and desperately seeking a normal pace of breathing, Emily brought her hand to his face and cupped his cheek, her voice lower than a whisper. “Dillon, can we go talk in private, please?”
Almost immediately, the smile he was wearing fell from his face, but before he could answer, his mother spoke up.
Her face contorted as if she were offended. “Surely, you’re going to say yes to my son?” she fretted.
Henry sent his wife a lethal silencing stare.
With no response, Emily bit her lip and looked down to her hands twisting in her lap.
Dillon slowly rose to his feet, offering his mother a scrutinizing glare. He reached down and gently grabbed for Emily’s hand. “Umm…okay, babe,” he said, his voice low and cracking slightly. “There’s a banquet room we could go into.”
Emily let out the air her lungs were holding hostage. She reached for Dillon’s hand, and with her head downcast in embarrassment, she followed him to the back of the restaurant. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see onlookers straightening in their chairs and quietly resuming their meals. Low whispers descending throughout the restaurant rang loudly in her ears like a high-school marching band.
Dillon closed the door to the vacant room, his unspoken question hanging in the air. The dejected look in his eyes said everything as he crossed his arms and slowly sauntered over to a window.
Emily’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it still carried across the room to where he stood, unmoving. “I just need some time, Dillon. That’s all.”
Without turning in her direction, he exhaled a weighty breath, his voice as low as hers. “I don’t understand, Emily. We’ve talked about this quite a few times. I thought you loved me.”
Emily let out a sob, despite all of her inner resolutions to keep it together. “God, Dillon, of course, I love you. I love you more than you could ever imagine,” she cried, the words tasting foul in her mouth as haunting thoughts of last night soured her stomach. The last thing she needed was images of Gavin, but it was no use. He was there lingering in her thoughts. His smile…his eyes…his laugh…everything about him further added to her confusion. Her theory about her mind not wanting him was blown to shreds. Just like that, her heart sank a little more. “We don’t even live together yet. I thought that would be our first step before marriage.”
Dillon turned to face her. “I wanted you to move in with me when you came to New York, Emily. You’re the one who didn’t want to commit to that.” As Emily tried to compose herself, he moved across the room and bridged their distance. With a trembling hand, he stroked her cheek. “I love you. This is our next step, baby. Please tell me if this has something to do with what your father did to your family. I would never do that to you, Emily. I swear to God I wouldn’t.”
Now Emily’s vision tunneled back to a memory nearly twenty years old. As much as she denied having any recollection of the man…she did. One in particular: The morning he walked out of the house and her life for good. Flashes of her confused five-year-old face looking up to a tall figure—whom even at that young age, Emily knew she loved to pieces—cascaded her mind. Her tiny arms gripping his leg in an attempt to make him stay invaded her thoughts like an unwelcomed guest. Though she tried—and Lord knows she tried—she couldn’t hold on tight enough. He was too strong for her little body to manage. She could still hear the torturous sound of her mother and sister’s cries as he drunkenly cursed each of them with words her fragile ears shouldn’t have heard.
Clinging to a teddy bear, Emily followed behind, crying out for him, as he stumbled to the front door. It was a sunny day—that’s another thing she remembered. The sun shone upon him, silhouetting his body like the angel she believed him to be, as he walked away and got into his car. She recalled thinking he would come back. He wouldn’t though. No matter how many times she sat with pretend tea out among her dolls, awaiting his arrival, he never showed up. That’s all she did—waited for someone who would never return. Gone. Vanished like a ghost. The sickening memory brought a fresh set of tears to her already soaked eyes.
However, those disturbed memories had nothing to do with her reasoning for not wanting to rush into marriage. She was scared. Actually, terrified was more like it. She needed to live with Dillon first before making any decision. At least right now, that’s the way she felt. Looking back, maybe she should have moved in with him from the beginning, but she couldn’t change the past. Nevertheless, today it came knocking on her door in many wicked forms. Though she wouldn’t allow her guilt for what she had engaged in last night to cloud her into accepting Dillon’s proposal, surely, it had her questioning her moral judgment—drunk or not.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with my father,” she whispered, staring up into his brown eyes. “I just need a few days to think this through.”
Pressing his lips into a hard line, Dillon nodded tightly. “Alright, I’ll give you the time you need.”
“Are you mad at me?” she asked, more tears spilling down her cheeks.
He shook his head and gently wiped the tears from her face. “I’m not mad at you, Emily. Shocked and confused, yes, but not mad.”
Dillon pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head, her body shaking against his as she sobbed a little more. She didn’t want to face his parents—particularly his mother—nor did she want to walk back through the restaurant. The embarrassment of it all was simply too overwhelming for her. Somehow feeling her anxiety, Dillon handed her a ticket for the valet and walked her to an exit on the side of the building.
Stepping out into a small alley, she reluctantly turned back to face him. Holding her gaze, Dillon hesitated a moment before heading back into the restaurant to retrieve her purse. His eyes held a sadness that Emily knew she had caused, and his once confident shoulders hung low. The man she had come to know as a self-assured soul lost something on this particular Sunday afternoon in late August. Her heart sank further than she could’ve ever imagined. The pain-stricken look in his eyes would forever be embedded in her memory. As he closed the door behind him, Emily’s palms felt slick with sweat, her eyes rimmed pink from crying, and her body ached with a deep sadness of its own.