By the time I exit the shower I have my mental game back in check, and I know what I have to do. I pull my phone out of my purse quickly and fire off a text.
I’m sorry, too. I can’t do this.
I breathe deeply the second it’s done.
Settled.
A decision feels good, and when I turn to see Trevor struggling to link his cufflinks in his white dress shirt, I am overcome with certainty that I’ve made the right move. Granted, it followed a laundry list of wrong ones, but I was sensible in the end.
With my towel wrapped tightly around my chest, I move toward him, and reach for his arms to help him. He smiles at me with the kind of look that says we’ll be doing this—me helping him dress, fix his tie, button his cuffs—for the rest of our lives.
Once his shirt is secured, he reaches his fingers into my wet hair and slides the strands from my face, pulling me close and kissing me softly on the forehead. I shut my eyes at his touch and breathe him in once more.
“You are good to me, you know?” he says, his lips still pressed to my head. I nod in response and reach around his body to hold him tightly. “I’m sorry I’m not there, but I can’t wait for you to join me here. I think you’ll be happy…we’ll be happy.”
I nod again and squeeze him tighter, buying into everything he’s saying. Somewhere in my mind, I knew it was coming, but despite the alarms in my head, my stomach still drops into my feet when Trevor slides down on one knee in front of me and reaches into his pocket.
Things are suddenly blurry, and my eyes are swimming in tears. I’m holding my hands over my mouth when he opens the box and shows me the gigantic diamond ring. I feel sick, my body almost on the verge of convulsing, but I manage to hold it all inside while he speaks.
“I bought this before I knew about the job here in Washington, and this isn’t exactly how I wanted to ask, but I just can’t wait any longer,” he says, his hands shaking with nerves as he pulls the silver ring from the black velvet and holds it out for me between two fingers.
A ring. Such a simple thing—a piece of metal and a stone—it’s what I’ve wished for, for months. Yet staring down at it has me wishing it away. My mind is racing, and somewhere inside I’m rejecting this. I ignore the battle playing out inside my heart and act on autopilot, reaching forward so Trevor can take my hand.
What am I doing? I don’t know why I’m giving him my hand, so willingly, but it’s the right thing to do. I can’t imagine not giving him my hand. He slides the ring on my finger, and the metal is cold against my skin, the giant rock strange against my thin fingers. Suddenly my hands look like someone else’s entirely.
“I’m hoping you’re saying yes to me, Charlotte. I can’t think of anyone else that I’d rather have as a partner in this world. Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?” Trevor’s eyes are anxious, his breathing still, and his mouth caught somewhere between a smile and surprise.
I’m no longer in control of myself. It happens so fast, but the “Yes” fleas my lips, and Trevor is spinning me in circles, my towel sliding to the floor. He carries me to the bed and kisses my body everywhere, devouring me in every possible way like I’m a cherished prize that he’s just won. For all of eternity.
I don’t feel when we make love. I don’t feel…anything. I’m not even sure that I breathe, and I don’t remember the last time my lungs were full. I’m starting to think that this is my new normal, how I’m going to exist for the rest of my life—numb.
I must be smiling, because Trevor’s smile doesn’t falter the entire night. He shares our news with the Sumners at the theater, and they hug me and congratulate us, and I smile and nod and say my lines. Such a happy moment—one of life’s most important—and I feel like I’ve just traveled three years in the past back to my father’s funeral. Everyone’s face is too close, people are laughing and smiling and toasting with wine at the after-party for the play. The music and chatter is mushing together in my ears, becoming this melded noise that has me wanting to escape.
I’m suffocating.
It’s only when I sit down to catch my breath and lean forward to put my head between my knees that Trevor notices something is off.
“Babe, are you okay?” he says, his hand warm on my back, but his touch repulsing me right now. I manage not to flinch and just reach up to pull my hair to the side.
“I think…I think maybe it’s the wine,” I lie. It’s not the wine. I’ve barely finished a glass, and I can hold my liquor. But I’m not about to tell Trevor his proposal has sent me into a life-altering panic attack from which I think I may never escape. No, I can pretend for him.