Page 134 of Proposal Play
They smile warmly and say in unison, “We know.”
Carlos squeezes my shoulder, shifting gears. “How was dinner the other week? I trust the cilantro made the meal?”
“Of course it did,” I say, impressed but not surprised with Carlos’s finesse with herbs—he works in finance, with a focus on restaurants and the food-service industry.
“Oh!” John says excitedly to Carlos. “You should give him a recipe with rosemary next time. Your rosemary is to die for.”
Carlos’s deep brown eyes light up. “I detect no lies in that statement. I’ll drop some off tomorrow.”
“With some vitamins,” John adds with a laugh.
Carlos laughs again, a warm, loving sound that tells me they aren’t making fun of Asher. “Yes, since we already have plenty.” Carlos turns to me, explaining, “He sent us some vitamins the other week, even though we told him we’re all set.”
And Asher sent me neck exercises late last night and set an alarm on my phone to make sure I did them. But I don’t add that, though the neck stretches were, admittedly, helpful. Still, I don’t know what to make of Asher’s concerns. Especially since John looks great, and I have no idea why Asher’s worried about osteoporosis, except well, he’s kind of a worrier, and I suppose you can’t tell anyway if someone has it just by looking.
But I file away the fact that they already have the vitamins Asher was so determined to get them. I don’t say anything though, since it’s not my place to ask. Except, it already seems I have the answer to one question—does Asher worry a lot about your health?
He does.
“So tell us all about the mural job,” Carlos says. “We’re so excited for you and it sounds like it’s leading to all sorts of things.”
“Asher said you’re getting new gigs from it,” John adds. “He was really excited when he got the cilantro. Such a huge break for you.”
It’s happening again. My throat is tightening, and it’s not only from the fact that Asher told them about my lifeand career. But from the fact that they not only remember, they also care enough to ask me.
I tell them about the café where I’m finishing the tree painting tomorrow, then a request from a new night market to carry some of my decorative mirror designs, and even some requests from galleries to look at my pop art kiss portfolio, and it’s so nice to share with his parents. They dote on me and treat me like their real daughter-in-law and it’s almost embarrassing how much I love it.
But I love even more the reaction my jersey gets when Asher races onto the ice at the start of the game against the Los Angeles Supernovas. I rise and cheer him on with everyone behind me seeing the custom-made jersey—custom made for one woman only.
Me.
It has his number and his name, like all the other Asher Callahan jerseys.
But this is the only one that saysMrs.in front of his last name.
Carlos hoots when he sees it. “Damn, he likes claiming you,” he says.
“He really does,” I say, and once again, I feel like a part of their family, and I love it far too much for my own good. I can’t let myself get too caught up in the moment.
“Besides, it’s a damn good name,” John says, and Carlos laughs, like they have an inside joke.
“That’s why we picked it, babe,” Carlos says to his husband.
That raises an interesting point. Do both his dads have the same last name? I don’t actually know, because do you really need to know your friends’ parents’ names? “Did you pick that last name for Asher? Rather than use a hyphenated name?”
Carlos grins. “Actually, neither one of us wanted a hyphenated name, so we picked a new last name and moved our given names to middle names, and that way the three of us could have the same last name.”
My heart swells. It’s just a name, but the gesture and the reasoning fills my heart. “That’s lovely,” I say.
They both smile my way. They invite me to their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary dinner in a few weeks’ time, and they don’t stop including me for the rest of the game. They involve me in everything. From their discussions about their favorite shows—they’re hooked onFirst Datestoo—to trade rumors surrounding Miles’s younger brother, Tyler, who plays for the Supernovas, as well as their predictions for when that trade might be. “Trade deadline just passed. Bet they get him in the off-season though,” John says confidently.
Oh! Maybe that’s the trade Eleanor was dropping hints about. Possibly she was discussing it, but it didn’t come to pass before the deadline? Then I laugh quietly. I don’t know the ins and outs of trade machinations, but maybe she does like me if she’s dropping breadcrumbs about trades.
That makes me feel like maybe I do deserve some of the attention I’ve been getting. Asher definitely does when he scores the first goal of the game near the end of the first period. After he fist-bumps with the guys on the bench, he turns to me, locks eyes, and blows me a huge kiss.
I catch it, then turn around, looking over my shoulder, showing off the back of my jersey just for him. He mouthsMrs. Callahan.
And he looks even more pleased than he did when he scored that goal.