Dinner at the Four Seasons

He knows I’m not ready, but he asks me anyway. Love won’t deny him a second time, not while he sits on bended knee, not while his family surrounds us at the dinner table, their hands clasped together ready to applaud.

“You are my world, my light. I can’t live another second without knowing you’ll be my wife,” he recites. He was never that great of a poet, but his mother and sisters awww on cue.

“Honey, you know I love you with all my heart—”

“That’s a yes!” His mother shouts. I suppose she’ll expect beans in that oven next — I, her only hope for grandchildren; her three eldest daughters yet to find loving husbands.

The table and surrounding diners erupt with congratulations; the waiter brings Pinot noir on the house.

He jumps up to kiss my face, slides the diamond down my trembling finger.

10 thoughts on “Dinner at the Four Seasons

    1. I guess she doesn’t really have the backbone to say no to him or his family, but if she does muster up the courage, it’ll probably be an awkward ride home.

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