It's important to Ethan that he document his church attire.
In a crisp white shirt and striped tie, he looks like a young congressman. “An upstanding American guy,” he tells himself in the old man voice he normally uses to mock his father, tightening a tie in front of his bedroom mirror. It's important that he document his arrival, finally settling on an image of himself giving a thumbs up in the parking lot. And it's important that he document himself in relation to Abby Giles, who fidgets with her itchy cardigan in the pew behind him, mostly unaware of his discreet couple selfies.
His plan – to take Abby on a surprise walk after church down along the river – runs into complications right away. As the congregation files out of the building, she follows her sisters toward the door while he is pulled aside by the pastor.
“I just wanna put this out there,” the older man says in the breezy, disarming voice he uses to communicate with the youth. “If you ever need anybody to talk to, I'm here.”
“Uh huh.” Ethan watches Abby Giles stroll into the sunlight. Sweat explodes from pores above his eyebrows.
“Did you hear me, Ethan? I said, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Angela appears just in time. “Jacob!” She leads the pastor away by his arm, peering back only to mouth a single message to her son: don't fuck this up.
Ethan hunts for Abby Giles in the parking lot. Wide strides, crackling eyes. He spots her right away, milling about with her family. The Giles brood, sprawling and blended, at best entertaining and at worst a liability, is the trickiest thing about Abby. There's her once-single mother, warm and maternal, who still comes across as somebody powering through a difficult life, though she remarried a scrawny banker years ago who provides for her three daughters. They live in a big old house off Greene Street and drive to church in a Lexus, but her mom still wears her old second-hand wardrobe and laughs too heartily as Ethan approaches.
“Hi, Abby.”
Abby looks him up and down. Probably admiring his fashion choices. “What do you want?”
“I want to take you for a walk.” He turns to her mother, always a suave move. “Do you mind if I borrow Abby for a bit?”
“Well I just don't know.”
“It's fine, mom, god. It's fine-uh.” Extra syllables at the end of Abby's words are never a good sign. “Seriously, just let me deal with this.”
Ethan's smile hasn't waned. “I'll drive her home, Mrs. Giles. You don't have to wait.” Perhaps his smile is inappropriate. He broadens it just in case. “You can trust me.”
Finally Abby's family relinquishes their grip, and she silently falls in step with Ethan. The path along the river, only a five minute walk from the church, is usually deserted and today is no exception. Shallow water peters through a slippery jumble of rocks and fallen branches. Leaves on imposing maple trees have begun to change, forging a blazing green and yellow path between bridges old and new. Their shoes sink into veiny mud. Ethan reaches for Abby's hand but finds it limp as a fish.
She breaks the stillness. “What did you want to talk about?”
Ethan pauses to tuck a strip of Abby's hair behind one ear. Out here, alone, he is free to focus on her imperfections: the synthetic fabric of her cardigan; her new dark hair color that looks so much more somber than the red; the scent of weird fruity lip gloss infused with cigarette smoke. “Do you forgive me for what happened?”
“That's what this is about?” Indignant crossing of arms. “I don't even know what to say. The whole thing has been uber embarrassing. Humiliating, really. Like, I know we agreed that we weren't exclusive, but you did that in front of everybody. The whole world. Why?”
“I do want to be exclusive. Isn't that what you want?”
“I don't know. If I say yes, then what happens?”
Ethan goes in for the kill, uncrossing Abby's arms and pressing his lips against sticky gloss. “I love you, Abby. Don't you love me?”
Abby buries hands into sweater sleeves. Newly shortened limbs cover her face. “It's a big question and I wish you hadn't asked me because now I have to think about it.”
This is not going as planned. Ethan pries Abby's hands from her red face and caresses them lightly, a move he learned and perfected a few years ago with this very girl. He feels his words hurtle toward her, aware of their power. “I'll give you something even bigger to think about.” He clumsily drops to one knee. Wetness seeps through wool pants.
Abby's eyes widen. “What are you doing?” She takes a step back; she must be in shock.
If he doesn't get this over with soon, his pants will be ruined. Ethan pulls a small box from his pocket and opens it. His mother purchased the ring in Chicago yesterday, and must have gone with the largest rock she could afford. Flat and round, it gazes toward the sky, searching for sun. When it finally catches a ray, the light blinds Abby, just for a moment. From his breast pocket, Ethan's phone vibrates, no doubt his mother texting to check in. “Goddammit, Abby. I'm saying we should get married.”
“I can see that.”
Though Ethan is no expert on proposals, having only seen them in movies, he expected joy. He imagined Abby breaking down in tears and throwing her arms around him and screaming yes, yes, yes, like when they have especially good sex in his truck—one of the few places they can be as loud as they'd like. Instead, she analyzes the ring as if assessing its value. “This is a crazy sweet gesture, don't get me wrong.”
“It's more than sweet! I'm asking you to spend the rest of your life with me! We'll have a big ass wedding and invite tons of people, and we'll live in an awesome house with giant TVs and a swimming pool.”
Abby blinks into the ring. “Everything you're saying sounds grand, but...”
“And I'll take over my dad's company and you'll have more money than you know what to do with. What are the odds of anybody else offering you that? You should be jumping for joy.”
One finger reaches out and rubs the diamond gently. “It's a very nice ring...”
“It can be yours!”
“Meh, okay.”
“Meh, okay? Okay what?”
“Okay. I'll marry you.”
Focus racks. Inside the viewfinder, the autumnal setting blurs into an earthy background framing the couple. Golden flecks dance above their heads. The photographer, hidden behind tangled shrubs, lifts his camera over his head for the perfect shot. The couple embraces now in perfect focus, the boy in a paternal shawl sweater, the girl in a tiny fitted cardigan, all navy blues and grey pants and pale skin. The girl startles when the photographer, camera attached to face, rises from his hiding place, continuing to snap shots undeterred. Abby feels her hair self-consciously and rubs away mascara streaks.
“Don't be scared,” says Ethan. “I hired him to capture the moment. Let's pose for some good ones.” Abby obediently angles her chin down slightly and sucks in her stomach. She lifts one leg behind her for good measure. “Ah, there you go. There's the Abby I love.”