“Amber?” He frowned. “No, she doesn’t. She thinks I’m with my father, and I was with him earlier. He…” The frown deepened, and Tripp swallowed hard.
“He what?” For the first time, I started to get a little worried. Deuce was over seventy, with high blood pressure and a penchant for thick steaks and stiff drinks. He’d had his third heart attack at the end of last year. “Is your father OK?”
“Yes. He’s fine. But—” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his wet shoes squeaking on the wood floor. It occurred to me I had never seen Tripp this nervous or uncomfortable. On any other day, he was Mr. Confident, especially after some good scotch—brimming with all the entitled self-assurance of a handsome, wealthy, Ivy League-educated white man.
“Spit it out, Tripp,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Otherwise we can talk about this tomorrow. I’m tired, and I have to work in the morning. I’ll call you a car if you can’t drive home, because it smells a little like you’ve been—”
“Marry me, Margot!” He threw himself down on his knees in front of me. “I want to get married. To you.”
“What?” My heart was thundering in my chest. Was this for real?
“Marry me. Please. I’m so sorry for everything.” Wrapping his arms around my legs, he buried his face in my knees.
I thumped on his shoulders. “For God’s sake, Tripp. You’re drunk. Get up.”
“I’m not drunk. I know what I’m saying. I have to marry you.”
I stopped hitting him and stared down at the top of his head. “What do you mean, you have to marry me? Why?”
He froze for a moment, then recovered. “I have to marry you because I’ve realized you’re the only one for me. We’re perfect for each other. You’ve always been the one, Margot. Always.”
OK, it was a fairly pathetic display, what with the squeaky deck shoes and the bloodshot eyes and the whale shorts, but I sort of felt for him. Tripp had never been great at declaring his feelings. I wasn’t particularly a champ at it, either. “Tripp, please. Stand up. Let’s talk about this.”
“First say you’ll marry me. Look, I have a ring,” he said, as if he’d just remembered he’d brought one. From his pocket he pulled out a small black box, his fingers fumbling a bit as he opened it.
I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands. The huge, brilliant cut stone winked at me from its slender diamond band. It had to be at least two carats, with gorgeous color and clarity.
“Put it on,” he urged, taking it from its velvet cushion.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I didn’t want to marry Tripp. It would be wrong to put the ring on when I knew I was going to turn him down, right?
Because I had to turn him down. Despite what he said, we weren’t right for each other anymore, were we? I didn’t love him anymore.
Maybe I should try it on just to be sure, I told myself. I mean, what if I put it on and suddenly the hall was filled with music and rainbows and sunshine? What if I still loved him and just didn’t know it? Biting my lip, I held out my left hand and let him slide the ring onto my finger. Perfect fit. I shivered as he got to his feet.
But there was no music. No rainbows. No sunshine. Just the rain outside, the sound of those squeaky deck shoes, the puddle they were leaving on my nice wood floor, and those infernal whale shorts.
Sighing, I looked at it on my hand one last time before starting to pull it off. “It’s beautiful, Tripp, but I can’t—”
He covered my hands with his, preventing me from removing the ring. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You have to marry me.”
Annoyed, I yanked my hands away and slipped the ring from my finger. “I don’t have to do anything.”
“I’m begging you, Margot. Please.” His voice cracked, and in his eyes I saw real desperation. I hadn’t seen that in him since—
“Tripp,” I said slowly. “Is something going on with you?” Years ago, Tripp had struggled with a gambling addiction, racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt his father eventually had to pay off. But as far as I knew, he’d stopped the compulsive betting by the time we were together. And why would that prompt him to propose to me, anyway?
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No. Honestly, Margot. It’s just that I’ve been so miserable and lonely since we broke up.”
“You didn’t look miserable or lonely.”
“I was. Really, I was. And I was a total asshole to you.”
“Well, we can agree on that, at least.”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled me into an awkward hug, but I kept my arms at my sides, the ring caught in one fist. “We’re so right for each other, you know we are. We make sense together. And we’re both going to be thirty soon, so we should stop dicking around.”
Pushing him away, I stood back and crossed my arms again. “That is not romantic. At all. And you’re the only one who’s been dicking around.”
“I’m sorry. I’m bad at this stuff, you know I am. But…but…” He looked inspired for a second. “You complete me, Margot.”
Battling the urge to call him out on his blatant pilfering of Jerry Maguire, I grabbed the ring box and (somewhat reluctantly) tucked the ring back inside. “Listen, this is crazy. We’ve been broken up for over a year. You can’t just show up out of the blue and propose.”