Method(84)

“I love you,” he says, standing, the ring hooked on his thumb as he takes my face in his hands. “I’m so undeniably in love with you. I want this, I want you to be mine, to make that promise to me. Mine. Forever.”

I’m a mess, every fiber of my being shaking with the strike of each word. He’s perfect, and he has no idea. That thought keeps running through my head as his love rips through me, striking again and again where it’s intended.

“I’m already yours.”

His tearful smile elates me. “Oh, baby, did I fuck this up, but if you can forgive me for this, we’re gold. Mila, will you marry me?”





Mila



Stirring the mixture in my bowl, tears escape me at the memory of Lucas’s proposal when the doorbell rings. Quickly I wipe them away before opening the door for my mother who spots the evidence immediately. I can see the worry on her face when she reads mine. “I’m fine, Mom. I just got a little bit sentimental.”

She lifts her shoulders defensively. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to,” I snark behind her as she bounds through the doorway with her typical air of authority scrutinizing our spacious house before turning to me. “Is he here?”

“No, he’s working. I told you it would just be us.”

“Your father sends his regrets as well. He’s got some nasty cold.”

“You told me.”

“You could call him.” Guilt riddles me. It’s the truth. I’ve been so wrapped up with Lucas and getting my footing back at work that I’ve been completely avoiding my parents. “I’ll call him tonight.” Mom follows me into the kitchen as I wash my hands and then roll up my sleeves. She looks pleased as I pour her some wine and she eyes the ingredients.

“What’s this?”

“You know what it is,” I say with a smile. “Yanni, my new boss taught me how to make it for you.”

“What a lovely surprise. Can I help?”

“I insist you do,” I say as she rounds the marble countertop and washes her hands. We spend hours drinking wine and talking about simpler times. I can see her worry as she brings up Lucas and I bat the subject away. I’m enjoying the moment, just being her daughter. She tells me a few stories I’d forgotten about when I was younger and when Lucas walks into the kitchen unexpectedly, we both have smiles on our faces. Scowling he looks between us, his expression stern as he greets my mother. “Ma?wenn,” he says sharply, and I see her flinch. It takes everything in me not to walk over and pummel him. “Lucas, I wasn’t expecting you home.”

“Funny, I remember you demanding I come,” he says, his voice full of acid. “Smells great.”

“Have some,” I grate out, plating the rich meat, vegetables, and heavy cream sauce before I thrust it toward him.

Eyeing it, he looks directly at my mother with a dead stare before sauntering off. “I’ll eat later. I’ll be in my office.” Anger boiling, I turn to my mother humiliated. “I’m so sorry.”

She’s paling rapidly as she watches Lucas’s retreating back. “Mila, what’s going on?”

“He’s just…” I shake my head. “He’s sad about Blake.”

“And this rudeness comes from his grief?”

Lucas’s voice bellows from the hall. “You can always leave if you aren’t feeling welcome.”

I gasp audibly, and my mother pushes past me. I curse as I follow her down the hall. “Have I offended you in some way, Lucas?”

He turns on his heel, and I can see from the way he’s standing there’s no going back from what he’s about to say.

“Offending me? Now, why would you think that? Because you ruined your daughter’s wedding by humiliating yourself, or the fact that you think you have some right or some say in her life after?”

My mother stands her ground. “Silly man, you’re just the husband, I created that human. I have every right to her, as much as you.”

“Should she invite you into the bedroom too so you can watch, Mom? Will that satisfy you?”

I feel slapped, and it’s obvious my mother does too. “I’ll forgive you for that, but no more.”

“Don’t bother,” Lucas says, retreating down the hall before slamming his office door.”

My mother turns to me, her eyes welling with tears as she pushes past me to grab her purse off the entryway table. “I didn’t know he felt this way.”

“I’m sorry, Mom, don’t believe it. Don’t…listen to him, he’s not himself.”

Both of us shriek as Lucas speaks from behind us, leaning against the wall with an empty lowball glass in hand, his eyes as wide as his deviant smile. “Ma?wenn, you should believe me.”

“Lucas, stop! Stop!” I scream just as my mother shuts the front door behind her. I chase her out to her car, and she turns back to me with a small tear running down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Mila. I’ve felt so guilty for that day for so long. I should have apologized to you both years ago.”

“Mom, he’s not himself, he’s immersed in this role, and he’s just being…unreasonable. Please come back inside. I’ll talk to him.”