Sometimes it was me staying awake to listen when he worried about his father’s health.
Sometimes it was an apology after a foolish argument about dirty dishes.
Our relationship became stronger as it became more ordinary.
One evening, nearly a year after the curtain incident, Caleb took me back to the little taco stand where we had eaten our first dinner together.
He was unusually quiet.
I looked at him suspiciously.
“Are you about to tell me something terrible?”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Did you break my car?”
“No.”
“Did you buy another screwdriver?”
“Willa.”
“All right. I’m listening.”
He reached into his jacket pocket.
When he opened his hand, a small ring box rested in his palm.
I stopped breathing.
“Caleb…”
He stood beside the table.
“I know our story hasn’t been easy. I know we started with feelings we didn’t understand, and then we spent months dealing with things neither of us deserved.”
