“Saw it on a T-shirt once.”
“What the hell is going on, Chuck?” she says, half laughing.
“You didn’t like driving with me?” I say as I troll the parking garage for an open spot. “An hour ago you said this was the best day you’d had in years.”
“But you didn’t even talk dirty to me once in the old man’s Ford,” she says in this pouting voice that really turns me on.
I smile, pull into a parking spot, and kill the engine. “We made it. Now lean forward.”
“What?”
When Portia leans forward, I tilt the seat and pull Tommy’s present out from behind us.
“The boy wanted you to have this,” I say and hand it to her.
“Is that supposed to be Tommy and me?” Portia says. “‘Welcome to the family, Portia. You will be a great aunt? Love, Tommy.’ What does that mean?”
“Open the present.”
“I don’t understand,” she says, and the concerned look on her face makes me even more nervous.
“Open it.”
She peels off the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin Tommy’s artwork, and then—
“Is he giving me his Too Fast for Love original-pressing vinyl? Is he an idiot? Wait. Why did you drive all the way to Connecticut to give me a Mötley Crüe record?”
“Because Mötley Crüe is playing this casino tonight, and we have tickets.”
“Don’t even fuck with me, Chuck Bass.”
“I’m not.”
“Original lineup? Vince Neil. Mick Mars. Nikki Sixx. And Tommy Lee? They’re all here?”
“Yep,” I say, smiling proudly.
And then Portia’s kissing me.
When we come up for air, she says, “I’ve wanted to see Mötley Crüe in concert since I was twelve!”
“I know. That’s why I paid a small fortune for a hotel package that got us good seats.”
“But what was Tommy talking about? Welcoming me to the family?”
I pull the little red box out from my pocket, open it, and extend it to her.
Her face drops, and I can’t tell if her surprise is good or bad.
“I love you, Portia,” I say, my stupid voice shaking. “I’ve worked really hard to be clean and sober and get my life in order. And you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So will you marry me?”
She’s staring at the ring, but she hasn’t said anything yet.
“Did you want me to get down on one knee?” I say. “Was that important to you?”
“No,” she says. “It’s not that.”
“Is the diamond too small?”
“No! It’s beautiful. Perfect.”
“Once I get on my feet, in a few years, I can get you a bigger—”
“This ring is the one I want. This one right here. I never want another ring. You hear me? Never. This one is the one.”
“Put it on then.”
Portia looks at me for too long; she takes off her silver chain and puts the ring on it, next to the small goth-looking crucifix she’s been wearing ever since that nun friend of hers who died turned out to be Mr. Vernon’s mother.
“Why’d you put it there?” I say, worried now.
She kisses me on the lips, rests her head on my chest, and starts to cry.
“This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” I say.
“Can you just hold me?”
I hold her, stroke her hair, massage her back, as she cries quietly with her cheek against my chest. After fifteen minutes or so, she sits up. Her makeup has run down her face, which is bright red now.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I obviously fucked up. Maybe I rushed things a little, but—”
“I’m going to say yes, Chuck. I am. I just need some time.”
“Time? Like away from me?” An anger is rising inside of me, and I feel itchy, like I need a fix for the first time in a while.
“No, time with you.”
“That’s why I asked you to marry me!”
“And that’s why I put the ring on my chain.”
“Why won’t you put it on your finger? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not even technically divorced yet, Chuck.”
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you’re perfect for me, and I wish we had met earlier before I fucked up my life. And I’m damaged—and I’m not sure if I will ever be undamaged. And—”
“I’m damaged too,” I say. “Crazy damaged!”
“And yet you are so brave—and romantic, putting all of this together,” she says. “So much stronger than me.”
“So I completely fucked this up. That’s what you’re saying?”
“No. This is all perfect. Today. You. Perfect for me. And we are going to enjoy this. Mötley Crüe. Shit. It’s like you’re some heavy-metal Prince Charming, making all my dreams come true. I’m the one who’s fucked up. But I’m working on it, and you’re helping more than I deserve. So I’ll wear the ring close to my heart for now, we’re going to get a room here, I’m going to make love to you like never before, we’re going to see the best metal band ever, and then we will continue on together. And at some point, I’m going to put this ring on my finger and marry you. I promise. I fucking promise you, Chuck. You’re just going to have to trust me on this. Can you?”
“So you’re saying that we go on as a couple, you wear the ring around your neck, and at some point in the future—once you sort a few things out—you put the ring on your finger and we get married? That’s your answer.”