Eternity's Ending (our version of events) - Book One

Xander

"The funniest thing happened yesterday," Cassie is smothering a smile as I stand at her front door.

"Really, what's that?" She keeps looking down at my hands but they are jammed into my jacket pocket.

"You're in a good mood this morning," the smile Cassie is trying to keep at bay is not going down without a fight.

"Aren't I always in a good mood?" Cassie wishes I would come out and tell her what she pretends not to know.

I can imagine her practicing her surprised face in the mirror. It promises to be an epic fail because, for all of Cassie's talents, acting is not one of them. Her face is branded with whatever she is feeling at the time.

"You seem to be in an especially good mood this morning, though. Do you have something to tell me?

"No," it comes out too fast and Cassie knows it, "but you have something to share with me so spill it. What's this funny thing that happened last night?"

She is practically jumping up and down.

"You should consider cutting back on the caffeine, Cass. You're wired this morning."

"I'm wired every morning. I'm wired all the time. How else do you think our friendship maintains its necessary balance? Someone's gotta counter your ultra-low energy."

"Touché my friend. Still, you have to admit you're supercharged today."

"Maybe you're not charged enough. I would have thought I'd be keeping you from floating away this morning," she has given away too much.

"What could have possibly happened that would have me floating? Ultra-low doesn't float."

"I don't know 'cause you never told me about this funny thing that happened!" there is an edge to her voice.

"Vincent proposed," I say nonchalantly.

Cassie's face lights up but not because of my good news. She is congratulating herself on being able to keep this secret for who knows how long. She claps enthusiastically.

"But that's not the kicker," I say.

"There's a kicker?" Cassie's dancing stops.

She knows a kicker for me can either be really good or really bad and there's no way of knowing until I tell her what the kicker is.

"Of course there's a kicker. Have we met?"

"What's the kicker?" her tone has an Eeyore quality.

"It's the perfect ring. Vincent picked the perfect ring. What do you think about that?" Cassie is aware of my accusation as I pull my hand from my pocket and show her the ring.

"I think Vincent's a keeper," she holds my hand in hers and examines the ring like it's her first time. I wait for her to take credit but she just continues on as if she had nothing to do with his choice.

"This is nice, Xander. Wow. I mean, kudos to Vincent for having excellent taste. That guy. Does he have a brother? Hell, at this point I'm even open to him having a sister."

I can count on one finger the number of times I've looked at engagement rings. I needed to pull Cassie out of the dumps two summers ago after she was cast as a bridesmaid in yet another one of her friend's weddings. Morgan, her boyfriend of three years at the time, was completely content with getting his milk for free. Cassie convinced herself that if she acted as though he had proposed; went looking for the perfect ring, scouted the perfect dress, etc. the Universe would somehow place it in Morgan's heart to buy the cow (Cassie's words, not mine). So off we went early one Saturday morning to every jewelry store within a 30-mile radius in search of the ring that would make her heart stop when Morgan presented it to her on bended knee.

Cassie didn't find anything; the Universe's way of telling her to drop the dead weight in my humble opinion, an opinion I did not share with Cassie. I, however, did find a ring that stopped my heart; a Canturi wedding band that looked like the designer played a game of Tetris with flawless diamonds. Prior to Vincent, it was my only experience with being in love. I was completely indifferent to the idea of marriage at the time so I promised to buy it for myself once I was promoted to Senior Art Director of the digital marketing firm where I worked. The promotion came on the same day of Cassie's breakup with Morgan. Instead of buying the ring, I brought us a seven-night cruise in the Greek Isles.

The ring had remained off my radar until Vincent presented it to me last night. That's when I knew they were in cahoots.

"He does have a sister, she's pretty cute. I'll give her your number," I say. "so, how is it that Vincent was able to pick the only ring that has ever even registered for me?"

"I think he might be psychic. Remember when we all went out to dinner that time and I was having trouble picking from the menu so I asked him to choose something for me. He picked out the most perfect sandwich. It's my favorite sandwich to this day. Some people have a sixth sense, you know."

"That's your real answer?"

"That's my real answer."

"And you're not going to confess your role in this whole thing? He couldn't have pulled this off without you as an accomplice."

"Didn't you see the shock on my face when you showed me the ring?"

"That wasn't shock, Cass. That was pride in your work."

"Whatever. So tell me what happened! How did he propose?"

"In typical Vincent fashion; with a lot of words I am going to have to look up this morning when we get to work. That man is as wordy as they come. But even though I didn't get everything he was saying to me, the picture he painted when he asked me was one I couldn't turn down."

We both realize I'm blushing.

"I couldn't even tell her what you said to me, outside of you actually popping the question," I laugh as Vincent feeds me ice cream in bed.

"I'm not that wordy," he defends.

"Really? Because seriously, everything you say is like poetry. Like it all belongs in the script of the greatest love story ever told. I don't know how you do it. Speak in poems, I mean," he scoops up the sliver of ice cream that escaped from my mouth during my excessive use of words beginning with P and feeds it back to me.

"I don't speak in poems, Xander."

I'm not convinced.

"Ok, if I do speak in poems, and I am not saying I do, it's only with you. In every other area I am a bumbling fool."

"I doubt that very seriously."

"It's true. Put me in front of an audience and I'm like a deer caught in headlights. But ask me how I feel about you and I'm Shakespeare. I don't know. I guess maybe it's..." he is scanning the room for a way to explain.

"It's like the painting on your wall. The artist has spent a lot of time mastering brush strokes. Whenever he gets to express himself in that way something beautiful emerges. Now, ask him to express himself in an area he has not mastered and he is on par with the rest of us who aren't champions in that particular arena. It's the same way with me only I've mastered my feelings for you and whenever I get to express these feelings, something beautiful emerges."