Aunt June appeared within forty-eight hours and began making decisions about the guest room that Tyler did not remember authorizing. Uncle Ray showed up shortly after and stationed himself at the kitchen counter where he ate things he had not purchased and issued commentary on everything.
Last Sunday morning, Tyler found Charlotte in the kitchen with her back to him, making coffee in the particular concentrated way she made things — her whole attention on the task, like a
person who has spent a long time not having the luxury of being distracted.
He had the ring in his pocket. He had been carrying it for six days.
“Charlotte.”
She turned.
He got down on one knee before he had finished planning how to say the rest of it. She had covered her mouth before he finished the first sentence. She said yes before he finished the question.
Aunt June cried into a fabric swatch of potential tablecloth options for most of the afternoon. Uncle Ray walked through the kitchen eating snacks that were not his and telling anyone who would listen that he had personally predicted this outcome in 2006.
That morning, he had looked at Charlotte over his coffee and said: “I knew you two were headed somewhere the minute I saw you at prom. You had the good-trouble look.”
Charlotte smiled at him. “Good trouble?”
“Only
