Other things? What other things? Manning had a terribly sweet habit of putting me first all the time. He’d once canceled his workday to drive me into Pomona when my car had broken down the morning of an exam—one reason I’d started staying at school before anything important. Then he’d picked me up at the end of that week in my newly fixed car. Any night I was home to make dinner, he stopped everything the moment I called for him, even when he was in the zone. In the bedroom, my needs came first—literally. If he was thinking about something other than me or work, I couldn’t say I blamed him—but it was out of character. “What things?”
He looked up at the ceiling, blinking a few times as if choosing his words. “I like to think one of the lessons I’ve learned over the years is that perfect doesn’t exist. The day I marry you, finally hearing you’re my wife will be enough, but I can’t help that I want it to be as close to perfect as possible.”
My nerves fizzled out. I thought we’d moved on from this. At first, Manning had stayed away because he was afraid he’d ruin me. Then, it’d taken him years to bring me to the home he’d built us due to some ridiculous expectations he’d invented. I hadn’t needed perfection then, and I didn’t now. I just needed Manning. I couldn’t help feeling as if this was a setback for us. “I don’t need some grand-gesture proposal, Manning. Ask whenever you’re ready. Then, we can go to City Hall for all I care.”
The way he scolded me with a simple look, I could see City Hall was not an option.
“I don’t need or even want perfect,” I continued. “Especially if it means you’re going to put distance between us the way you have in the past.”
His expression eased. “Let me rephrase. I don’t need perfect. All I care about, and I think you want this, too, is that the wedding is us. And we are far from perfect.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”
“I never want you to look back at that day with any regrets.”
“Are you kidding? How could you think . . .” Regret. The meaning of his words dawned on me. When Manning spoke of regret, it was usually in regard to one thing. “Is this about my family?”
He scratched the bridge of his nose and said, “They should be there.”
“We’ve been over this. They don’t want to be there, and I’ve made my peace with that.”
“So you’ve talked with them about this?” he asked.
He knew I hadn’t. I spoke to my mom and Tiffany even less frequently than I had when I’d lived in New York. I couldn’t just come out and tell them I was with Manning. Not only did the idea of it make my stomach churn, but it wasn’t news to break over the phone. On the rare occasion we did talk, keeping them in the dark about the most important part of my life felt like lying. It was easier not speaking to them at all.
Not bothering to hold back a scowl, I started to get up. “I haven’t, but I guess you have.”
Manning tugged me back onto his chest by my elbow. “Your dad and I mainly talk about my business. He has no idea I speak to you, as you know.” He sighed. “My point is that you don’t know what they want. You’re using that as an excuse not to make the first move.”
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” I asked. “If I don’t make up with my family, you won’t marry me?”
“Come on now. You know there’s nothing in the world that can keep me from making you my wife. I’ve just begun to realize that it’s more important for you to have your father walk you down the aisle than it is for me to get what I want as soon as possible.” The fire popped beside us as Manning tilted his head. “If it means waiting until you realize it, too, I’m willing to do that.”
The idea of my father, who’d wanted nothing to do with me for over a decade, walking me down the aisle was so painful that my nose tingled with unwelcome tears. It would never happen. It wasn’t an image I’d been prepared for, and Manning had lobbed it at me without warning. This time, I managed to get up before he could pull me back. “Then I hope you’re prepared to wait a while.” I covered myself with a throw, tucking it under my arms. “It’s not as if I haven’t thought about having them there, but I don’t see how it would work.”
“It’s not as impossible as you think,” he said, sitting up. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”