"Can't we talk about this, Sweetie?"
"Stop! Haven't you done enough harm?" Pressing one hand against Arnel's chest, she draped her other hand across her forehead, eyes closed. "I will not be wooed back by you and your charm. Please, let me be, My Love, My Dear...Our time has come to a close, I fear." Erica wiped back a tear, kissed her fingertips and, pressing them against Arnel's pursed lips, tiptoed backwards and collapsed on a park bench, burying her head in her arms.
Arnel stood for a moment and sighed. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath, said a quick prayer and walked over to where his fiancé sat sobbing, shoulders quaking. "Erica, Honey, I think you're being a little overdramatic here. All I said was that I didn't have any opinion about whether you should have baby's breath or pussy willows in your bouquet. If you want pussy willows, you should have pussy willows, okay? Please, let's not blow this completely out of proportion." Cautiously he laid a hand on her back. She flinched, but she didn't scoot out of reach, so he left his hand on her trembling shoulder. "I want this day to be exactly what you've always wanted for your wedding, but I can't read your mind and...honestly I've not spent a lot of time thinking about any of these details. I trust you completely to create the most amazing wedding day, right down to the smallest details like the colors for the tea lights in the centerpieces and the width of ribbon in the boutonnieres. I trust you and I want you to be happy and to enjoy this entire process. Okay?"
Erica sniffled, looking up at Arnel with red-rimmed eyes. Her lips trembled. "Really? Do you mean it?"
"Yes, I do." He slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, giving her a gentle squeeze. After a quick kiss, he cleared his throat. "And, uh, one more thing. My one request." He shifted in his seat. "Could you maybe tone down the drama? I need you to try not to break out in song every time you feel a strong emotion. I can't handle anymore theatrics." He smiled hesitantly, hoping she would smile back. She did.
"Alright, Love. It's just that...You're the man I've always dreamed of! The man to whom I can give all my love..."
"It's a happy song." She batted her eyes at him, teardrops still clinging to her lashes. "Just one more?"
Arnel sighed again. "One more and then we give good old talking a try."
I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.
Five-hundred words inspired by the quote above. And inspired by a similar, but less musical, interaction between Brett and I at BeauJo's Pizza while we were planning our wedding...something about our processional (poor Brett sat there dumbfounded...he's a patient man). Also inspired by the fact that the Frozen soundtrack is on constant repeat in our house. And, finally, I've always thought that life would be more fun if we sang more..."Would you please pick up all your socks, before I throw you out and change all the locks??"