Millions of Women Are Waiting to Meet You (3 of 3 free samples)

---

COPYRIGHT
Millions of Women Are Waiting to Meet You by Sean Thomas. Copyright 2006 by Sean Thomas.
All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.

---

Previous

INTRODUCTION (CONT'D)

I think that might be the problem. I am thirty-nine. It's an age thing. When you are nineteen and impulsive you can say "Will You Marry Me?" without a thought because life is nothing but dewy promise and happy prospects. When you are older you see the pitfalls. And the divorces and separations of all your friends. And then it takes more guts to take the risk. Because you know just how big the risk is.

So if it's a courage thing, have I got the guts? I think so. I've done a few brave things in my life. I've spent a Sunday in the Outer Hebrides. I've watched an entire evening of Italian television. I think I have the cojones to do this. Let's do it! Then I notice that Claire isn't on the roof terrace. It's possible she has fallen off. But then I would have heard the crunch. Going over to the open hole in the roof, I lean past the rickety ladder that leads down to the landing.

"Sweetheart!"

Her delicate voice floats up:

"Fuck. Have you got any gin that isn't warm?"

"Er . . . no . . . erm . . . Darling??"

Another ethereal reply:

"Bollocks. No ice, either."

"Could you come up?"

"Just getting some more glasses . . . "

Moments later she reemerges, her pretty blonde head coming up the ladder, like an albino meerkat scanning the savannah. She periscopes her head, then sees me and laughs. When she is safely on the roof again we sit down on the ledge side by side together and . . . it just happens.

I ask her.

What I say is this:

"Would you marry me?"

I wait. Claire is staring at me. The streetlight is white across her face. She is smiling. Gratified, I sit back. I've done it. I have committed myself. I have made that commitment I have been fearing all my life, yet wanting all my life. And it feels GOOD.

I notice that Claire is still smiling. Then she says:

"What?"

I am taken aback by this. When you ask a girl to marry you, there is a very small number of possible answers you expect to receive. "What?" isn't really one of them.

Claire shakes her head, then she clocks my frown and says, "Sorry, babe--couldn't hear you." Her head tilts back, indicating the air-conditioning unit, which is loudly buzzing as it goes into overdrive. It must be a hot night down there in the pizza restaurant.

She grins. "Anyway. Whatcha say again?"

OK. To hell with it. I've done it once. I can do it again.

"Claire . . . what I was saying was . . . was . . . how do you feel . . . you know . . . about . . . " I close my eyes and then I open them again, " . . . about marriage?"

There. Claire looks at me and nods and says:

"Well, I've always wanted to get married. I suppose. But nobody's ever asked me. Ah well!"

She lifts her glass of gin and chinks my glass. And then it strikes me. Oh God. She hasn't understood. I've screwed it up again! "How do you feel about marriage?" What was I thinking of?

Right. Stapling my manhood to the mainsail, or whatever it is Shakespearian heroes do, I decide to have one last attempt. I think I've got one last bash left in me, and if that doesn't work I'm gonna seriously hit my flatmate's lukewarm gin.

"No, Claire, what I mean is: Would you marry me?" I pause, and then for emphasis I add: "What I am saying is: Will you marry me? Will . . . you . . . marry . . . me?"

Silence ensues. Even the pizza restaurant air conditioner seems to go into a respectful hush. Claire is staring into space, ahead of her. Her face is blank.

And then it thumps me. Of all the possibilities I have been entertaining, one, the most likely one, the obvious one, hasn't entered my stupid head. She's going to say no. Of course. Of course she's going to say no. Natürlich. Why the hell should she say yes? I might love her dearly, and I believe she loves me, but there are so many reasons why she will say no.

Not least, the fact that we met on the Internet. Can you, should you, propose to someone you met via a broadband connection? Can you find true romance in a relationship that was first established through an underground cable?

Well, can you?

My heart sinks. I look at Claire. She still hasn't said a word. She looks kind of sad. It's obvious now. She is going to say no. And as she turns her beloved head and gazes at me, I realize I cannot blame her for saying no. I'm ten years older than her. I've had a very checkered love life. I'm a man and she's a woman. We're too different. Asking a woman to share her life with a man is like asking a zebra to shack up with a wineglass. What was I thinking?

Suddenly, I'm almost angry. If Claire is going to say no, I wish we'd never met. I almost wish I'd never started seeing girls, never become pubescent, got into love. There's just so much pain in romance; so much weirdness and confusion in sex. I could have become a monk, or a lighthouse keeper. So much easier.

Claire is still staring at me. I am thinking of the moment this all began. I am thinking of that meeting nearly two years ago, and everything it led to. I am also thinking about love, and life and sadness and hope. And I am wishing we could just get a Four Seasons pizza.

Previous