November Surprise (22 page)

This is where the majority of the partygoers converge, because
the election results are coming in.

All of the seats are taken, so we stand near the back. I’m
watching John King work on his magic board when a co-worker of Monty’s comes
up.

“Hey, you made it!” He says.

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Monty replies. They shake
hands. Monty turns to me. “Lucy, this is Devin. He works in polio.” I’ve heard
enough about Monty’s work to know what that means. Devin must do similar stuff
to what Monty does, only for polio rather than malaria.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Nice to meet you,” says Devin, “and congratulations. When
are you due?”

“Middle of February.”

Monty puts a proprietary arm around my shoulder. “I wanted
to get her tickets to the inauguration, but the timing is just off. She’ll be
too big to fly.”

This is the first I’ve heard of this. “Really? You would
have been able to do that? Aren’t those tickets impossible to get?”

Devin, who is very tall, playfully hits Monty in the back of
his head. “Not for this guy! Everybody loves him. All he’d need to do is put a
bug in Charley’s ear, and those tickets would be his.”

I haven’t met Charley yet, but he is the host of this party.
He’s extremely high up in the foundation, and according to Monty, has all sorts
of power and connections.

“Oh well,” I say. “Maybe four years from now we’ll be able
to go.”

Monty does a double take. “Such optimism? From you? I
thought you were still unsure that Obama was going to win tonight. Now he’s
automatically getting another term?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Nothing’s automatic. But I’ve decided
it’s time to start looking at the bright side of things.”

Devin smiles and nods his head. “No time like the present,
right?”

“Exactly.”

We chat for a couple more minutes, and then Devin makes a
graceful exit to go mingle with someone else. I take Monty’s hand and lead him
outside, to the expansive backyard with a glistening swimming pool and several
dozen post lights along the walkways. The evening is cool, and super-tall pine
trees hide the night sky. If we were to walk to the end of their yard we’d be on
the edge of a cliff that overlooks the ocean, but I’m happy in the spot we’re
in.

Monty looks at his watch. “They should be calling it any
time now. Don’t you want to be by the television?”

“In a minute.” I inhale to calm the butterflies in my
stomach. I need to say this now, before other events take over the evening.
“Monty, I meant what I said about being positive.”

“Okay.” He stands there facing me, sort of like we’re about
to slow dance.

“And we really do have everything. I know that doesn’t mean
that life will always be perfect, that we won’t still have obstacles to
overcome. But we should enjoy the victories, don’t you think?”

“Of course.” He holds my hand, and I feel as fluttery as I
did the first time he ever touched me.

“So, I think we should get married.”

He lets go. “Wait. Are you proposing?”

Suddenly the butterflies morph into something heavy, and my
stomach drops. “Well, no, I was just saying how I feel…”

He puts both hands on my shoulders. “I’m the guy, Lucy. I’m
supposed to propose.”

Is that all? “I didn’t know you were such a traditionalist.”

He blows some air out between his teeth. “I’ve been trying
to work up the nerve to ask you for weeks. I even bought a ring. But I’ve been
waiting until I thought you were ready, ready to say yes. Now you’re asking
me?”

“But if we want the same thing, isn’t that good?”

His mouth sets into an annoyed little line. “You don’t get
it.”

“Then I take it back.” I toss my hands up in frustration,
and I speak loud enough that other people can probably hear, but I don’t care.
“Forget I said anything, and just go ahead and propose.”

“I can’t just forget. That’s not how it works.”

“Why not?”

Monty sighs, shakes his head and mutters, “Fine. But if this
proposal doesn’t live up to your standards, you have only yourself to blame. I
feel really unprepared.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He glances around self-consciously, gets down on one knee,
and again takes my hand in his. He clears his throat. “Lucy.” His voice is
soft, husky, and he focuses on my hand rather than my face. “I love you. And
you just…make me so happy. So no matter what life throws our way, I want to
face it together, the good and bad.” Now he meets my eyes. “Will you marry me?”

All I have to do is look at his face, so sweet and genuine,
and the emotional floodgates open. I sniff back tears, nod my head vigorously,
and manage to squeak out a “Yes.” Monty stands, takes me in his arms, and
kisses me. The kiss, passionate at first, eventually turns to a hug, and I
revel in the closeness that from here on out, will always be familiar.

“That was a great proposal,” I say, still clutching him. I
can smell his spicy aftershave, and the fabric softener in his shirt.

“It would have been better if I’d had the ring. I didn’t
bring it because there was no way I was going to propose tonight. It would’ve
ruined a great evening if you had said no.”

“I never would have said no.”

Suddenly there’s a collective cry from inside. “I think our
guy just won,” I say. For the second time in five minutes, tears of joy spring
from my eyes.

Monty leans in to kiss me one more time before we head back
to the party. It’s affectionate, unyielding, and feels like a guarantee, even
though I know there’s no such thing.

He wipes my tears away with his thumb, and I clasp his hand
with mine. He cocks his head towards the door. “Let’s go enjoy the victory.”

Together we walk inside, into
the rest of our lives.

*
* * * *

To read more about
Lucy and her views on the 2012 election, visit
http://www.novembersurprises.blogspot.com

To read more stories
about Lucy, Jack, and Monty, read
Campaign
Promises
,
also on Amazon.

For more about Laurel
Osterkamp's writing, visit
http://laurelosterkamp.blogspot.com

Please continue reading for a special bonus excerpt from Laurel
Osterkamp's newest novel,
Starring in the
Movie of My Life
—now bargain priced on Amazon.

·
      
Award Winning Finalist 2011 International Book
Awards (Women's Fiction and Young Adult Literature)

·
      
Award Winning Finalist 2011 Indie Excellence
Awards (Chick Lit)

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:

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riveting romance and drama. Highly recommended." —
Midwest Book Review

 
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deals with acceptance, love and revenge. This story will stick with you long
after it's come to an end.” (4-Star RT Rating) —
RT Book Reviews

 
“
Starring
in the Movie of My Life
is fast-paced, engaging, and a recommended read.”
—
All Books International

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Part 1

1. Melody

Winter 2006

The girl's restroom is cold, dark and empty. I feel like I'm
trespassing. Even the faint scent of cigarette smoke mixed with fruity body
spray feels forbidden, and it's how this bathroom always smells. I'm here
because I hate to pee in the company of others, and when you're in high school
public peeing is an everyday reality. Not tonight. Tonight I refuse to suffer
in any way, shape or form. So I told Axel I'd be back shortly, and I snuck up
to the English hallway, away from the noise and hustle of the school dance.
Here I can pee and primp in peace.

I flush the toilet, straighten my dress, exit the stall, and
admire myself in the grimy mirror above the sink. All my effort and suffering
has paid off. The hours spent working at Subway to buy this dress, the
strategic flirting with the most popular boy in school, the lying to my mom
about what I was doing tonight—it's all been worth it. Finally I will no
longer just be academically successful. Tonight is the beginning of my social
success as well. But even more importantly, if all goes well, I'll have a
boyfriend I can count on, and maybe even love.

I take one more appreciative glance at my expensive black
strapless gown that, combined with my ultra high heels, makes me look like a
slightly shorter Audrey Hepburn. I check that my dark hair is secure in what's
supposed to look like a loose upsweep that took no time, and head out to find
Axel. I'm startled to discover him standing right outside the bathroom, by the
water fountain.

"Hey," I say with a smile. "How did you know
I was up here? Did you follow me?"

"I figured you wanted me to follow you." He steps
closer to me, and I can smell the liquor on his breath. When did he have a
chance to drink? Was it just now, or had he been drinking before he picked me
up? I don't have much time to contemplate because in a moment he is kissing me.
Softly at first, but then his tongue is in my mouth, his slobber is on my lips.
I turn my head to the side.

"Let's go down to the gym," I manage to squeak
out.

He presses into me. "Why? Aren't we having fun right
here?"

I play along with a little laugh but gently push him away,
creating some space between us. "Well sure, but there's plenty of time for
this later. I want to dance." And I want the rest of the school to see me
dancing with you, I silently add to myself.

"High school dances are over-rated," he says. "I
want to be alone with you."

He grabs me and kisses me again. At first I kiss him back,
wondering if this is what passion is supposed to feel like. But his tongue goes
so deep down my throat that I begin to gag, and the smell of his breath does
not help. I wiggle out of his arms.

"Axel, slow down."

He smiles like he knows some wicked secret. "Don't tell
me you're not up for this. You pretend to be all prissy and shit, but I read
your notes."

It's true, I did write him sexy notes, ones filled with
ideas I got from studying endless copies of
Cosmo
—articles
like "How to Drive Him Crazy in Bed," or "His Pleasure Zones
(and there are more of them than you think!)." The last note I wrote said,
"I need some of your frontal friction to heat up my hot spot." They
all said something like that. Anyway, I would slip these notes into his locker
during passing time after second hour. Then I would see him fifth hour, where
we sit next to each other in History. He would whisper all sorts of things to
me, and I would bat my eyes and giggle, although sometimes I couldn't hear or
completely get what he was saying. Honestly, I wasn't even always one hundred
percent sure of what my notes meant as I was writing them. I am a virgin after
all. But I was just playing, flirting really. That's what flirting is.