Futures and Frosting Read Online Free PDF Page A

certificate to the Terrace Club
restaurant right at the park so we can have dinner to celebrate,” I say with a
smile as I grab my non-toilet-infested car keys off of the counter along with
my wallet.
    “If she says
yes, you mean.  Otherwise that’s just going to be the most depressing photo you
will ever have hanging on your wall and a really uncomfortable dinner,”
Drew supplies with a sad shake of his head.
    “Thank you so
much for that vote of confidence,” I deadpan.
    And now the
nerves are back.  But I won’t let them get to me.  I’ve been wracking my brain
for weeks trying to come up with a unique and special way to propose to Claire,
and when she mentioned casually that she’d never taken Gavin to an Indian’s
game, I knew it would be the perfect setting.  It will be in front of thousands
of people and our son will be there to witness it.  What could be better than
that?  And really, what woman wouldn’t love it?
     
    ~
     
    During the sixth
inning is when everything went to shit.  Aside from the Drew-induced nervous
stomach I suffered from during the first five innings, we are having a great
time.  Gavin is amazed by the ballpark and the Indians were up by seven.  As my
knee bounces up and down, and I force myself not to buy another hot dog to give
myself something to do because eight ballpark hot dogs is where I draw the
line, I try not to think about the fact that I never asked Claire’s father for
her hand in marriage.  That is something people still did nowadays, isn’t it? 
Would George be mad at me that I didn’t have a formal sit-down with him to
discuss our upcoming nuptials and whether or not he approved?  And now that I
have said the word, “sit-down,” I am having flashes of George wearing a
three-piece suit and fedora staring at me across a plate of half-eaten linguini
while he steeples his fingers under his chin and then excuses himself to go to
the bathroom so he can get the gun he hid behind the toilet and shoot me in the
head.
    “Leave the gun.
Take the cannoli!”
    A few people in
the row in front of us turn around to look at me quizzically and I just shrug. 
They won’t judge me if they know my future father-in-law is a mobster who wants
me dead for not going through the proper channels to marry his one and only
daughter.
    Claire is too
busy arguing with Gavin about how a third bag of cotton candy will not, in
fact, give him superpowers no matter what he saw on television so she has no
idea about the minor freak-out I had going on.  Not that I would talk to her
about it anyway.  This is supposed to be a surprise—a huge, life-changing surprise
that could make or break our future.  Or my kneecaps if George decides he
really does hate me.
    I continue my
manic foot tapping as Jose Cabrera goes up to the plate and repeat the words I
plan to say to Claire in my head.
    I never
thought I’d find you again…you are my heart and soul and my reason for
living…every moment I spend with you is like-
    Claire’s
laughter breaks my concentration, and I glance over to see her pointing to the
outfield and snickering with a few people sitting around her.
    “Oh my God,
would you look at that!” she exclaims.
    I glance out
beyond third base to see what has caught her interest.  When I see what
everyone else is staring at, my stomach plummets all the way to my toes and the
eight hotdogs I just consumed threaten to make a reappearance in a totally
unflattering way that won’t be near as much fun as dancing meat singing the
Oscar Mayer wiener song.
    There, televised
on the jumbotron for all of Progressive Field to see, is a guy down on one knee
somewhere by the first base line holding up a ring box to a hysterically
sobbing woman with her hands over her mouth in shock.  In big, jumbotron-sized,
blinking red letters below their picture are the words, “Crystal, will you
marry me?  Love Rob!”
    Claire snorts
and shakes her head.  “What a tool that guy is.  How cheesy can