LITMIR.BIZ

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as if the horizon goes on forever. To my left are the Superstition Mountains. They look like mounds of dirt, or children’s sandcastles, against the blue. My surroundings are too alive for this to be a dream.

      My heart races. Which it doesn’t normally do when I’m asleep, at least, not that I’m aware of.

      All right, I’m awake. This is not a dream. This is not a dream! But what does that mean? That everything that happened yesterday was a dream? If I’m still in the desert with Cam, does that mean that I never said goodbye to Lila? Never finished packing up the apartment? That I never told Cam no?

      Does that mean—

      I look down at my left hand. Sparkle, sparkle.

      —that I’m still engaged?

      I lean against the rear windshield to support myself. I’m still engaged! I’m getting married! I didn’t ruin it all to follow some lame plan to go to New York. When my breathing has returned to its normal speed, I slither back into my spot next to Cam. I lift his arm around me and cuddle into him. His breath smells sweet. His eyes flutter open and then closed, and he pulls me against him. His stubble brushes against my cheek and I feel giddy with relief. I can’t believe how close I came to ruining this. What was I thinking? People struggle their whole lives to find love like this. To find a guy like Cam. And I have him. How could I have thought for a second that a job in New York was more important? Was I crazy? Why did I want to live in the most alienating city in the world? With a psycho roommate—who’s going to haaaate me when I tell her I changed my mind.

      She’ll live. As long as she doesn’t slit her eye with a steak knife.

      Hurrah! I’m marrying Cam! I hug him as tightly as I can until his eyes pop open.

      “Morning, beautiful,” he says. “Love you.”

      Hurrah! He loves me! He’s in one complete emotional piece! There is no hurt in his eyes whatsoever. Officially unscarred.

      “I love you, too,” I say, my feelings for him overflowing like a closet stuffed with too many shoes. “What would you like to do now, Mr. Engaged?”

      He grins. “Since Lila is already planning the new decor for your room, I want you to move into my apartment.”

      Oh. Right. That does make sense now that we’re officially going to be a couple. Married people tend to live together. Cam has been asking me to move in for the past year, but I wasn’t ready. You don’t live with a man because you want to save money on rent. You live with a man because you want to spend your life with him. And since I wasn’t sure what my ultimate plans were—staying in Arizona or hightailing it out of there—I didn’t want to commit to a shared couch, or a plant, or a lease, or anything we would have to divvy up six months later. But now the decision is made. We’re getting married. No need to divvy up the couch pillows. Ever. “All right. I’ll move in,” I say, then press my lips into his. Thank God I didn’t tell him no. Who cares about a job? I’m obviously afraid of being happy. My parents have screwed me up for years and years. I pull back and look at my watch. “It’s already nine. I don’t know how we slept in so late in a truck bed. I don’t know how we even fell asleep.” I guess sleeping out in the desert was a cool thing to do. Something to tell our kids about the night we got engaged. More impressive than the How We Met story. At a friend’s party in college. Boring. “What happens now?”

      He rubs my two hands between his. “Now we get to tell everyone.”

      Fun! Is there really any better announcement than a ring-sparkling, smile-beaming, guess-what-we’re-engaged one? I think not. “Who do we tell first? Should we call? Should we drop by?”

      “Let’s stop by my mom’s. It’s Saturday. We don’t have anything else to do today.”

      Yes, the day is wide open. I don’t even have to unpack—we can just move it all to Cam’s place later. I kiss him again and wrap myself in his arms. Tomorrow I’ll have to call TRSN to tell them I’ve changed my mind. Today I get to enjoy.

      After showering quickly at Cam’s, we drive to his parents’ house in Mesa. By the happy way her arms are flailing, I can tell that Alice, Cam’s mother, is already aware of the news. Cam must have told her that he was planning to propose. If it’s true that you can tell how a man will treat his wife by the way he treats his mother, then I’m in for years of worship. Go, me!

      She’s at the truck in her flip-flops before Cam even puts it in park.

      “Welcome to the family!” she sings as I open the door and she throws her arms around me. “You jerks,” she says. “Why didn’t you call us last night? Your father and I were waiting.”

      “Sorry,” he says.

      “Dad’s inside.” She winks at Cam and we follow her to the door. As I walk through the stucco entranceway, a cacophony of voices shout, “Congratulations!”

      “Dad” is about fifty people. The room is filled with Cam’s relatives—parents, sister, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins. A surprise engagement party. Sweet? Or disconcerting?

      Not that a family gathering like this is unusual. We see a whole crew every Sunday night for dinner, granted not this big. Alice insists that her entire family come over. There’s a barbecue in the back beside the pool. The women prepare the food, the men do all the grilling. Hello, stereotype.

      Cam’s sister and her brood live in Tucson, which is two hours away. For Blair to come in on a Saturday, well, that had to have been planned in advance. And even Richard, Cam’s dad, is here, which is a bit of a shock. He’s normally at his frame store, er, framing away.

      Imagine if I’d said no? And the whole party was planned and Cam came home and had to face the entire neighborhood? Sorry, you can all go home. Nothing to celebrate. Pass the potato salad.

      The entranceway is littered with family photos and cheap shoes. I hate taking off my sandals, but Alice insists. If we were somewhere that had winter, meaning slush, I’d understand. But here the closest thing we get to slush is Ben & Jerry’s. Plus Alice has a white cockatoo named Ruffles that likes to pace the floor and gnaw at my pinkie toes whenever I’m barefoot.

      “Let’s see the ring!” Blair screams, running over to me. She’s twenty-nine, only a year older than Cam, and three months pregnant. With her third. She’s five foot seven and is currently nestling her hands over her swollen stomach. Her blond curly hair—Cam and Blair have Alice’s golden-blond curls—is tied into a severe bun behind her head. Her face has a leathery quality to it, as if she’s spent too many afternoons in the sun. Honestly, if I ran into her on the street, I’d peg her more as mid-to-late thirties.

      When I show her my hand, she squeals like a twelve-year-old. Suddenly, still in the entranceway, I’m surrounded by Cam’s aunts and cousins and cousins’-wives, and the questions are fast and furious.

      “What’s the theme of the wedding?” asks Blair.

      Theme?

      “Aren’t you thrilled?” asks Jessica (wife of a cousin).

      “When’s the date?” asks Leslie (another wife of another cousin).

      “Who are your bridesmaids?” asks Tracy, mother-in-law of Leslie, sister in-law of Alice.

      “Are you going to change your name?” Blair again.

      Even though their mouths continue moving, suddenly I no longer hear what they’re saying. They seem to be on mute. The entranceway has turned into a steam room, burning hot liquid into my nose and mouth and ears, and now, not only have I gone deaf, I can’t breathe.

      “I need to go to the bathroom,” I manage to say, pushing myself backward and tripping over a sneaker.

      I steady myself and take off for a moment of privacy. I remember too late that the door’s lock has been broken ever since Blair’s youngest got locked inside a few months ago and Cam had to bust it open. How can anyone who has so many parties have a broken lock on

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