“Sounds great.”
He glanced skeptically at her. “If you say so,” he murmured, then gave their order to a waitress.
Megan looked around. “The hot dogs must be either good or cheap,” she said. “This place is packed.”
People stood three deep around the oval bar, chomping on hot dogs, drinking beer, shouting to friends. Two walls were lined with wooden booths, and a small area had been set aside in the rear where a serious dart game was taking place. The room was brightly lit and decorated with college pennants riddled with dart holes, save the William and Mary pennant. Not exactly the atmosphere she’d anticipated for a proposal, but what the heck, she decided. You had to be flexible about these things.
The waitress brought their beers.
Megan folded her hands and leaned forward. “Let’s talk.”
Pat took a long draft of beer, searching his mind for a safe topic. “I circumcised Roger Bruno today. And Cynthia Kramer fainted when she got her DPT booster.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Oh.”
She lowered her lashes coyly. “Can you think of something else to talk about?”
“The weather hasn’t been very good lately.”
“Deep – six the weather talk.”
Pat wrapped his fingers around his beer glass and concentrated on the specks of foam still clinging to the sides. He suspected Megan wanted to talk about either sex or babies. Not subjects he was eager to approach just then, since he was feeling desperate about both. If she made any more suggestions like the ones in the car, he’d have to cover his lap with his jacket. And babies. He was up to his armpits in babies. He was getting new patients so fast, he couldn’t remember their names. He’d never wanted to be that kind of doctor. He wanted to be an old – fashioned family doctor. The kind who recognized his patients on the street and got invited to baptisms and weddings.
Megan looked at Pat with annoyance. He didn’t have a clue, she thought. Obviously, she was going to have to take charge of this. It was no big deal, she told herself. People got engaged every day. She herself had been engaged three times. In fact, it would be a refreshing change if she were the one to do the proposing this time. Yes, indeed, this was the century of empowerment, and women were allowed to take the initiative. She wouldn’t make a big production out of it. It should be simple, yet romantic. Sincere, but not maudlin.
She took a deep breath. Okay, she was ready. Piece of cake.Simple. She cleared her throat.
“Um…”
He gazed at her over the rim of his beer glass.
She took his hand in hers. “Pat, sweetheart-”
“ ’Scuse me, folks,” the waitress said. “Who was dumb enough to order the Kamikaze Dog?” She plunked plates of hot dogs and potato curls on the table.
Megan raised her hand. “Me.”
The waitress dropped an Alka – Seltzer packet on the table. “It comes with the Kamikaze Dog. It’s free.”
Pat grimaced at Megan’s plate. “Is your life insurance paid up?”
Megan ignored the food and retrieved Pat’s hand. “Pat, darling, there’s something I want to ask you.”
“Shoot. Ask for anything. The world is your oyster. You want a kraut dog? A taco dog?A chocolate dog?”
She blinked. “What? No. I want-”
“Meg…” Her silk scarf was dangling in a glob of catsup. “Your scarf.”
She ripped the scarf off and stuffed it into her handbag. “I’m trying to ask you something!”
“What? What is it? You want my chili dog, right?”
She narrowed her eyes. That did it, she thought. Phooey on the romantic approach.
“Not even close, Hunter,” she shouted. “I want your baby. You want to marry me, or what?”
Pat felt his mouth drop open. He closed it with a snap and hunched over the table. “Megan-”
“Louder,” the bartender yelled. “We can’t hear.”
Megan glanced over at the bar. The crowd of people there was eagerly waiting for an answer. Great, she thought. Another audience.
“Give me a break,” she called to the bartender. “A little privacy here, please. This is a tender moment.”
She turned her attention back to Pat. “Well, how about it? You want to get married? We could make our own baby. It would be even better than adopting Timmy. And the good part is, no one will take him away from us. We don’t have to hire a lawyer or go to court or anything. All we have to do is go to bed!”
“Good Lord, Megan, you’re serious. Are you serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” she said in a stage whisper. “You think I go around proposing to people every day?”
You have to handle this delicately, Pat warned himself. She’s overwrought about Timmy. She’s facing death by hot dog. “Honey, you know I care about you, but-”
“But what?”
“But I… this isn’t…” He ran his hand through his hair. “No.”
“No?”
Lord, Hunter, he thought, that was so eloquent. Couldn’t you have come up with something better than just “no”? What about all the good reasons why you can’t get married right now? What about how you’re nuts over her and living alone is agony? What about the fact that she’s having hormone hysteria and that’s not a sound basis for motherhood? Geez, Hunter, what a time to get tongue – tied.
Megan felt her stomach flip. He didn’t want to marry her. It was happening again. And she was so dumb, she hadn’t even seen it coming. Just as always.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked. “You’re white as a sheet.”
“I was a little faint there for a minute, but I’m fine now. I think it was the hot dog fumes that got to me.”
“Megan, I should explain-”
“What’s to explain? You don’t want to marry me. Hey, you’re not the first man who didn’t want to marry me. I bet if I tried, I could set a world record for getting unengaged. I’m only sorry I didn’t have a ring for you to remove. The other men always took their rings back. I hate to break tradition.”
“It’s not like that this time. Someday we’ll get engaged, and it will be for real, for always.”
“Don’t patronize me when I’m pouting,” she snapped. “The least you can do is let me enjoy being miserable.”
A linebacker type waved at them from across the room.
“You know that guy on the other side of the bar?” Pat asked. “He was waving to us, and now I think he’s coming over.”
Megan swiveled in her seat and squinted through the crowd. Her eyes widened, and she clamped her hand over her mouth. “Holy Kamikaze Hot Dogs. It’s Dave.”
“Dave who?”
