The Best Laid Plans

“Okay: the download.”

“So Cassie’s not into the plan at first, but I convince her that she’s Al’s best friend, Al will never see it coming and she’ll be part of history-ever-after; so Cass finally agrees to ask Al to go on a walk, as it were, to talk about something important, so Al can’t flake like she tends to; Cass’ll lead them to the benches by the Dolores playground where Al and I first kissed, where she’ll sit her down for this talk, but notice a box that says ‘Allison’ and, that’s funny, you should open it.”

“You left a diamond ring on a park bench?”

“The idea is that I’m right there.”

“She doesn’t see you?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves. I bought a wig and pink blazer she’d never recognize, plus aviators and ripped jeans so after she says yes, theoretically, I can joke how badly I underdressed for our first date. She never let that go. The plan was I’d sit on the neighboring bench to monitor the ring but also, when Al opened the box, I’d lose the wig and aviators and drop to a knee.”

“But the best laid plans.”

“I’m a guy in aviators, weird jacket, gnarly pants and strange hair lurking by a playground. Five seconds after I text Cass that I’m in position two cops start asking me questions.”

“In Dolores Park?”

“In Dolores Park. I try to explain, even pointing to the ring box, but they keep saying, ‘Just take a walk with us for a second’, to avoid a scene around the kids, and finally I give in because they’re really serious. But I don’t want to leave the ring. So I make a too-sudden motion to grab it and these bozos go apeshit thinking I’m trying to escape, or lunge for a kid, I don’t know what. But I’m face down getting cuffed. Only as they’re shoving me in a squad car do I see Al and Cassie coming up the block.”

“They see you?”

“I tried to yell Cass’s name but they slammed the door.”

“Not Allison’s?”

“I think I thought the surprise might still work somehow, I don’t know. Either way, they sit down and finally Cassie points at the box under the bench.”

“I thought it was on the bench.”

“Under, on, Allison finds the fucking ring. She’s speechless, confused, welling up with tears. Meanwhile Cass is realizing I’m not around. But she’s holding out; she’s got faith; she’s letting Allison absorb the situation; until Allison turns and kisses her.”

“What?”

“Long big kiss. Mouth on mouth. Allison kissing Cass.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Cass’s so confused that it takes her a second — she’s telling me this later; I’m halfway to 850 Bryant by now — it takes her a second to push Allison off.”

“She thought — .”

“ — that Cass was coming clean on her feelings.”

“With a diamond ring?”

“Apparently that’s the story Allison devised in those seven seconds.”

“That’s how far marrying you was from her mind.”

“Thank you, yes.”

“Your name wasn’t even on it?”

“The box –– my name? I planned to clear that up.”

“Best laid plans….”

“Yes, established John Steinbeck. So Allison realizes in that moment she’d always felt a deeper attraction, or had never truly addressed her feelings for Cassie, or something like that. But regardless, even after Cassie clears up –– ta da! –– that the ring was from me, Al’s crystal-clear certain she and I are done.”

“So what’s Cassie do?”

“Says that she’s one hundred percent straight and, considering the developments, needs to re-evaluate their friendship.”

“Big matzo ball there.”

“One left. The cops let me go, don’t even get charged, because I’m actually just a normal guy not a perv, and there’s a million texts from Cass. I get the download and at the end she says, ‘So here’s the thing,’ and there’s this pause. The last three years of my life have just spun into a sewage grate and in this pause I can feel it’s only flushing further. Cassie proceeds to tell me that she’s always had strong feelings for me, that she thinks we have incredible unaddressed chemistry. That’s why she didn’t want to be a part of the proposal in the first place. And after I sort things with Allison –– she doesn’t see how their friendship continues –– we could try something. Picture me having this conversation in aviators, a wig and a pink blazer on the steps of the police station.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“That I’d never thought of her that way, that I needed some time to sort things out, that my head was about to melt.”

“This was what, two weeks ago? You’ve had some time to sort. Where are you now, how you feeling, what are your revelations?”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

[Caleb Garling is a journalist/writer and author of The St George’s Angling Club, a novel about the outdoors.]