“What the f**k!” was her friend’s reaction. “I’m watching the race on TV and then Ty drops and asks you to marry him and I’m like Oh. My. God. Did you know?”
“No! I had no clue.”
“That little devil, who knew he had a romantic bone in his body. Well, are you happy? Are you shitting bricks?”
“Both.” Imogen laughed.
Suzanne laughed with her. “No kidding. My God, your proposal was just witnessed by, like, a million viewers. I say you stick him for the biggest rock ever for not warning you ahead of time.”
Imogen tugged on her sweatshirt strings. “A million viewers? You are exaggerating, right?” She couldn’t even imagine what her face had looked like. Her hair was in a ponytail. No makeup. And she was wearing a sweatshirt, which she never did. Yikes.
“Um, no, not really. It’s a popular sport. But you looked cute, I swear. Just a little stunned. But when you said yes, I think there was a collective sigh across America.”
“Stunned is the word for it. I am still in total shock.”
“Well, yeah, hello. It’s really soon.” Suzanne paused and her voice softened. “Are you happy? Is this what you want?”
“Yes, it is.” It was. She knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
“Does he make you so happy your face could crack? Do you want to make babies with him?”
The thought of having children with Ty had never occurred to her either. Now the image of little grinning shaggy-haired kids with personalities a lot like Hunter’s popped into her head and wouldn’t shake loose. “Yes, and yes.”
“Then congratulations, sweetheart. And guess who is going to be your wedding planner?”
Imogen laughed. “That would be awesome, Suz. I know you’ll do an amazing job, and I swear I won’t request naked monkeys on my cake.”
“You freaking better not. Not that I would let you anyway. And no racing paraphernalia, please.”
“I would love a destination wedding, actually.” Though she supposed it would need to be discussed with Ty. It’s not like she had any clue what his vision for a wedding was.
“Now you’re talking, sister.”
Her call waiting beeped and she pulled her phone back to check it. “Oh, Suz, it’s my mom on the other line. Can I call you later?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
“Thanks, bye.” Imogen clicked over and said, “Hello,” her heart pounding.
“Okay, you know I don’t follow sports on television,” her mother said by way of greeting. “But you know Mr. and Mrs. Hanson do and now that he’s retired, he DVRs everything. He just called me to tell me that he saw you at a stock car race where some man was proposing to you. I assumed it couldn’t be accurate but then he played it back for me, and Imogen Ann, I swear it looked exactly like you. In fact, it seemed like this person even used your name when he proposed, but then I thought that can’t possibly be real because how is it that your mother doesn’t even know you are dating someone, let alone that you were on the verge of engagement?”
You had to love the power of electronics and instant communication. Imogen bit her lip. “Well, it was me, Mom. And as I’m sure you can see from the playback, I was very surprised. I had no idea I was on the verge of engagement myself or obviously I would have mentioned that fact.”
“So you are telling me that you are engaged? To a race car driver?”
“Yes.” Imogen held her breath, waiting for the backlash.
But her mother, who was controlled and never particularly excitable, actually shrieked, startling Imogen so badly she almost dropped the phone. Her mother never yelled. Never. Not in joy. Not in irritation. Not ever.
“Oh, my God!” her mother said. “Jonathon, our baby is getting married!” she called to Imogen’s father. “We have a wedding to plan! And who is this man? Shame on you for not telling me about him.” Before Imogen could answer, her mother continued, “Oh, no! I guess this means you’ll be permanently relocating to Charlotte. Oh, Imogen, I thought you would come home.”
So had she. The realization that she wouldn’t stunned her a little. Was she really moving to Charlotte forever?
Obviously she was if she was going to be married to Ty.
Wow. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Mom, it’s not a big deal. Ty travels a lot so I’m sure I’ll be able to pop up to New York frequently and visit when he’s busy on the road.”
“I saw his name was Ty on the television. What is that short for? Is it a family name? Are you going to hyphenate your last name, keep yours, or take his? I can’t say that I really care for the sound of Imogen McCordle.”
Neither did she, now that her mother mentioned it. It was not a pretty name at all, something she had never considered. Not that it mattered. His last name could be Weed and she would still marry him. But would she take his name? She supposed she could be Imogen Wilson-McCordle. That had a scholarly ring to it. “I hadn’t thought about what to do to my name. Probably hyphenate.”
“If you think that’s best. So what is Ty short for?”
She didn’t know. She had no idea. They had never discussed it. Like many other things, it seemed. “Mom, can I call you later? Ty is finishing up with the media and I would like to get some dinner. Give my love to Dad.”
“Oh.” Her mother sounded nonplussed. “Yes, call me tonight or tomorrow. I want to know when you’re bringing Ty home to meet us, and I want your uncle Steven to show you the ballroom at his hotel. You are getting married in Manhattan, aren’t you?”
Feeling like she might actually panic, Imogen said, “Mom? Mom, I can’t hear you. I think we have a bad connection. I’ll call you la—”
She cut her own words off by hanging up her cell phone. Giving a sigh of relief, she tried to swallow the guilt. She hated to lie. She was terrible at it. She always confessed. But her mother had been having a severely negative effect on her anxiety levels.
Why did everyone assume once you got engaged you had to have the wedding planned three minutes later? She couldn’t think that far ahead; she just wanted to bask for a day or two or six months.
Looking around for Ty, she saw he was headed her way. Her phone chimed to indicate a text message. She flipped open her phone and sighed when she read it. It was from her mother.
Your father wants to know if you’re pregnant.