Dark Obsession

Chapter 12: The Fifth Table

Fifth table was secret.

Damien said fifth table is forever table, where he will ask me to never eat on floor again, forever promise. Jaxon said wedding table. Kai said baby table. Luca said new pact table. Ethan said he needs suit for speech.

I woke up at 6am, in king bed, black t-shirt, not blue sweater, because black t-shirt smelled like pine, wood, snow, Damien's cologne, and I liked sleeping in forever table promise smell.

On balcony, second table, kiss table, with charcoal drawing of park, snow on it, protected by blanket. Third table, breakfast table, family table, with pizza box from last night still on it, cold pizza, but we left it, because family pizza in snow memory.

No fourth table yet, drawing table for students, wood coming at 9am. No fifth table yet, forever table, secret.

At 7am, elevator dinged, but no one came up with hammer, no wood, just Damien, in black sweater, black jeans, holding small wood box, not planks, small box, perfect wood, no crooked leg, sanded smooth, dark walnut, smelling like Hamptons garage, like father teaching 14-year-old boy.

"Good morning, little mouse," he said, quiet, placing box on art table, where note "For little mouse who deserves table - D" used to be, but note now framed in lobby downstairs.

"What is box?" I asked, in black t-shirt, bare feet, hair messy bun, charcoal cheek washed but faint still, holding vanilla latte he brought, heart foam.

"Open," he said, standing close, not touching, morning rule says no touching before coffee, new rule he made this morning.

I opened box, perfect hinges, perfect wood, inside, not ring, not diamond necklace like Met Museum annex, but small wood table, miniature, perfect, no crooked leg, perfect leg, four tiny legs, smooth, with tiny engraving on top: "First table for eating, second for kissing, third for family, fourth for future, fifth for forever - D & E"

D & E — Damien & Elena.

"It's... it's tiny table," I whispered, touching miniature, smooth, perfect, tears starting, because miniature table was perfect, no crooked leg, unlike second and third which were crooked with love.

"Fifth table is not big table," he said, low, taking miniature from box, placing on art table, "Fifth table is small table, forever table, because forever is not big, forever is small, forever is every day, every breakfast, every drawing, every kiss, every student you teach to never eat on floor, forever is small table where we put coffee every morning, vanilla latte heart foam, two cups, one for you, one for me, forever."

He knelt, on penthouse floor, black sweater, black jeans, dust from yesterday's building still on hands, holding miniature table in palm, like ring box, but table box.

"Elena Rossi," he said, voice rough, CEO gone, just boy who built crooked table for mother, "I waited six years since hole in sweater in Hamptons library. I bought building in 2021 to watch lobby camera. I promised first table. I built second table with crooked leg and kissed you in snow. We built third table together for family. Tomorrow we build fourth table for your students, for little girls who eat on floor. Today I want to ask, can we build fifth table together, forever table, small table, where we put two coffees every morning, forever, where you never eat on floor again, forever promise, not tomorrow, forever?"

Not proposal with ring, proposal with table.

Fifth table, forever table, small table for two coffees every morning, forever.

I cried, in black t-shirt, bare feet, latte spilling heart foam, touching miniature table, perfect, no crooked leg, because forever must be perfect, unlike crooked love which is perfect because crooked.

"Yes," I whispered, kneeling too, on floor, not eating on floor, kneeling on floor for promise. "Yes, forever table, two coffees every morning, forever, I will never eat on floor again, forever promise."

He didn't put ring, he put miniature table on my palm, small, warm from his hand, perfect.

Then he kissed me, on floor, around art table, morning rule broken, because forever rule says if little mouse says yes to forever table, CEO can kiss on floor, even if floor was where she ate cereal, now floor is where she said yes to forever.

Elevator dinged at 7:15am, Jaxon, Kai, Luca, Ethan, all with wood planks for fourth table, plus chairs, crooked chairs delivered early, 6 chairs, handmade, matching third table crooked legs.

They stopped, seeing us on floor, kneeling, miniature table in my palm, both crying, latte spilled.

"What happened?" Jaxon asked, dropping wood, "Why are you on floor? We said no more floor eating, floor is for sitting around third table, not for kneeling, what is small table?"

Kai saw miniature, quiet, "Fifth table, forever table, he asked, she said yes, forever table."

Luca smiled, dangerous nice, "He proposed with table, not ring, classic Damien, table proposal, because she loves tables more than rings, I told you."

Ethan stood, hoodie, looking at me kneeling with miniature, then at Damien kneeling, then said, "You proposed forever table with miniature table, not ring, on floor where my sister used to eat cereal, you... you actually made floor holy, you made floor where she said yes to forever, so floor is not sad anymore, floor is forever floor."

We all laughed, crying, on floor, miniature table, fifth table revealed, not wedding table, not baby table, but two coffees every morning forever table, small, perfect, daily forever, not big forever.

At 9am, wood for fourth table arrived, perfect wood, no crooked leg, for students, drawing table, future table. We built it together, on balcony, next to second and third, now three tables on balcony, kiss table crooked, breakfast table crooked, drawing table perfect, because students deserve perfect.

Mr. Wilson, doorman, came up to see, "Three tables on balcony, Park Avenue has never seen three tables on balcony, but I have seen love, and this is love, crooked and perfect."

At noon, we ate pizza again, on third table, but now with miniature fifth table in middle, tiny, holding salt, small, forever table inside family table, meta table, table inside table.

I texted D at 12:30pm, even though he sat next to me on third table, pizza, miniature table: "Fifth table is my favorite, small, perfect, two coffees forever"

Reply in one minute, next to me: "Fifth table is my favorite too, small, perfect, because forever is not big wedding, forever is small coffee every morning with little mouse who used to eat on floor and now builds tables for other little mice - D"

Group chat "Little Mouse Kiss Table Squad" renamed at 12:35pm by Jaxon to "Little Mouse Forever Table Squad" with message:

Jaxon: "HE PROPOSED WITH TABLE, NOT RING, I TOLD YOU TABLE PROPOSAL IS NEW, NOW WE NEED RING TABLE, SIXTH TABLE, RING TABLE!"

Kai: "Fifth table is two coffees forever, sixth table should be where she teaches students to build fifth tables for themselves"

Luca: "Sixth table should be wedding table, now real wedding table, because forever table is promise, wedding table is party"

Ethan: "If sixth table is wedding table, I really need suit, I need to write speech now, I need to be best man, all four of us best men, that's... that's new, four best men for little mouse who ate on floor"

I smiled, on balcony, three tables, miniature fifth table, fourth table perfect for students, pizza, snow stopped, sun coming out, Park Avenue bright, Central Park snow melting, but tables staying, crooked and perfect, family.

And I knew Chapter 13 would be about sixth table, ring table, wedding table, because forever table promise needs ring, and ring needs table, and table needs love in crooked leg and perfect leg, both.

To be continued...