The gates clack behind me as I walk up the steps to the Sparrow household. Ha! Sparrow. You know, like from Pirates of the Caribbean? Captain Jack Sparrow? Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for: to make fun of them. No, I would rather not be here at all, but unfortunately, my grandmother pulled the old guilt trick in her will. “Hi, my dear granddaughter, I’m dead, RESPECT MY WISHES AND MARRY THIS STRANGER.” Uh… no. But it was my grandma, and she had practically raised me once my mother passed. After Mr. Rollo read the request, my father was hesitant—an understatement—but he eventually agreed once I surprisingly said I would do it. Which brings us back to the Sparrow household. Unfortunately, dear daddy Jimmy had to go to work, so he left me to introduce myself to the family and… my fiancée.

Calm down, Ella. Just calm down.

But how can I be calm? The Sparrow mansion towers above me, red brick, regal, and really ridiculous. Several gardeners out, managing the lawn. I wave to one, but they just give me a curt nod in return. I continue up the long, stone walkway toward the door, the sound of running water getting louder, but where it’s coming from, I’m unsure. I ring the doorbell without much hesitation or thought. I can’t have too much hesitation or thought, otherwise I’d take my pounding heart and run. After a few moments, a middle-aged woman answers it. She smiles. “Hello. You must be Ella. I’m Ian’s mother, Willow Sparrow.” She extends her hand.

My hand a bit stiff, I take it and shake. “Hello. I’m Ella Frank… well, you already knew that.”

She chuckles. “Charming. Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, please,” I say. I follow her inside.

The mahogany banisters shine beneath a diamond—no, an emerald chandelier. I feel as though my battered Converse don’t belong here. Not that I want to belong here. I gulp. “You have a lovely home.”

Mrs. Sparrow tips her head. “Thank you, dear. Now, if you’ll follow me again, Ian is just right through that door, in the office.” I flash a forced grin, and we approach the door..

She knocks on the outside of the wooden door. “Ian? Ella’s here. She’d like to meet you.”

“Send her in,” a gruff, low voice commands. I look at Mrs. Sparrow. She nods. Tentatively, I open the door. It creaks in response to the force of my palm.

The office is very dull and white, and so is the young, dark-skinned man in a black swivel chair. He wears a black polo and khaki shorts. His eyes are a nice shade of green, and he sweeps his dark, coarse hair to the side. He has some stubble, but I have to admit it looks good on him. “Hello.” He stands up from his desk—he must be nearly a foot taller than me— and walks to greet me. “Here we meet, Ella Louise Frank.”

“Um… hi Ian Mason Sparrow,” I retort, trying to sound just as formal and awkward as him. He gives me a small smile.

“Ah, so you’re the type that likes to talk back.” Ian raises an eyebrow. “Am I going to have trouble with you? I was hoping not.”

Confused, I ignore his last comment and say, “So. We’re going to be married.”

He chuckles. “That is the plan.”

I nod my head like an idiot. “Yup,” I say, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

Neither of us say anything for a while, and my stomach squirms. “So, uh, do you play any sports?”

“No. I prefer to work.”

“Oh. I used to do tons of sports in high school,” I say. “Now that I’m in college, I’m busier, so I just run track.”

“Cool.” Another awkward silence…

“Do you like hamburgers?” I ask abruptly. My face turns red. This is awful. What the hell, Grandma?!

“Um… why do you ask?” Huh. He sounds… amused?

“Uh, you know… look, I get random sometimes. Uncomfortable with silence or sitting around. I really just always need to… keep moving,” I finish lamely.

“Sounds like…” Ian’s voice trails off.

“Sounds like who?”

“Nothing. No one. None of your business,” he says sharply. “I think it’d be best if you left now. You’re no longer needed.” Ian goes back to sitting at his desk, his eyes focused at something on his bright screen, which lights up his face. It makes him look a bit monstrous.

I gape at him. “Um, okay? Rude much?” I stomp out of the office and slam the door behind me. Of course, his mom waits right there.

“So… how’d it go?”

“Fine,” I say, stomping away. “Absolutely fine.”

Thanks a lot, Grandma.

***

I am forced to return to that hellhole the next day.

“Oh, calm down,” my dad says to me. He accompanies me today. “You met them yesterday, didn’t you? You’ll be fine.”

I huff silently to myself. Oh Dad, if only you knew that my fiancée is a complete jerk. If. Only. You. Knew.

“Ah, here we are,” Dad says.

“Dad, do we really—“

“Welcome Mr. Frank! And welcome back, Ella!” Mrs. Sparrow hollers from the doorway, a huge billboard smile plastered to her face.

Here we go…

“Hi,” I say. “So…”

“Oh, dear, we’re having a barbeque out back. Mr. Frank, if you’ll follow me. Ella, Ian is in his office again. I think you’d better talk to him,” she says gently, as if trying to not make me mad.

I grumble, “Fine. I’ll go talk to him.”

“Thank you, dear.” She smiles. “I’m sure this time will… ah, go better than before?”

I hope so. I walk back to that stupid office. This whole arrangement will be pretty bad if I can’t get along with my fiancée. Very bad.

“Hello?” I call to his office. The dust settles—kidding—into silence. “Hello? Ian? You in here?” Again, silence… “Ian, hello? Are you here? Or am I all alone? You know, it’s not polite to leave a lady alone… Ian?”

Still no response. Sighing, I pace around the room. Man, I’m bored. I see an open notebook lying on the desk. I look up at the door and listen for any footsteps. I don’t think Ian is coming back anytime soon. I open up the notebook.

June 11, 2009

I met Ella yesterday. She seems nice enough. The only problem I have with her is--

“What are you doing?!” a now-familiar, deep voice screeches. “Give me that!”

Ian! “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I throw the notebook back, heart pounding. “I just… uh, well… Look, we could talk about why I looked at your notebook, or we could live and the moment and move past this event. You’re choice. However, I’m leaning to the ‘forgive and forget’ side.” I smile.

He narrows his eyes. “Well… fine. We don’t want to be late for supper, do we now?” He offers his stiff arm, but I refuse to take it. “Come on now,” he says in a monotone.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you really so thrilled as to see me?”

“Of course I am,” he says again monotonously.

“Well…” I take a few quick steps toward him, glaring up at him from under his chin. “Unless you want this marriage to be absolutely miserable, I suggest you take the stick out of your ass and lighten up a bit! At least I didn’t read your journal entry about the time you pooed your pants at summer camp.”

His eyes bulge. “How do you know about that?!”

“Exactly,” I bluff—huh, maybe I should consider a career in acting—“so let’s just take it easy instead. Okay? This is already hard enough on me. Not only do I have to marry you, but my grandmother’s dead. But if this is what she wishes, then this is what she wishes.”

For a moment, Ian remains silent, lips pursed, staring down at me. There’s a weird, warm intensity to this. Then he reaches a hand up, moves it toward my face, and must think better of it, for then he lowers it back to his side, clenched. “All right.”

“Thanks,” I say. “So!” I offer him an arm this time. “Dinner?”

He offers a small smile and takes my arm. “Yes, dinner.”