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Clarke thinks it’s a joke.
Of course she thinks it’s a joke. Friends have jokes like that, don’t they? Hey, let’s get married if we’re still single at forty. And by the way, I ate the last cookie. Joke’s on you!
It’s even more convincing as a joke, she thinks, because this is her and Bellamy. They joke about serious things all the time. He used to make dark jokes about his poor relationship with his sister and his own lousy self worth. She makes hollow jokes when she’s had a long day at work watching people die. So frankly, she’s not surprised that they have this running joke about getting married. She wouldn’t put it past him to have written a jovial eulogy for her funeral, too, along the way.
So, yes, she thinks it’s a joke. She has always thought it was a joke, ever since he first made it, back when they were only in their mid twenties. And now, a decade on, she is more convinced than ever that this safety marriage pact of theirs is entirely a laughing matter.
Of course she is. Any sensible person would obviously think it’s a joke. He obviously isn’t going to marry her at the age of forty, whether they are both still single by then or not. They are simply best friends. Carefully platonic best friends who have maintained a comfortable status quo for perhaps twelve years now.
There’s no way he really intends to marry her.
That’s why she feels comfortable joking in her turn, when he brings it up tonight. They are sitting opposite each other at their favourite burger place, having one of their regular catch-up-over-food evenings.
Not a date. Obviously not a date, because they’re not getting married.
“You know, I think we fucked up on this safety marriage pact. Forty is way too long to wait. Life’s practically over by forty.”
She snorts out an unconvinced laugh. Life is definitely not over at forty.
“We’re only five years away from life being over?” She prompts, teasing.
“I’m just saying, we should make the most of our youth. What would I have to do to get you to marry me sooner?” He asks, casual and light, pointing a cheerful fry at her to punctuate his point.
She laughs. It’s a joke, right? So that’s why she jokes along in kind. “I don’t know. Get Jackson to cut down my evening and weekend hours. Build me a house. Ooh - swear to make your chicken parm every Saturday of our married life. Take your pick.”
He grins. He laughs - and perhaps he laughs a little stiffly, but she thinks nothing of it at the time. Of course she doesn’t. This conversation is all in good fun.
She simply steals one of his fries, and the world goes on turning.
…….
She thinks nothing of it, too, when Bellamy invites her over to his place a couple of weeks later. This is how their friendship works - eating out, or catching a movie together, or simply spending time at his place or hers. He’s invited her for supper. How thoroughly, unremarkably normal.
She doesn’t even question it when she walks in the door and he tells her he’s made chicken parm. He makes that a lot. He knows she likes it, and he’s a good friend like that - always cooking people their favourite foods.
She simply joins him in the kitchen and gets to chatting.
“How’s it going?” She asks, taking a stool at the breakfast bar. The laptop he’s got the recipe up on is slightly interfering with her ability to see the whole kitchen clearly, but that’s fine. She knows what Bellamy’s knees look like by this point.
“It’s not turned out as well as usual. Sorry. I think the chicken might be a little dry. I -”
“I didn’t mean the chicken.” She cuts off his flustered babbling, somewhat confused by his reaction. He seems disproportionately upset about a bit of dry chicken. “I don’t care if the chicken’s dry, Bellamy. This dish is a winner either way, and I’m always grateful when you cook. I mean how’s it going with you ? How are you?”
“Oh. Right.” He breaks into a flustered grin. “I’m good. Really good. It’s great to see you.”
She nods, tries not to frown. She reaches to scoot his laptop to the side, because she’s decided she needs a better view to be able to read his body language, if he’s going to be strange and flustered like this. She wants to know what’s going on with him.
She stops moving his laptop, mid-scoot, when she sees the other tabs he has open besides the recipe.
“Pinterest?” She asks, shocked. She clicks on it, because why wouldn’t she? Sure, she has some awareness that privacy is a thing. But she’s certain that this is fine between her and Bellamy - they snoop on each other’s phones all the time. She even invited him to help her out with a dating app, once upon a time.
She’s even more shocked when she sees what he’s looking at on pinterest. Kitchens. Dozens and dozens of quaint, kooky kitchens. She’d say it was a sort of cottagecore aesthetic if she had to put a name to it.
Why the hell is Bellamy spending his time looking at cutesy kitchens?
“Yeah. Pinterest. I like looking at kitchens.” He defends himself - pretty ineffectually, she thinks.
“Why? You live in a rental. You can’t change the kitchen.” She points out, ever logical.
“A guy can dream.”
“About kitchens?”
She’s feeling curious, now, so she looks harder. The next tab on his browser is an etsy vendor selling luxury custom-made cat beds, it turns out.
She’s getting seriously worried, here. Is Bellamy having some kind of strange mid-life crisis? Is that why he made that joke about bringing forward their safety marriage the other day, and why he seemed so obsessed with the worry of getting older?
“Bellamy, why are you dreaming about kitchens and browsing for cat beds?”
“The cat bed was supposed to be a surprise.” He mutters. “It’s Monet’s birthday soon, right? I know how much you love that cat. Thought he might like a new bed.”
Her jaw hits the floor. That’s an expression she’s never fully appreciated until today, when she literally feels it click as it falls open in shock.
“You think celebrating Monet’s birthday is stupid and sentimental.” She points out, because he does.
“I don’t think it’s stupid. I just think it’s funny that you’re so pragmatic about everything else but you get sentimental about that cat.”
“I’m the same about the people I love, too.” She mutters, because it’s true. Because she’s like that about Bellamy, to be honest.
“I know.” He says, really meeting her eye for the first time in this whole strange, confusing conversation. “So maybe I’ve decided to admit defeat and buy Monet a birthday present. And maybe I like dreaming of the day I have my own home and can make chicken parm in a kitchen I’ve designed myself. Are we good?”
“Of course we’re good.” They’re always good, come what may.
“Great. Now move that laptop - I want to put some plates out.”
The chicken parm is a little dry, in the end. Just a touch. Bellamy must have got distracted by kitchens and cat beds, she thinks.
But she’s not complaining, because supper at Bellamy’s place always tastes a lot like happiness.
…….
They move on from that strange evening of dry chicken and mid-life crisis, more or less. Monet’s birthday rolls around and, sure enough, the lucky kitty is presented with a luxury cat bed.
He curls up in it right away while Clarke looks on fondly. She thinks Bellamy is looking on fondly too, honestly. He loves her cat more than he likes to admit.
“Come on.” Bellamy says, breaking the silence. “I brought chicken parm.” He offers, patting the large hold-all slung over his shoulder.
She frowns at him, deeply confused. What is this? Has he honestly brought chicken parm in a dish in his damn hold-all to finish cooking at her house? That seems like a lot of effort, she thinks - and a lot of that earnestness which characterises Bellamy’s every attempt to look after the people he cares about. Apart from anything else, she was planning to treat him to pizza. It’s important to celebrate Monet’s birthday right.
“You brought chicken parm?” She repeats it back to him as a question, needing a clue as to why the hell he bothered doing that.
“Yeah. It’s a Saturday, right? I’m practising for every Saturday of our married life.”
That ought to be her first clue. It’s not normal to practise for a marriage which is a joke, is it? It’s not normal to practise for a joke full stop. Jokes are supposed to be casual and off-the-cuff and light-hearted.
They are not supposed to involve practising weekly chicken parm.
But she tries very hard not to think about that, as she responds in kind. It’s all a joke, isn’t it? All one big laugh between friends.
“Huh. Your fiancée is a very lucky woman.”
He smiles at that, wide and bright. He simply beams.
“You think so?” He asks her, eyes alight at the thought.
“Yeah. Of course I do.” How could she not? This is Bellamy. Her wonderful and perfectly platonic best friend. Anyone would be lucky to marry him.
That’s why she can’t allow herself to believe he’s serious about any of this. That would be a recipe for heartbreak, she’s pretty sure.
…….
There are more clues, in the weeks which follow. More hints to gather up along the way, but Clarke determinedly lets them slip through her fingers. She cannot afford to hold tight to any of this, because it is not real or solid or serious.
It’s all a big joke, isn’t it?
Five days after Monet’s birthday, Bellamy texts her a question about whether she’s ever wanted to get into gardening. That’s odd, of course. It’s a bizarre question out of the blue. And it simply has no relevance to her life, because she has lived in an apartment without a garden all her adult life.
But she doesn’t stop to collect the clue. She’s a sensible woman, adept at solving problems. Yet on this occasion she is determined not to allow herself even to begin to hope.
Never thought about it. I guess a garden could be pretty to paint.
It’s a simple, throwaway reply, for what was obviously a simple, throwaway question. Of course it was - there is no chance of her and Bellamy ever needing to choose a house or garden together, is there?
…….
Two weeks later, another hint. Another breadcrumb in the trail she is determined not to follow.
A conversation over supper at Bellamy’s house. Chicken parm, because of course it is. That’s Saturday, isn’t it?
She wonders whether she’ll ever get sick of eating this. It’s a great dish, but she was joking when she demanded it weekly. Obviously she was joking. Can this man not spot a joke? She thought he knew her better than that.
“How do you feel about hot tubs?” Bellamy asks, sudden, and she chokes briefly on a bite of chicken.
“Hot tubs?” She echoes, when she has managed to swallow.
“Yeah. Are you a fan?”
She hesitates, considers her answer. “Not sure. I guess I like them well enough.” She thinks they’re pretty fun with a partner, but she’s not going to tell Bellamy that. This is a carefully platonic friendship, and she cannot afford to blur the lines with a dangerous conversation.
“Great. You like hot tubs.” He seems very happy about that news. “Indoors or outdoors? Does a hot tub belong in a conservatory? Or outside on the patio?”
She frowns, thinks about it. He’s been asking her a lot of these strange hypothetical questions recently. She’s used to having to think about problems which are real and immediate and life-threatening, in her day job. Doctors aren’t meant to hypothesise about hot tubs, she’s pretty sure.
“How about a compromise?” She suggests in the end. “Outside but sheltered? Maybe some pretty trellises around it or else a pergola? You don’t want it to be wet and windy in winter, but I think outside is nicer.”
“Even though - you know?” He swallows loudly. “Neighbours? And - ah - nakedness?”
“High garden walls.” She answers at once.
“Great. High garden walls.”
He reaches for his phone, starts noting something down. She gapes at him, shocked. He never picks up his phone at the dinner table. He’s always completely devoted to the conversation. He’s a good, attentive listener like that. He really cares about chatting to his friends.
“Bellamy?” She prompts him. Has he recently lost his mind?
“Sorry. Just - high garden walls.” He mutters, still typing.
That’s more than a clue, really, isn’t it? He’s blatantly writing down her specifications for a garden and hot tub, right in front of her. They’re eating their weekly chicken parm while he asks her for details of her dream house.
It’s beginning to look a little bit like he took her seriously, that day they joked about moving up their wedding day. It’s beginning to look like perhaps - maybe, just maybe - he actually is in something of a rush to marry her for real.
No. That can’t be. It’s simply not possible.
And anyway - Jackson is still demanding she work longer shifts than ever.
So that’s that. These clues are all just coincidence. Bellamy’s just asking how she feels about hot tubs and gardens because he’s a funny fellow. That’s her Bellamy.
What a joker.
…….
There comes a day when she cannot ignore it, of course. A day when she cannot pretend ignorance any longer, cannot keep laughing it off.
She just doesn’t dare believe it’s true. She is crap at love, she’s sure of it. She’s not meant for functional long term relationships. So she doesn’t dare to believe that Bellamy actually wants to marry her. But when he puts evidence that he plans to build a house right in front of her, she sort of has to believe it, doesn’t she?
It’s a Wednesday night. Just a normal, average Wednesday. And suddenly, out of nowhere, Clarke finds her late shift being cut short, and Bellamy is telling her he negotiated with Jackson, and she’s supposed to stop by his house for supper.
And then he sits her at the breakfast bar and puts the blueprints for a house in her hands.
A house. An actual honest to God house. Her wonderful, beautiful best friend has designed them a house.
“Is this what I think it is?” She asks, cautious. She leans closer, tries to make sense of the design. There’s a sweet little garden with a hot tub under a pergola. High walls surround it. Inside, a little space under the stairs labelled Monet’s bedroom.
Before her, Bellamy paces nervously across the kitchen. She’s never seen him look so wound up.
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s - it’s our house. If you want it to be. I just thought - best show it to you now before I actually get the builders in. I can - ah - still sell the land if you’re not on board. You know, if - if maybe you didn’t realise I was serious.”
“I didn’t realise right away.” She says, slow, cautious. “I’ve been figuring it out lately. You are serious?”
“Yeah.”
“You seriously want us to get married?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this a proposal?”
“It’s not a very good one.” Bellamy mutters, evidently trying to laugh at himself and not quite succeeding. “I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve been trying to propose to you at least once a month for the last decade. Hey, Clarke, we should get married someday. Hey, Clarke, marry me if we’re still single at forty. Hey, Clarke, what do I have to do to get you to marry me? ”
“You were saying all that because you wanted to marry me?” She asks, stunned.
“Why else does a person suggest getting married?” He asks, audibly exasperated.
That gives her pause. She can see his point, actually. He does talk about them getting married a lot. If it were a joke, it would definitely be wearing thin by now. He’s got other material which is newer and funnier, that’s for sure.
He really wants to marry her.
“I’m sorry.” She begins, and watches his face fall at once. She rushes on to reassure him. “It’s a yes. Of course it’s a yes.” She babbles, reaching her hands out towards him in a soothing motion. “I mean - I’m sorry it took me so long. I was so convinced you couldn’t actually want to marry me. I thought I wasn’t meant to get married.”
He rolls his eyes at her a little, pulls her in for a hug. It’s a slightly messy hug because she’s sitting on a high stool and he’s standing. It’s slightly clammy, too, because he does seem to have got himself quite nervous about all this.
But it’s so perfectly them, to have this big moment amongst their everyday friendship, that she leans into him and squeezes him tight.
“Clarke. Will you marry me?” He whispers against the crown of her head.
“Yes. Definitely. Tomorrow?” She asks, laughing.
He pulls back, looks down at her. “Maybe not tomorrow. I need to build this house first.”
She laughs louder. “You don’t need to build the house.”
“But you want me to build the house.” He points out.
She hesitates. She does want him to build the house, yes. She’s sure it will be lovely. But she’s spent her whole life being sensible about things like accommodation and living expenses, even though she has a comfortably-paying job.
“Can we afford the house?” She asks cautiously.
“We can afford the house. I’ve been saving up to marry you for a decade, remember?” He points out, teasing.
She laughs. She reaches for his hands, confused joy bubbling up in her chest. She’s still catching up with herself, here. It’s been an unusual evening to say the least.
At last, she gives in to the inevitable and pulls him in for a kiss.
…….
Bellamy is in her bed when she wakes up the next morning. That’s unsurprising, probably. Staying the night is a fairly natural progression from suddenly getting engaged to her best friend. The only interesting part, perhaps, is that they stayed the night in her bed, not his. They had to head back to her place to feed Monet, didn’t they?
“You’re thinking too loud.” Bellamy mutters, rolling over and slinging a lazy arm across her chest.
She snorts out a laugh. Of course she’s thinking too loud. Overthinking things is what she does best, and she has a lot of thoughts to sort through, here. It’s been an eventful twelve hours.
“I’m sorry I made you wait.” She starts there, because that’s really been weighing on her mind since last night.
“I forgive you.” He says easily, pulling her in for a closer hug. “You’re worth waiting for. And we haven’t really missed out on anything, have we? We still spent all this time together as best friends. We can still have our home and maybe kids if you want them. We can still eat chicken parm on Saturdays.”
She laughs. “About that - I was mostly joking. We don’t need to eat that every Saturday.”
He chuckles a little. “Suck it up. That can be your penance for not noticing I wanted to marry you all these years. You will have chicken parm every Saturday whether you want it or not. It’s a new family tradition.”
“You want kids.” She says. It’s not a question - she knows he does. But she’s just trying to figure out how this married life of theirs will work.
“Yeah. I do. But I want to marry you more. So we’ll talk about that later. We don’t need to have all the answers now, Clarke. Right now we need to make out a little and then we both need to get to work.”
She laughs and pulls him in for another kiss. She thinks lazy morning make-out sessions might just be the best thing about marrying Bellamy.
Well - that and the mostly-concealed hot tub.
…….
Clarke and Bellamy are there when the first bricks are laid. They stand and watch, holding hands, as the builders get to work.
Bellamy’s chosen a good site for the house. Clarke can’t quite believe that he actually went and bought land before he really got an answer from her. She’s almost moved, actually, that despite his nerves and his habit of valuing himself too lowly, he was still optimistic enough about her answer to buy this plot. She thinks that says a lot about the strength of the friendship on which their love is built.
So here they are, on the edge of the city, watching their home grow from the ground. They’ll be close enough to get to work easily, but not right in the heart of the city centre. They’ve got a modest but comfortable home planned, and that garden Bellamy asked oh-so-subtle questions about.
And most importantly of all, they have a bedroom planned for Monet.
“What now?” Clarke asks, as she watches the builders work. “Are we going to stand here until it’s a house?” She wouldn’t mind that, honestly. There’s something mesmerising about watching their future spring up in front of her eyes.
“We could go shopping for curtains.” Bellamy muses. “Maybe paint colours, too. I’ve got the builders in to do this part but I want us to do the interior ourselves.”
She nods. She’s not surprised by that. She loves all things artistic and Bellamy is clearly very invested in this project.
“I guess I know why you’re so interested in kitchen aesthetics now.” She says, teasing.
He doesn’t laugh, though. He sends her a look that says planning the kitchen is no laughing matter.
“You know what they say about the kitchen as the heart of the home?” He muses, thoughtful. “I think there’s a lot of truth in that. Some of my best memories with you are in the kitchen cooking and eating together. We got engaged in my crappy apartment kitchen. So - I want to get this kitchen right.”
She argues with him. She argues not just because she likes to bicker playfully with Bellamy, but because on this occasion she is quite convinced he’s wrong.
“I get that the kitchen is important. But there’s no way the kitchen will be the heart of this home. You will be the heart of this home, Bellamy Blake.”
For once in his life, he does not try to argue in his turn. He simply seizes her by the elbows and kisses her soundly, while a crew of bemused builders look on.