Chapter 40: Final Preparations
Wednesday morning, Ben woke at 5 AM with the ring box on his nightstand.
Three days. The proposal was three days away.
He got up, made coffee, tried to work on shop repairs but couldn't focus. His MacGyver Mind kept analyzing proposal variables—weather (checked, clear forecast), family coordination (Lip handling), Fiona's schedule (confirmed available), escape routes if things went wrong (unnecessary but calculated anyway).
"You're spiraling," he told himself. "Stop spiraling."
The ring box sat on his workbench, catching morning light. He opened it for the hundredth time, stared at the diamond that represented commitment and risk equally.
Too fast. Three months is too fast. People will judge. Fiona might say no because it's rushed.
His Danger Intuition pulsed counterpoint: Spring brings crisis. Robbie brings chaos. Establish foundation before storms arrive.
Ben closed the box, pocketed it. He'd carry it everywhere now—constant reminder of approaching moment, weight of promise about to be offered.
Thursday, Lip appeared with typed proposal plan.
"Okay, logistics are finalized." Lip spread papers across the workbench. "Saturday, 2 PM, Gallagher backyard. I'll tell Fiona we need family meeting about Carl's latest school incident—which is real, he did break another window. She'll show up expecting to discuss Carl's future."
"And instead I'm proposing."
"Exactly. V's handling the kids—they'll be positioned around the yard pretending to do normal shit but actually waiting for the proposal. Kevin's got the camera. Ian's confirmed Mickey's busy elsewhere. Even Frank agreed to show up sober and not ruin things."
"You got Frank to agree?"
"I used your technique—made it about what he'd gain rather than what we need. Told him sober Frank at his daughter's engagement would create goodwill he could use later. He bought it."
Ben scanned the plan. It was thorough, organized, thoughtful. "Thank you. For this. For helping coordinate something you think is crazy."
"It is crazy. Three months is insane." Lip lit a cigarette. "But I've watched you for months. You show up, you help, you don't leave when shit gets hard. That's more than most people give my sister. So yeah, it's fast. But it's also real. I can tell the difference."
"Still think I'm making a mistake?"
"I think you're making a gamble. But sometimes gamblers win." Lip stubbed out his cigarette. "She's going to say yes. You know that?"
"Hope so."
"Not hope. Certainty. Because you're the first guy who's offered her stability without trying to control her. The first guy who helps with the kids without resentment. The first guy who shows up every single day." Lip grabbed his backpack. "She'll say yes. Then you're stuck with us forever. Hope you're ready."
"I'm ready."
After Lip left, Ben reviewed the proposal plan obsessively. His MacGyver Mind identified potential problems, created contingencies, built backup plans for backup plans.
Overthinking. You're overthinking. Just ask her. Simple words. Will you marry me? That's all it takes.
But simple words carried infinite weight when they changed everything.
Friday evening, Fiona sensed something was wrong.
"You're being weird again," she said, lying beside him in her bed—they'd fallen into routine of him staying most nights, building intimacy through accumulated proximity.
"Just thinking."
"About what?"
About proposing tomorrow. About betting everything on us. About spring's approaching disasters and hoping we're strong enough to survive them together.
"About us. About the future."
Fiona propped herself up on one elbow, studied his face in dim light. "That sounds ominous. Are you breaking up with me?"
"What? No. Opposite of that."
"Then what?"
"Just... thinking about how good this is. How much I love you. How I want this to last." Not lies, just incomplete truth. "Sometimes I can't believe I get to have this. Have you."
Her expression softened. "I'm the lucky one. You showed up and made everything easier. Helped with the kids, fixed things I didn't even know were broken, made me feel like I'm not alone in all this." She kissed him gently. "I love you. Whatever you're worrying about, we'll handle it together."
"I love you too."
They fell asleep tangled together, Ben holding her like she might disappear, Fiona secure in his arms, both unaware that tomorrow everything would change.
Or maybe nothing would change. Maybe this just formalized what was already true.
Saturday morning arrived too fast.
Ben woke at 6 AM, Fiona still sleeping beside him. He extracted himself carefully, got dressed, checked his pocket for the ring box—still there, still real, still terrifying.
In his garage, he paced. Rehearsed words that sounded stupid out loud. Tried different approaches:
"Fiona, will you marry me?" Too simple.
"I love you and I want to spend my life with you. Marry me?" Too generic.
"You're everything I never knew I needed. Will you be my wife?" Too cheesy.
"Fuck," he muttered. "Just ask her. Stop overthinking."
Lip appeared at 10 AM. "You good?"
"No. Terrified. Spiraling."
"That's normal. Every guy proposing feels like they're about to throw up." Lip handed him coffee. "Just speak from the heart. Don't rehearse. Let it be real and messy and honest. That's what she needs—honesty, not performance."
"What if she says no?"
"She won't. But if she does, you respect her answer and keep being here. Proposal doesn't change that you love her." Lip checked his phone. "Family's gathering at 1:30. You should be there by 1:45. I'll get Fiona there at 2 PM claiming emergency family meeting. You'll have fifteen minutes to compose yourself before she arrives."
"Fifteen minutes. That's nothing."
"Fifteen minutes is forever when you're waiting to propose. You'll be fine."
1:45 PM, Ben arrived at the Gallagher backyard.
The kids were positioned artfully—Debbie and Carl pretending to clean something, Ian sitting on the back steps, Liam playing with toys. V and Kevin stood near the fence, camera ready. Even Frank was present, surprisingly sober and appropriately dressed.
"You look like you're going to throw up," V observed.
"Feel like it too."
"That's love. It's supposed to be terrifying." V adjusted his collar maternally. "You're doing this. You're proposing to Fiona and she's saying yes and it's going to be beautiful."
"What if—"
"No what-ifs. Just love. That's all this is—offering her partnership and commitment and legal recognition of what you've already built." V pushed him toward the center of the yard. "Stand there. When she comes out, just talk. Tell her why you love her. Then ask. Simple."
The backyard looked normal—grass, fence, Grammy's grave nearby. Nothing special except for the family gathered and the weight of impending moment.
Ben checked his pocket again. Ring box still there. Heart pounding. Mouth dry. Every nerve on fire.
Through the back door, he heard Lip's voice: "Just come outside. Emergency family meeting. Carl's in trouble again."
Fiona's response: "What did he do now?"
"Just come outside!"
Ben's hands shook. He pulled out the ring box, held it, tried to remember how to breathe.
The back door opened. Fiona stepped out, saw the gathered family, saw Ben standing in the center holding a small box.
Her expression shifted—confusion to realization to shock in three seconds.
"Ben?" Her voice was small, uncertain. "What's happening?"
Ben opened the ring box.
Now. Say something. Anything. Tell her the truth.
"Fiona," he started, voice rough with emotion. "Three months ago, you chose me. Chose us. Chose this partnership over easier options. I've spent every day since trying to deserve that choice."
She was crying already, hand over her mouth.
"You make me better. You make everything better. Your strength, your laugh, your refusal to give up even when everything's hard—that's what I want every day for the rest of my life." Ben's voice steadied. "I can't promise perfect. Can't promise easy. But I promise to show up. Every day. Every crisis. Every moment. I promise partnership—equal, honest, real."
The family was silent. V was crying. Kevin was recording. The kids watched with rapt attention.
"Fiona Gallagher, will you marry me?"
Silence stretched—one second, two, three. Time stopped.
Then Fiona laughed through her tears. "You're insane. Three months. We've been dating three months."
"I know."
"This is crazy fast."
"I know."
"Everyone's going to think we're idiots."
"Probably."
She stared at him, at the ring, at their family gathered around. Then: "Yes. Obviously yes. You're insane and this is crazy and yes."
Ben's legs nearly gave out. He slid the ring onto her finger—perfect fit, like he'd known it would be. She pulled him into a kiss while the backyard erupted in celebration.
Kids cheering. V sobbing. Kevin filming everything. Frank actually clapping. Lip grinning despite his earlier skepticism.
When they broke apart, Fiona held up her hand, staring at the ring. "We're engaged. Holy shit, we're engaged."
"Yeah."
"I'm going to marry Lucky Ben the handyman."
"That's the plan."
"You're insane."
"You already said that."
"Worth repeating." She kissed him again. "I love you. So much. Even though this is crazy."
"I love you too."
The family descended—hugs, congratulations, Debbie taking pictures, Carl making inappropriate jokes, Liam confused but happy because everyone else was happy.
V grabbed Fiona. "Let me see the ring! Oh my God, it's perfect. I helped pick it—Ben brought me shopping and I cried and it was beautiful."
"You knew?"
"Everyone knew except you." V was crying again. "And you said yes! You're getting married!"
The celebration continued into evening—impromptu engagement party, neighbors appearing with congratulations, the Gallagher house filled with joy instead of crisis for once.
Ben and Fiona found quiet moment on the back steps, watching chaos from safe distance.
"You really want to marry into this family?" Fiona asked, gesturing at the madness. "Five siblings, an alcoholic father, constant crisis?"
"I really want to marry you. Family's part of the package, and I'm okay with that."
"Good. Because we're a lot. And we're not getting less complicated." She leaned against him. "Thank you. For asking. For wanting this. For being someone I can actually imagine a future with."
"Thank you for saying yes. For taking a chance on us."
They sat together as February evening cooled, engaged couple surrounded by chosen family, future opening ahead with terrifying possibility.
They'd survive what was coming. Together.
That's what marriage means—choosing each other daily, especially when things get hard.
We've got this.
We've got each other.
That's enough.
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