Proposal

"I bet he'll miss the blow jobs," says Lana. She is talking more to her margarita than to Alan, but he grunts his agreement anyway. He know that Lana isn't really a bitter person, she just doesn't deal well with rejection.

"I mean, he wasn't even that good in bed. And more than that, he absolutely hated Dylan. Said he couldn't sing worth a crap." Lana almost smiles, but stops herself in time.

"Do you want a sympathy fuck?" asks Alan, and immediately regreats it. Lana has never quite forgiven him for having a y-chromosome.

"I'd love one, darling," she says so seriously that it takes Alan a minute to realize that she didn't mean it, and he isn't sure even then.

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course."

One of Alan's eyebrows makes a leap for his not yet receding hairline. "Well," he says.

They both realize how awkward the situation suddenly is. Alan folds a napkin into a primitive bird-like creature; Lana orders another margarita.

They sit and observe each other. Alan notes that Lana is still trying to recover from the 80's. She is wearing candy-pink lipstick and her hair is in a side ponytail, although she has at least gotten rid of her formerly massive bangs. He knows that she has a shoebox full of David Bowie tapes under her bed. Lana notices that Alan looks like he needs a stiff drink and a good lay. She wonders if he still has three different kinds of shampoo lined up in his shower.

"So, um, when?" he asks. He hopes that having some kind of concrete plan will make him feel better about wanting go to through with it.

"What's wrong with now?" Lana, of course, sees nothing wrong with screwing at Don Pablo's while they wait for their food to be brought out.

Alan glares at his fork as he maneuvers it around the table to Lana's side. He makes it do a little dance for her.

"Will you cut that out?" Lana snaps. "I'm trying to be serious. I've just been through a very serious ordeal with a total bastard and you're making your silverware dance at me! I was crying on the way over here, for Christ's sake!" Alan watches Lana get more and more worked up. He crosses his fingers in his lap and wishes that Lana won't start crying at him now.

"I've never seen you cry, Lana. I don't think you ever have." He hopes that he can convince her to calm down.

"Bullshit." He knows she's a goner. "I was just fine until I started thinking about it. I was driving and listening to the radio and I thought, 'I wonder why I'm not crying' and I started bawling my eyes out. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Nothing. You're wonderful. His loss." Alan knows his lines well, but he doesn't fool Lana anymore. She starts crying at him.

"Please. Please stop it, Lana. Oh shit," he stammers. Lana cries. Alan gets brave. "Will you marry me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh holy shit."

"You don't hate Dylan, do you?"

"No."

"Well then." Lana smiles fierclly. "We must be meant for each other."

"Hmm." Alan contemplates his fork. "When?"

"What?"

"When do you want the wedding to be?"

"It doesn't matter."

"God, I don't even have a ring to give you." Alan is suddenly not sure that he could tolerate living with Lana for the rest of his life. More importantly, he knows that because he still works in a coffee shop, he can't afford a wedding.

"Do you have a pen?" Lana asks.

"What?"

"A pen. Trust me."

Alan extracts a pen from his pocket and hands it to Lana. She hands it back to him and holds out her hand.

"Just draw a ring. You can buy me one later."

Alan draws a ring around Lana's finger with his green felt-tip pen. "Shit," he says under his breath.

"Did you just say 'shit' at me?"

"No." Alan picks up his fork and stabs at his Diet Coke.

"Stop that." She takes a sip of her margarita. The condensation on the glass makes the ink of her ring run a little bit.

Alan picks up his drink and clicks it against hers.

"To us," he says.