Waking Up With You (16 page)

He takes off his jacket. He embraces me from behind, moves my hair to one side, and lavishes my neck with hot kisses. My whole being is suffused with heat. My head is light, but my eyelids feel heavy and my body sluggish. I am moving side to side, my sense of balance compromised.

“Emma!” That’s the last thing I hear, and then I fall over.

I’m in bed and my eyes slowly open. Grey light peeps through the vertical blinds shading the sliding door. The pain throbs and pulses in my head. I feel a sudden surge of overwhelming anxiety as I look around the room, and know I am in unfamiliar surroundings. I jackknife to a sitting position. I see Jake sleeping soundly next to me. I must be in his room. I’m in a man’s pajama top and nothing else. Oh God.. did we? Why can’t I remember anything?

I look at the time and it’s only six in the morning. Why the hell did I drink all that champagne? My body must have had a really bad response because it’s my first time to have had that much alcohol. Now, I’m sitting on Jake’s bed and I don’t know if I should scurry out like a mouse before he wakes up.

Before I can even get out of bed, I hear him saying, “How do you feel?”

I’m sure my face is red from embarrassment, so I respond without looking at him. “I feel like a sledgehammer is hitting my head,” I say honestly.

He rolls out of bed and leaves the room. He comes back with a glass of water and a small bottle of ibuprofen. “Here, this will help,” he says gently. I swallow the pill and drink all the water like I’m suddenly thirsty.

“Thank you, Jake,” I whisper. He kisses the top of my head and orders me to scooch over. I lay my head on his shoulder. He runs his hand through my hair and massages my temple. I relax, allowing myself the pleasure of his touch.

“Feeling any better?” he asks, and I realize that I nearly dozed off again while he was rubbing my forehead.

“Much,” I say gratefully. I now ask what’s on my mind. “Did we?”

“No. You’re the only person I know who can get drunk on two glasses of champagne. You actually passed out in my arms,” he says with some amusement.

“And did you…?” I ask, pointing to my pajama top.

“Yes, I undressed you like a baby.”

“I’m sorry, Jake.” I now feel like a ball and chain around his neck.

“Sorry you got drunk and passed out or sorry we didn’t?” His tone is light, but I can tell he’s interested in my response.

So I tell him the truth. “Both.”

He cusses lightly and then mutters, “Damn hangover.” His gorgeous eyes examine my face for a long time and then he declares in a clear voice, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but some things are worth waiting for.”

I try hard to hide my chagrin, but he can tell. “Emma, when the time is right, everything will fall into place. We’ll both be ready for it.”

Once again, I don’t understand what he’s trying to say. I’m thinking last night was the perfect time. We both wanted it but, of course, my luck had run its course as usual, and I ruined the moment with my drunkenness. Is he just trying to let me down easy? How can the time ever be right again when Christina will invade his thoughts as soon as I’m out of sight? Do I seriously want to be his mistress-wife?

The dull pounding in my head starts again and I capitulate to the need for more rest. I lay down on my side, my face away from his, but as sleep overtakes me, I feel him spoon me with, his heavy arm around my body. I am content.

December is always a hectic month, but this year it’s worse than usual, what with the finals, the holiday craziness, and Jake’s firm planning a full roster of projects for the coming year. We’re back to the ‘hi-hello’s’ at breakfast and burning the midnight oil. Me with my required term papers and Jake with his full schedule.

I wish I could say that we’ve had other intimate encounters, but that’s not the case at all. It’s not like he’s avoiding me, or I him. There’s just too much to attend to and our clocks are horribly unsynchronized. Plus, even if they were, nothing would happen anyway because I can only surmise that he’s seeing a lot of Christina again, now that he’s back to his regular timetable.
The moment has passed. It’s over. I get it.

I’m doing another paper on one of Dr. Merritt’s mystery questions. I’ve done at least a dozen since the beginning of the sem and this one has me irked. I mean, how do you answer the question “Who am I?” Are we defined by our physical beings, our brains, or our consciousness? Is there even a way to define an individual? Ugh…I hate Dr. Merritt’s class so much. If Philosophy is supposed to refine one’s ability to communicate, why do I feel like I’m not saying anything meaningful in my papers?

Who am I? What were the words in that movie again? Oh, yes,
I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her
.

Two hours and two paragraphs later, Jake struts in, with scarf and peacoat draped over his arm. “Get dressed,” he tells me without so much as a hello.

“Why?” I want to give him attitude because I’m grumpy from the writing.

“C’mon, Emma. We’re getting a tree right now.”

“It’s nine in the evening. Who’s gonna be open?”

“The YMCA tree lot closes at ten.”

“Ugh, okay, give me five minutes.” I change into a thicker sweater and put on an infinity scarf for added protection from the cold.

We make it to the tree lot on Third Street ten minutes later. There are literally about a hundred trees, and I look at Jake for his recommendation. He latches on to the ten foot Noble Fir right in front of us and takes out his wallet.

“Wait!” I say loudly. “Did you just choose that tree because it’s right in front of us?”

“No, I chose this tree because it’s the perfect height – ten feet. It’s also because of tradition.”

“Tradition? Charlie never bought a tree this high,” I answer back.

“No, but he always bought a noble fir. I should know, because he brought me along the last three years.”

“Oh.” I never even noticed.

“I’ll have them deliver the tree for an extra fee. You can start decorating tomorrow.” He thinks of everything.

“But, we don’t have any trimmings, remember?”

He thinks for a moment and then says, “Wellington’s is open till twelve. We can go right now.”

I give him a high five and he laughs at my childishness.

I love, love, love Wellington’s. There are two aisles of Christmas decorations in at least twelve different motifs. I’m staring at everything with wide eyes and I can’t make up my mind about what to buy.

“Jake, you pick,” I give him the choice since he’s obviously blessed with good taste, and can make decisions faster.

“Why don’t you pick?” he asks.

“Because I like them all and you don’t want the house to look like a frightening mess.”

“Fine,” he gives up and starts putting things into the cart. In record time, we find ourselves at the cash register.

“Emma!” A deep voice shouts out my name and I turn around to find a young guy in a black hooded jacket. It’s Tim – Katie’s Tim. I smile brightly and give him a big hug.

“What are you doing here?” It’s always nice to see a friend outside the usual setting.

“Oh, you know, last minute shopping,” he says with a wink.

“There’s no rush. You still have two weeks, you know.”

“But these things take time, and we’re just too busy at school.”

“Shopping for someone special?” I jokingly slap him on his arm.

“Who else? You know, stocking fillers,” he says smilingly.

I hear Jake clearing his throat and I realize how I’ve ignored him all this time. I turn to him and introduce Tim. “Jake, this is Tim, a classmate.” Then I say, “Tim, this is Jake,” I stop, not knowing how to describe him.

Jake gives me a dark look, shakes Tim’s hand, vigorously and says, “Her husband.” Goodbye! My eyes are darting from one man to the other. The look of surprise on Tim’s face is priceless. Jake says nothing further, but I can sense he’s cheesed off because the muscle on the side of his face is twitching. He pays for our stuff and I give Tim an embarrassed wave.

As we exit the store, I immediately turn to Jake and accuse him, “What was that about?”

His fuming is now evident. “What do you mean what was that about? You ignore me while you flirt with the man, and you introduce me as Jake. Plain Jake.” His voice is loud and I look around to see if anyone is observing us.

“First of all, I wasn’t flirting. Tim is a good friend, that’s all. He and his girlfriend, Katie, are schoolmates. And secondly, I didn’t know how to introduce you, given that we have this pact not to say anything about our marriage,” I finish weakly.

“Oh, you mean the pact that you forced on me,” he says sarcastically.

“I thought it was a mutual agreement?”

“Well, you thought wrong. And just so we’re clear, I’m done with the rules. I’m done waiting for you to grow up. I’m done being patient. I’m done. Period. You’re my wife and the whole world should know it,” he booms in a fuming voice.

He practically runs with the cart to the car and starts throwing the decorations haphazardly into his trunk. I walk more slowly, disoriented from his tirade and afraid to set him off again.

What has gotten into Jake? Did Christina pick a fight with him and he’s taking his fury out on me? He wants the world to know I’m his wife? Why? Is there trouble in paradise and he’s trying to get back at Christina by hurting her?

I love Jake, but his mercurial mood swings are too difficult to comprehend. I sometimes feel like I’m on a precipice, one wrong move away from mishap.

I’m practically running to my Communication Studies 105 class. I spot Tim and Katie at the left corner of the room on the last row, and do my best to find a seat as far from them as possible. However, eagle-eyed Katie sees me and motions for me to sit on the empty chair next to her. I’m trapped. Might as well get it over and done with. As Professor Koslovsky gives another of her long-winded lectures on broadcasting, Katie hisses, “Start talking now, Missy.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I whisper back.

“Really? Let’s start with the fact that you never told us you got married.”

“Shhh!! Do you want the whole world to know?” I entreat her.

She gives me the evil eye. “I will start blabbing if you don’t start talking.”

“Fine, I got married. End of story.” I give her the pithy version. I look over to Professor Koslovsky and thankfully observe that her attention is on the slides.

“Are you insane? I am not going to let you off the hook that easily,” she says confidently.

I sigh. This is going to be a very long class. “What do you want to know?”

“Who? What? Where? When? Why?” she mouths the five W’s of investigation.

“Seriously? Koslovsky’s going to detect what’s going on and throw us out of her class.”

“Okay, after class then. Don’t think you can escape,” she threatens. So we go back to listening to the lecture and taking notes.

When the class is over, I’m about to dash to the door, but Tim comes out of nowhere and effectively blocks my way.

“Are you going to tackle me to the ground as well?” I remark caustically.

“Emma, your husband almost ripped my hand off,” Tim asserts.

“Don’t be such a baby!”

“Well, who is he?” Katie now says, and I’m forced to walk between the two of them as we exit the classroom.

“You mean my tall, gorgeous husband?” I say smugly.

“Yes,” Katie replies immediately.

“There’s really nothing to tell. I’ve known him all my life. After my brother died, we decided to get married,” I twist the truth a little since I’m embarrassed to tell them I was palmed off by Charlie to his dearest friend.

“There’s something you’re not telling us,” Katie says. “He’s a few years older than you are. You never even mentioned you were dating before you went MIA.” Katie is such a bulldog. I admire her tenacity, but right now she’s just pissing me off.

“He was Charlie’s friend. So, yes, he’s eight years older than I am. We kept our relationship a secret because we weren’t ready to tell the world yet.” I am a master at spinning yarn.

Katie’s eyes are narrowed while she looks for signs that I’m squirming but I give her the most serene smile, so she finally says, “Why wouldn’t anyone be ready to tell the world they’re in love?”

“Because of snoops like you,” I retort, and Tim nearly chokes on his laughter.

“What does he do?” Katie starts again with the twenty questions.

“He’s a very successful architect,” I say with pride.

She’s about to open her mouth again, but Tim grabs her arm and says, “Katie, we’re going to be late for Ted’s thing. You can catch up with Emma later.” He winks and I smile.

“This is not the end, Emma Gilmore or whatever-your-new-surname-is,” she warns as they walk away.

Geez! I make up my mind to be late for Professor Koslovsky’s class all the time from now on.

Healthy oatmeal with berries on top. That’s what we’re having for breakfast this morning. Ever since his outburst at Wellington’s, we’ve been on a down cycle again. The usual ‘hello-goodbye.’ I figure eating healthy may put him in a better mood.

Jake saunters in, already dressed for work. After a terse “Good morning,” he looks at the bowl and asks, “Are we on a health kick during the holidays?” He may be a physical fitness freak, but he’s a real foodie at heart.

“No, just thought a change would be nice. I can make some butter-soaked pancakes for you,” I say glibly.

He smiles and immediately spoons some oatmeal into his mouth. “Actually, not bad at all,” he comments.

“Are you that much in a rush that you had no time for exercise?”

“No, I got up at five this morning. I have a final inspection in Orange County. The museum is having its soft opening this weekend, so I’m checking out everything one more time, helping them out with the exhibits,” he says.

“But hasn’t everyone at your firm been there every day for the last few weeks?” I should know because I’ve been tweeting about it.

“The Museum Board of Directors wants me there doing last minute tweaks, if necessary.”

“You work so hard, Jake. You should at least get some time off during the Christmas break.” It’s true. He’s one of the most driven individuals I’ve ever known, and I worry about the stress he experiences at work.