Waking Up With You (4 page)

“One last thing, you’ll be coordinating with my Executive Assistant, Dan. He’s savvy about these things. He can fill you in on whatever big events we have coming up. Everything can be done by email or phone.”

I immediately understand that he does not want me going to the office, nor wasting his time. “Of course,” I reply in my most professional tone. Seeing that our plates are clean and neither of us seems to be inclined to have more pasta, I stand up to start clearing the dishes.

“I should be doing that,” he stops me.

“Nope,” I counter.

“You’re tired. Why don’t you have a shower and relax?”

“I’m really not that tired.”

“Okay. But you haven’t changed out of your clothes since the ceremony. And I’m sure you’d love to get out of those heels.” He smiles encouragingly.

“Well, you may be right. But, don’t you have anything to do?”

“I’ll finish up here and go to work for an hour or two.”

“At seven in the evening?” I inquire with astonishment.

“Work is my life,” he responds mildly. “Besides, we are in the last stages of completing plans for a museum in Orange County. I have to make sure that we don’t get behind schedule.”

“If that’s the case, leave the dishes so you can get going. I’ll take care of them when I get out of the shower.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. It’s just a couple of dishes.” I start to gather the dishes and put them in the sink. I turn around and bid him farewell, “I’ll see you later then.”

“Emma, why don’t you use the dishwasher? It’ll be less effort on your part.”

“That’s okay. It’s no big deal to wash a few dishes.”

“Okay. No need to wait up. I’ll see you in the morning.” He goes to his room, ostensibly to change. After ten minutes, I hear the front door close.
I wonder if I will be spending all my nights alone.
I feel the dull ache of foreboding.

I go to my room to unpack. The walk-in closet is huge. After slowly unfolding everything, I have a dozen dresses hanging on the stainless steel rod and I barely fill up the shelves. The effort leaves me rather tired and I take a long, hot shower.

When I go to sleep, I dream I’m trapped in a glass cage. Its crystalline structure reflects a spectrum of colors, but everywhere around me are steel bars that make escape impossible. I’m running back and forth, looking for a non-existent opening. I see Jake outside the cage and call out to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear or see me. I pound on the glass, hoping to smash it, but it’s unbreakable and I remain a captive.

My eyes dart open and I awaken from the nightmare. Unable to sleep again, I rise to my feet and trudge to the bookcase. I sort through the books for a title that will interest me. They’re mostly hard-bound classics, and I select one of my favorites –
Pride and Prejudice
. A Jane Austen fan since middle school, I’ve read this particular book at least ten times. I bring the book back to bed and bundle up under the comforter, leaning against the padded headboard. Once again, I rekindle my friendship with the arrogant Fitzwilliam Darcy and the quick-witted Elizabeth Bennet.

I finally doze off again after reading a third of the novel. I’m hazily aware that Jake arrives close to midnight. He knocks softly on my door, but I don’t bother to respond. He tiptoes into my room. I have a vague recollection of him picking up the book that’s fallen on the floor and putting it somewhere. Seeing that I’m only half-awake, he tucks me securely under the blankets and turns off the night lamp.

“Sweet dreams, Emma,” he whispers into my ear.

I give a muffled response and he leaves the room.

The next morning, I feel oddly famished so, after a quick shower, I rush to the kitchen and proceed to make a heavy breakfast for the two of us. I scramble some eggs, bake a few strips of bacon, and put some whole wheat bread slices into the bread toaster. I pour some orange juice into the small glasses and set the table with a runner, placemats, and napkins.

Jake walks in, dressed in t-shirt and shorts, obviously sweaty after a workout at the gym on the side of the house. “Good morning. I trust you slept well? You were snoring loudly when I checked in on you.” He laughs.

“I do not snore!” I say emphatically. “I know you checked in on me, but I was too sleepy to get up and talk. So, is your project on course?” I ask.

“Actually, we had a few issues last night and that’s why I couldn’t leave.”

“Well, today’s Saturday. Are you going to work?”

“I’m afraid I have to,” he says in a contrite tone.

I keep my face impassive. “Oh, that’s too bad. I hope you solve the problem.”

We both say nothing while we dig into our hearty meal. I devour the bacon on my plate while he barely touches his toast.

“I'm really sorry that I have to leave you again, but this is a huge project and the reputation of the firm is on the line.” He sounds so remorseful that I want to make things easier for him.

“Jake, don't worry about it. It's not like we're on a honeymoon or something,” I say. Immediately, I realize that that’s the wrong thing to say. “I mean…” I don't know how to correct my mistake.

“Em, do you have to rub it in?”

“God, no, I just don't think first before I say things,” I say truthfully.

“I promise I'll make it up to you,” he says sincerely.

“Now I feel awful. I really don't mind you going to work. I know you love your work, and you didn't get to be a highly-respected architect and business owner by just slacking around. So, of course, you have to go.”

“Yeah, but I feel terrible that we just got married and I haven’t spent any time with you.”

“You shouldn't. This is not a marriage in the true sense of the word. You don't need to spend time here when you can be working on something worthwhile.”

“Please stop talking. You’re not making me feel any better,” he says with a rueful smile. I have the decency to look abashed.

“Jake, if it’s any consolation, I did plan on having lunch with Paige. So, we’ll probably just hang out,” I say with a wide smile.

“Okay, I have to go get dressed. I’ll see you later at dinner,” he says curtly, pushing back his chair, getting ready to leave. “By the way, I left some things for you on your desk,” he tells me.

I stand up myself and cheekily say, “Bye, dear.” He grins and walks back to his room to change.

I occupy myself with cleaning up. I turn on the computer in the kitchen, log in to my Pandora account, and start listening to my favorite tunes while I wash the dishes and pans. I wonder how people managed to do their tasks before the internet changed everything. I smile at the thought of everyone humming and drumming their fingers.

When I’m done, I hear the muffled sound of a door closing. Ahh – my husband is off to work. Truly ironic that I belong to Generation Z, and yet somehow got stuck in an arrangement that is so last century.

I sigh for no particular reason. I want to call Paige, but my cell phone is in the room so I go to retrieve it. On my desk is a brown envelope marked with my name. I recognize Jake’s bold, masculine style of writing. Inside the envelope is a short note:

Emma,

Enclosed are a debit card and credit card for your use. You’ll need to go to the branch on Magnolia to change your Pin. Just sign the credit card and it’s good to go.

The keys are for your car. I had someone deliver it early this morning. Drive safe!

Jake

How did he manage to get the cards and the car in the matter of a day? He must have done all of this before we got married.
Should it bother me that he was that sure?

I look at the cards and they both bear my new name: Emma Morgan. He must be an important client at the bank to be able to do this. I don’t know what I should feel. I mean, obviously, I’m very thankful for his generosity. But, at the same time, I don’t feel right accepting his money. I put the cards inside my wallet and resolve to use them only when absolutely necessary.

But wait, he did say car, right?
My old car was a Corolla with a mileage reading of 250,000. The last repair estimate was so high that Charlie ended up donating it to Wheels for Wishes. I was using Charlie’s old pick-up while he was confined. I excitedly rush out to see what Jake has gotten me. I find a brand new platinum graphite Infiniti Q70 parked by the front door.
Oh my freaking…

What is Jake thinking? This car is at least fifty grand. I know it’s packed with a navigation and sound system that’s state-of-the-art. And its interiors are flawless, of course. This is too, too much. I don’t know if I should be grateful or really annoyed. He’s doing it again. I need a car, true. But this is way beyond your regular means of transportation. After a few minutes of doing the pros and cons, I finally decide it’s just not worth the aggravation of hurting his feelings, or even getting him riled up.

So I send him a brief text message: “Saw the cards. Going shopping right now. (joke). Was sorely tempted to chuck the keys. Decided to be gracious and say thank you instead. I’m taking you for a ride when you come home. :)”

I call Paige and she answers after only two rings. “Em! What was it like? No, no… don’t tell me. Tell me at lunch. Are we meeting at the usual place?” When Paige starts talking, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise.

“For sure. Elevenish?”

“I’ll be there. Bring pictures,” she instructs me.

“Sorry, we just have one and it’s stored in Jake’s phone.”

“Emma, you’re so useless!” She sounds rather peeved. Paige is a scrapbook kind of gal. She saves torn tickets and pressed roses, so it’s understandable that she’s disappointed with my answer. “Fine… just give me all the rosy details when we meet.”

After I hang up, I decide to dress up a little. I want Paige to think that marriage agrees with me. That way, she’ll stop hounding me with her trick questions. I don’t put on my usual jeans and top. Instead, I opt for one of the few summer dresses I have in my walk-in closet. I bring out my white sleeveless v-necked dress, with a skirt that has a watercolor painting of flowers. I would prefer to stick to my good, old reliable Converse sneakers, but I put on a pair of fuchsia sandals instead to complete the outfit.

I tend to my make-up more slowly than usual, putting on light powder, light brown eye shadow, a coat of mascara, and pink lip gloss. I look at myself in the mirror. Though I’m happy with my effort, I know I don’t look like one of those reed thin, gorgeous women who probably hover around Jake. Even with carefully applied make-up, I’m at best a pretty average girl. No outstanding features. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Blah. Paige says I have lovely porcelain skin. Well, my skin is blemish-free, but porcelain is a bit of a stretch. I hate my full, pouty lips. They draw too much attention. My lashes are thick and long, though – the one thing I’m thankful for.

I take out my gunmetal clutch bag and put in my wallet, keys, and lip gloss. I’m about to include my cell phone when it beeps. Ah, a text message from Jake. It reads: “Wise decision. You’re welcome. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

I smile widely. I’m driving Jake in my new car. I feel vaguely excited at the thought.

Ona’s Café is one of Burbank’s most popular restaurants. Paige and I have lunch or dinner here at least once a week. They have a limited menu of pastas, salads, and desserts, but people come here for the specials of the day. The proprietress and chef, Ona Harris, is known for her amazing and unique recipes that use only the freshest ingredients. Just last week, we had her seared scallops and sautéed spinach. It was so heavenly, I was sorely tempted to have one more order. It’s no wonder she’s kept her high Zagat ratings.

We go way back with Ona. Paige and I used to babysit Ona’s precocious daughter, Charity, and we love her to pieces. Jake actually did a remodel of her house on Reese Street. And Charlie used to do her taxes. I’m embarrassed (though really grateful) to say that she’s instructed her staff to give us a huge discount whenever we dine at her place.

As usual, the café is crowded and I have to circle around the block for parking on the street. After a five minute walk in my high heels, I silently curse myself for choosing to dress up. But then I see Paige waving to me from a corner table, and she is looking her normal perfect self, so I say a prayer of thanks that I made an effort.

She rises to give me the warmest of hugs, and we simultaneously squeal with joy. One would think we haven’t seen each other for years. She hands me a package wrapped in silver foil. “Considering that I was not invited to the wedding, you don’t deserve this,” she pretends to grimace and then bursts out in a smile.

“Paige,” I scold her, though my hands are eagerly unwrapping and opening the box. I’m puzzled when I see a journal, and I look at her questioningly.

“It’s Aunt Selma’s collection of pie recipes.”

“No!” I say in astonishment. Paige’s aunt would bake the most delicious pies every time I was over at her house. Whenever I would beg for the recipes, she would always shush me and say, “Why do you need a recipe when I can easily bake it for you?”

“She repeatedly told me to make you promise you will never share them with anyone else,” Paige says solemnly.

I nod happily. I turn the pages of her handwritten notes and see the recipes of my favorites. Caramel apple. Apricot buttermilk. Double chocolate pecan. I’m thinking of which pie to bake tonight when Paige interrupts me. “Earth to Emma. Put the journal away and give me all the juicy details!”

I’m about to open my mouth when Liz, our server, comes over to ask about drinks. “Hi Liz. Raspberry iced tea for me, please,” I say.

“Same for me, Liz.” Paige and I almost always have this drink.

“Well?” Paige asks impatiently.

“You’re gonna be very disappointed,” I warn her. “We waited about an hour. Then we got married in a ten-minute ceremony. End of story.”

“Emma Louise, if that’s all you have for me, then I’m done,” she threatens.

“What do you want me to say? A blow by blow? Well, okay, we sat on a wooden bench. Made small talk. Finally got called by the clerk. The commissioner gave the usual spiel. He kissed me on the cheek. Got confetti on our clothes…” I’m interrupted by a visibly excited Paige.