Indelible Love - Emily's Story (36 page)

“Will we ever take the Metro
here?”

“Why do that when you have a driver at
your disposal?”

I let out a chortle and thought what a
silly question to ask.

Henri was a delightful elderly
gentleman who took us to a small private room upon entering this
stunning jewelry shop. I didn’t realize regular people actually
shopped in stores as glamorous as this one. Gawking around the main
room, I looked for movie stars or some famous person, but to my
disappointment, there were no sightings. Henri and Jake spoke in
French the entire way into our room. They spoke so quickly I
couldn’t catch any of their conversation. I was rather hoping to
figure out why I was here. After a few minutes, I finally got an
explanation, but this was not the scenario I had spun out in my
head.

After all introductions were made,
Jake explained he was here on Gram’s request to get her mother’s
ring reset.

“Oh. How’s Gram doing? Can we call her
after this errand?” I asked. “I miss her.”

“Should we go see her after
Paris?”

“I’d love to do that! Do we have time?
By the way, do you have a grandfather as well?”

“No he passed away two years ago, and
she’s been living on her own since. She and Gramps retired in
London back in the late nineties.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but I
thought it rude since Henri was waiting for us.

“So, Gram is about to hand down her
mother’s diamond to my mom. It was my great grandmother’s desire to
see this ring handed down from daughter to daughter. Gram wants
Henri, our family’s favorite jewelry setter, to reset this ring so
she can pass it down to her. Neither Gram nor Mom will have anyone
touch her jewelry except Henri.”

Not the explanation I wanted, but I
was still a bit puzzled.

“So I assume the ring is ready and we
are here to pick it up?”

“No, it’s not ready yet. We need your
help.”

“What could I do?” I wondered
aloud.

“You and Mom have the same ring size
and I was wondering if you could try on the ring so we won’t have
to resize it. Gram thought since we were here in Paris, might as
well get it done right.”

I kept playing twenty questions hoping
for a favorable answer but it never came.

“How do you know your mom and I have
the same ring size?” I asked, with a last hope that maybe I might
be the beneficiary of good news.

“She was the one who tried on your
eternity band. That’s how I know,” were the final words that made
me stop the inquisition.

Jake and Henri looked at each other
and said something furtively in French and chuckled. I was
obviously missing out on their inside joke.

I abandoned the rest of my theories
and waited for the ring. When Henri came back from the safe, he
asked me to take off my eternity band and told me he would check it
to make sure none of the diamonds were loose and he would clean it
as well. I unenthusiastically took off my band while Henri handed
the other ring to Jake.

Jake walked over and held out my left
hand. His hands trembled and my heart began thumping wildly. He
forced a casual smile and slowly pushed an enormous square cut
diamond. I felt a chill go down my spine as he placed this dazzling
jewel onto my ring finger. I knew it didn’t belong to me but the
glow on Jake’s face suggested this ring was meant to bind us as
one. The sheer magnitude and brilliance of the ring made me feel a
lump of jealousy as well.

While I reveled in Sandy’s borrowed
moment, Jake abruptly pulled off the ring and handed it back to
Henri.

“
Bon! Merci,
Henri”

I had to walk out of the room so Jake
wouldn’t notice the tears in my eyes. I knew the ring wasn’t mine,
but in my heart, I so intensely wished for a proposal that didn’t
happen.

Jake walked out after some time and
led me outside, and we left, just like that, for the
Louvre.

“Jake. What about my ring?” I
asked.

“Huh?” His answer was a bit flustered.
“How did you…oh! We’ll pick up the band before we leave.” I was in
too much of a haze to comprehend his incoherent thought.

Francois from the hotel had arranged a
private tour of the Louvre for us. The docent led us around the
entire museum, and even took us into rooms forbidden to the public.
The “fix-it” room was the most interesting of these rooms. There
were specially trained men and women repairing paintings and
sculptures damaged during a move or from natural wear and
tear.

Though the Louvre was fascinating, my
mind couldn’t leave that private room at Boucheron. My thoughts
kept drifting back to the ring, Jake’s glow when he placed the ring
on my finger, and a picture of the ring on my finger. Jake noticed
my preoccupation at lunch.

“Emily…”

I heard him call me, but wasn’t paying
attention.

“Emily!”

“Huh? Yes? Did you need something?” I
asked in a fog.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been
zoned out all morning since Boucheron. Is something
wrong?”

Ugh! He noticed.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” I
lied.

“What’s on your mind? You haven’t been
yourself. Your body is here but your mind is somewhere else. You
can’t even concentrate on your lunch, which is a first.”

It was true. Jake brought me to a
gorgeous tea salon nestled in an old green very French-looking
building in the Saint Germain area of Paris. The server explained
to us that this establishment first opened in 1862. This was the
type of beautiful but unattainable storefront Sarah and I would
visit and purchase a macaron or two. A stunning window display
filled with colorful cake plates and fun pastry boxes showcasing
cakes and chocolates and tartes greeted us. Inside, a delicious
smell of sugar presented in the shape of millefeuilles and éclairs
and cream puffs and biscuits, paralyzed me initially.

This place was famous for their
pastries, namely my favorite—macarons. These were their “emblem.”
At around thirty euros for an array of macarons, I should have
enjoyed them more than my French Laundry meal but I still couldn’t
focus. Not my monkfish carpaccio with lemon marmalade or the tray
of pastries—just about one of every goody the store had to
offer—took me away from that ring.

What to say? Surprisingly, I came up
with a legitimate excuse. “I think jet lag caught up with me as
well.” I lied again.

I couldn’t explain the obsession with
a ring that didn’t belong to me, and a proposal that never
transpired.

“OK. You’re being awfully strange.”
Though there was a smirk on his face, I couldn’t process beyond our
immediate conversation. “You want to go back to the hotel instead
of the soccer match?”

“No. I’m fine,” I promised. “Let’s
enjoy our lunch and go watch futbol.”

Jake wasn’t kidding when he said that
Europeans were fanatical about their futbol. We sat with the French
nationals and regretted not having worn the French tricolor—blue,
white, and red. We saw half-naked men with their national flag
painted all over their bodies, and long plastic horns called
vuvuzela blew every third second, and the Europeans, too, had a
chant or a song for each play. Even with such a spectacle, I
couldn’t get into the game. I was still in a daze.

Maybe it was because I didn’t
understand the game.

Maybe it was because the men next to
me were drunk and obnoxious.

But, most likely it was because my
head was still wrapped around that little, correction—huge—diamond
ring.

Who would have thought I’d be so
consumed with a ring.

Around midnight, we found ourselves in
front of my room, entangled in a kiss good night.

“I guess we have to separate, huh?” I
murmured.

“We don’t have to. You choose to. Good
night, my love,” was all he said as he walked into his
room.

Today’s lesson: Viande et Poisson—Meat
and Fish.

We used the stock we made yesterday
and cooked many classic French fare. Beef Bourguignon, a beef stew,
seared Foie Gras, which tasted amazing even at 8:00 a.m., frog
legs, Coquilles, and Loup au fenouil, sea bass in a creamy fennel
sauce. All of this was a bit overwhelming to taste so early, but
again, I enjoyed every moment of the lesson.

Rather than going straight to Jake’s
room, I headed back to my room to give Sarah a call. We had only
spoken once since she got back from her honeymoon and I missed her,
and wanted to get an update on married life. It was midnight her
time, but I thought I’d give it a try.

“Hello?” answered a sleepy
voice.

“Sarah!” I answered back
cheerfully.

“Emily. Hi! Are you still in
Paris?”

“Yeah, it’s our third day
here.”

“Is life with Jake as wonderful as you
dreamed it would be?”

“Yeah, it’s been incredible. I’m
having so much fun. I’m even taking cooking lessons here at the
hotel. Jake’s thought of everything for me.” My bipolar mood
surfaced with each answer.

“That’s great, but why do you sound
like that? Let me guess…he hasn’t popped the question
yet.”

“No,” I moped. “What if he decides he
doesn’t want to marry me after all?”

“Emily, are you kidding me? This is a
man who flew all the way to Japan to reconcile with you. You told
me yourself he was miserable without you the past five months. Just
be patient and be happy. You’re in Paris, the most romantic city in
the world! Being with Jake is what you’ve dreamed of for the last
six months. You guys are finally together. Even if a proposal
doesn’t happen this week, he’s not going to let go of you ever
again. When the time is right he will ask again.” She consoled me
the best she could.

“I know. Thanks, Sarah,” I tried to
say in a more cheery way. “How’s married life?”

“Incredible!” she answered.

“You two have dated for nine years. Is
it really that much different?”

“Married life is more amazing, more
intimate, more…everything!”

“All right, I get the hint. I’m sure
I’m interrupting something very important. I’ll call when I get
back home. Bye.”

Sarah started cracking up. “Bye,
Emily. Have a great rest of the trip.”

We hung up and I promised
myself that I would change my attitude. My sour disposition wasn’t
fair to Jake.
When he’s ready, he will ask
again
.

Jake caught me as I was about to walk
out of my room.

“Why are you here by yourself?” His
brows creased with worry. “Is everything all right?”

“It’s perfect! I came in to call
Sarah. I was just heading your way. Did you get the breakfast I
sent over?”

“Yes,” he said with a good morning
embrace. “Thank you.”

“What’s on the itinerary today, Dr.
Reid? Speaking of, don’t you miss being at the
hospital?”

“Nope. Not when I’m with you.” He
smiled. “Today, how about we do a little shopping, and then go to
the Opera House? Francois sent over a list of specialty shops.
There are two large flea markets we can visit.”

“Sounds great!” My chipper face was
back on.

Today was a day where I was grateful
to have a loaner car and driver from the hotel. At the Saint Ouen
flea market in the 18th arrondissement, it took us almost four
hours to walk around the entire marketplace. For Sandy, I bought an
antique clock, and for Bobby I found an old ink pen. There wasn’t
anything to my liking for Nick and Jane so we got in the car and
visited numerous antique shops, clothes shops, and shoe and
accessory stores in Porte de Vanves in the 14th arrondissement. I
had better luck there and found a frighteningly racy lingerie for
Sarah and Charlie, which Jake begged me to keep for myself, and a
cool hat for Jane at a vintage shop.

Next, our driver took us to a most
charming group of bookstalls known as Les Bouquinistes. Set against
the edge of the River Seine, rows and rows of green metal boites,
or boxes, sold old and used books, magazines, prints, posters, and
pictures. Over two hundred vendors set up shop across the Seine
from the iconic Notre Dame Cathedral.

Upon first glance, every
stall looked an identical green color, like the kind one would see
in old train cars. We stopped at several bouquinistes before
learning that with patience and careful scouring, valuable first
edition tomes could be discovered at any random stall. At one
particular vendor I found a tattered, leather-bound copy of Charles
Dickens’
A Tale of Two Cities
from the early 1900’s while Jake chatted with the
owner in mellifluous French. I also discovered Julia Child’s first
cookbook that she wrote while living in Paris, and an architecture
book of Paris with schematics of all the historical
buildings.

This Dickens’ book caused some
consternation as I contemplated first, the price, and second,
Jake’s reaction to the receiver of this gift. Julia Child’s
cookbook, of course, would make a wonderful gift for Nick; Charlie
would love the book of buildings. Knowing I would regret not buying
these books I brought all of them up to the owner.