Indelible Love - Emily's Story (42 page)

“The thought did cross my mind,” I
mused.

As we tried to continue our
conversation, Aunt Barbara and the chief began clearing their
throats.

“Ahem! Hello, nephew. Don’t I get a
good morning kiss?” the chief asked facetiously.

Startled, Jake turned his body around.
“What are you doing here, Chief? Hi, Aunt Babs. Good to see you.”
He tried to hold me with both arms while leaning over the island to
give his aunt a kiss on the cheek.

“I need a ride to the hospital with
you this morning. Your aunt and I have a dinner to attend, and
she’s going to come pick me up later,” the chief
explained.

I told Jake that Aunt Barbara was here
to help us with wedding decorations. Whether or not he was
interested, we three gave him a rundown of all the vendors coming
to the house and what would be accomplished today. While I gave
more wedding details, Jake jerked his head up and startled
me.

“Emi!”

I jumped and answered,
“Yes?”

“I forgot to tell you, you need to
stop by the bank today. The manager is expecting you.”

“Why?”

“I sent in the paperwork yesterday to
add your name to all my accounts. I was supposed to tell you to
stop by the bank yesterday, but I forgot.

“OK,” I answered.

He reached in his pocket and took out
a card for me. “Here’s your ATM card. You need to activate
it.”

I sheepishly smiled reading the ATM
card. Below the sixteen-digit punched card, I saw in bold print,
EMILY REID. I whispered the name aloud. It sounded even better than
I imagined. I saw Jake grinning from the corner of my
eyes.

“Also can you deposit my paychecks
into our checking account while you’re at the bank?”

The words
our account
sounded so
wonderful they gave me goose bumps. I knew it was silly to be so
animated over the obvious joining of names and official documents,
but those chosen words made everything sound so much more
real.

Without thinking, I opened up Jake’s
paychecks, shocked to find how many digits were in the dollar box.
I turned to Jake with eyes wide open and said a little too loudly,
“Do you really get paid this much? Is this a monthly or every other
monthly paycheck?”

I could hear all the chuckles coming
from the left side of the island.

“Emi, this is a two-week paycheck,”
Jake answered back in a somewhat offensive tone. “You do know that
I save lives by operating on hearts, daily. Sometimes it’s multiple
hearts.”

“Well, you do know that I save lives
by teaching children their fundamentals before they can get to
their higher medical learning, but my paycheck looks nothing like
yours. I probably need six paychecks to equal one of yours,” I
responded back.

He chuckled and added, “We need my
paychecks if we’re going to enjoy trips like Paris. We probably
spent at least one paycheck in Paris.”

“Are you kidding me? We spent that
much money there? We cannot vacation like that anymore. What a
ludicrous amount of money we spent.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be as bad next
time since we won’t have to get two rooms,” he answered, reaching
over to kiss me again.

The words two rooms seem to be of
interest to everyone else at the island. Aunt Barbara was the first
to ask, “Why did you have two rooms at the Ritz?”

Jake rolled his eyes and answered,
“Don’t ask. I got into big trouble for telling Gram that Emily’s a
virgin.”

My head automatically
dropped into my hands and Jake realized his big mistake, again. My
cheeks turned bright red and once again, I was hoping to be
swallowed up by the floor. My lips were shut tight, my eyes
squinted and my head came up just long enough to give Jake a
you are in big trouble
look.

The conversation that ensued troubled
me even more than the topic of my virginity.

“You mean you’re not pregnant? That’s
not why we’re having this shotgun wedding?” the chief
bellowed.

My head jerked up at the word
pregnant. I stared and processed in my head what he just said, and
what the rest of the family members might have thought about us. It
never occurred to me everyone would think that we were rushing into
marriage because I might be pregnant.

Mortified. Horrified.
Aghast.

I felt all of the above.

Jake almost fell off his barstool
howling in laughter. The rest of the family looked at me
apologetically for jumping to this conclusion, and embarrassed for
putting me in such an awkward situation.

If I wanted the ground to swallow me
up earlier, now I wanted to stay there till after the wedding. How
would I face every guest who would be thinking what my immediate
family members thought?

Jake finally calmed down enough to
pull me to his lap and comfort me. He knew the scenario I had
conjured up in my head.

“Don’t worry. When everyone sees us at
Christmas minus a big belly, they will realize that you and I did
not have a shotgun wedding. That is…unless you want to be pregnant
right away. Then we can start trying even today.” Jake somehow
turned this situation even worse.

I turned to Bobby and Sandy, hoping
someone would be on my side. “Mom, Dad, did you also think I was
pregnant?

“Sweetheart, we’re sorry! We did think
it was odd you and Jake wanted to get married so quickly. Most
couples don’t have three-week engagements. The thought did cross
our minds.” They looked as mortified as I felt.

“Let’s go up to our room,” Jake said
trying to break my flabbergasted glower. “Let me give you all the
bank account numbers,” he added, pulling me off the stool, and
pulling my hand toward his room.

We got away from the family and Jake
stopped and looked concerned.

“You OK?”

After thinking about it, I let it go.
I had overreacted. It would only be natural for people to assume we
wanted to get married right away before my stomach
popped.

“I’m fine.” I looked into his
sparkling blue eyes and felt protected. Once again, I couldn’t
imagine being in a better place with a better man.

“I’m guessing you won’t let me finish
where we left off last night?” he suggested, pushing me against the
wall, mouth nibbling on my ear.

“You’re guessing correctly!” I said,
attempting to pull away. “Jake?”

“Hmm?” His lips traveled to the neck
while the hands rummaged under my shirt.

“Can I come visit you at the hospital
and have lunch with you today?”

Delighted, Jake’s head popped
up.

“I’d love that, Emi. My colleagues
keep asking when you’re going to stop by. When do you want to
come?”

“Maybe around 1:00 p.m.? Will you be
done with your morning surgery? I’ll make you something yummy for
lunch.”

“I should be. If I’m not done, wait
for me in my office and I’ll meet you there.”

Uncle Henry’s loud voice bellowed up
the stairs. “Dr. Reid, we’ve got a patient in OR waiting for us.
You can work on that baby later.”

We both shook our heads and
laughed.

“See you later. I’m excited you’re
coming by. I love you.”

“I love you too,” were my last words,
as I let Jake go save more lives.

Once Jake left, it was back to wedding
preparations. Sandy and Barbara simultaneously agreed on linen
colors as well the China pattern for the tables. They leaned toward
a classic look for the wedding and I agreed with their every
suggestion. The only area of interest for me was the dinner menu. I
would voice my opinion when the caterer stopped by with her
suggestions for the meal.

Midmorning, I made the sushi rice,
filleted the fish, and cut them up into sushi and sashimi slices. I
also put the rest of the frozen croissants in the oven for the
nurses at the hospital. Aunt Barbara, Sandy, and Bobby sat down to
lunch while I began working on a bento box for Jake, the chief, and
myself.

While in Japan, I found these
beautiful round bento boxes during my visit to Kappabashi, the
restaurant supply district. I placed a large green leaf in each of
the five boxes and began assembling the sushi pieces. The bottom
layer contained sliced-up pineapples, strawberries, blueberries,
and oranges with whipped cream in a separated container. A nigiri
sushi sat on the second tier. There was toro, hamachi, kinmedai,
hirame, sake, uni, and amaebi. In the third box, I arranged sashimi
pieces on top of shredded daikon radishes, just like they did at
sushi bars. In the fourth, partitioned box, I placed a salad and
little pickled side dishes I purchased at the fish market. The top
box had all the shrimp and veggie tempura. I wrapped the bento box
in a large silk scarf, put the miso soup with amaebi heads in a
thermos, and the necessary utensils in another carrying case, and I
left for the hospital.

Walking into the hospital, I looked no
different than a pizza delivery boy. Bearing an armful of food, I
asked the receptionist for directions to Dr. Jake Reid’s office.
Her answer made me laugh.

“You take the elevator up to the third
floor, turn left, and follow the yellow line into the Reid Wing.
His office will be a few doors down on the right.”

Of course, his office was located in
the Reid Wing. Jake’s late grandfather spent his money generously.
If I were ever to get ill, I would be well taken care of at this
hospital. Jake’s office resembled an office cubicle. It was also as
messy as the closet in his bedroom. This room needed my
housekeeping services right away. Bookmarkers were placed in opened
books and stacked on his desk and neat piles of patient files were
made from the folders strewn about the desk and sofa. I made a
mental note to myself to bring some flowers to brighten up his
dreary office next time.

Once I finished straightening up, the
couch looked inviting as sleep overpowered me. I curled up on the
sofa and dozed off, only happy to find Jake’s soft lips awaken me.
He was kneeling on the ground, staring at my sleeping face. I
grabbed his face and pulled it harder on my lips, not wanting to
stop the embrace. Jake responded as he usually does with more
passion than I was ready for. I pulled away and sat up.

“I hate it when you pull away,” he
complained.

“Believe it or not, I hate it even
more,” I confessed. “Can you call Uncle Henry? I have lunch for all
of us.”

Jake introduced me to his nursing
staff at the front station, and many welcomed me, while a few evil
eyes didn’t. I dropped off a box of croissants for the staff, which
seemed to win over the opposition.

Many of Jake’s colleagues also stopped
and congratulated us on our way to the Reid cafeteria. Most of the
doctors I met in this department were men, but there were a few
women, who also weren’t pleased to meet me. We walked into the
cafeteria and sat with the chief.

I looked at both men and commented a
bit sarcastically, “Don’t you find it weird to work in the Reid
Wing and have lunch in the Reid Cafeteria?”

“No,” they both answered
matter-of-factly.

What could I say to that? I opened the
bento boxes, passed out plates, utensils, and soups. Then we
started eating.

The chief looked impressed.

“Emily, did you make all this?” he
asked. “If your meals look like this, I’m coming over every day for
a meal.” He sounded completely serious.

“No you’re not,” Jake retorted. “My
bride is not your personal chef. I don’t want her working any
harder than she wants to. Although, I must say, you outdid yourself
with this meal. Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Jake smacked his lips on mine, and
suddenly his blue eyes sparkled even brighter.

“Emi, have you thought of what you
want to do after the wedding?”

“What do you mean? I’ll enjoy married
life till school begins, mid-August.”

“Would you consider quitting work and
going to culinary school? We have a top-notch culinary academy five
minutes from our home. Why don’t you enroll there in the
fall?”

That idea made me pause for a moment.
Would I want to stop teaching and go to culinary school? This
wouldn’t be any ordinary school with books I’d memorize just for
exams and forget the next day. This would be all hands-on training.
A dream I thought I would live later in life presented itself today
as a reality.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for the
Culinary Institute. I’m not that good and it’s expensive. Plus, I
don’t want to work in a restaurant, and I don’t want to become a
professional chef. I just want to be a home chef.”

“Love, first of all, you said yourself
you’ve always wanted to go to cooking school. Here’s your chance
before we have kids. As for expenses, did you not take a good look
at my paycheck? I can afford to send you to cooking school. In
fact, we will have a plethora of extra money living at my parents’
home. Both our mortgages are covered by rent, and we can mooch off
my parents as long as we like. Lastly, you don’t have to become a
professional chef. Just go to school for the fun of it. Our
livelihood won’t depend on your success at school. You have some
time so think about it. I’d love to do this for you.”