Dishing Up Love

by KD Robichaux

  “How you feeling, Rin?” Dean asks, taking the stool on the other side of his wife.

  “Good so far. The doctor said I have to take this medication with food, so I’m hoping to keep a little bit of this down,” I reply.

  “Curt, you’ll have to get her some of those sea bands they use on cruises for sea sickness. They have this little bead that pushes on a pressure point in the wrist that helps with nausea. Oh, and what was that stuff that worked for you, love?” Dean prompts.

  “Oh, Unisom Sleep Tabs. I would ask Dr. McNealy if it’s okay to mix those medications, but it’s just an antihistamine that has a side effect of curing nausea. It’s the only thing that got me through the first trimester. And then later on, when you start having pregnancy insomnia, it’ll help you sleep a little better,” Emmy explains.

  “Are you getting all this?” I asked Curtis, and he uses his pointer finger to tap the side of his head, letting me know he’s making mental notes, and I smile.

  Knowing what a crazy-busy night we’re going to have, we decide to have a day of lounging around Curtis’s house—well, I guess it’s our house now—until the team of stylists arrive later that afternoon. We binge watch the entire first season of Schitt’s Creek, the four of us laughing our asses off at the Rose family’s antics.

  Several hours later, I look at myself in the mirror and can’t believe the woman staring back at me from the reflection. There’s no denying I look damn hot whenever I dress up for Comic Cons as Khaleesi. But even that doesn’t compare to the way I feel in this cobalt blue gown. It hugs me in all the right places with a sweetheart neckline that does amazing things for my cleavage, chiffon crisscrossing over the bodice, and an intricate beaded pattern makes a thick belt around my waist. The skirt is straight but flowy, and the strappy pumps hugging my feet make my legs look they go on for days as I stick one out through the slit in my dress.

  I have never looked better in my life, and as Curtis walks up behind me and I see the reflection of him in his tux, I can’t help but think we are one damn fine-looking couple. While the thought of all the paparazzi taking our pictures gives me anxiety, there’s no doubt in my mind we’ll be in the tabloids as one of the best dressed couples.

  Curtis wraps his arms around me, one hand resting low on my belly. “You’re absolutely stunning,” he tells me. “And all mine,” he adds.

  I spin in his arms, my heels making me a little taller, but he still towers over me. But when I tug on the lapels of his tux, he gives me what I want and bends down, his lips pressing to mine gently so he doesn’t smudge my lipstick. When he pulls back, I smile and use my thumb to wipe away the color left behind on his lips.

  “You ready to do this?” He lifts a brow.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” I shrug, and we make our way down the stairs.

  Chapter 27

  Erin

  IN THE LIMO on the ride there, worry fills my gut and I look over at Curtis. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “Anything,” he replies.

  “If you win, do you promise not to say anything about the baby in your acceptance speech? I don’t want to jinx anything, and it’s bad luck to announce a pregnancy before the ten-week mark,” I explain.

  “Of course, sugar. We won’t say anything until you’re ready,” he tells me, and I give him a relieved smile and nod just as we pull up to the curb at the end of the red carpet.

  Hours later, we pile into the limo, laughing and whooping in celebration. Both Curtis and Dean and Emmy’s TV shows won for each of their categories, so there’s definitely something to celebrate as the driver takes us all to the after party.

  I managed to only have to excuse myself once during the awards ceremony in order to hurry to the bathroom, the smell of so many colognes and perfumes making me nauseous in the theater. Now, I’m absolutely ravenous, and Curtis assures me there will be tons of stuff I can choose from on the buffet at the party.

  I’m settling in at a table marked with our names with a plateful of crackers, cheeses, and different deli meats, and Curtis sets a glass of Sprite on the table in front of me. I thank him just as several people come up to our table, and Curtis starts introducing everyone from the network. After the first two, they all start to blur together, but I smile politely, shaking everyone’s hand, making sure to say things like “nice to meet you,” as I try to nibble on the crackers while still looking like I have manners.

  Curtis must see how badly I need to eat something, because in the most charming way possible, he looks at everyone and tells them, “If y’all wouldn’t mind, my woman had a nervous stomach before the awards show and really needs to eat something, now that all the excitement is over.” He grins, and everyone nods in understanding, calling out “of course, of course” before waving and heading toward their own tables.

  Several minutes later, Emmy and I are in the middle of an intense yet hushed conversation about maternity jeans, when Carlos approaches, giving us all a wave. He slaps Curtis’s shoulder, giving him a wink, and I narrow my eyes as he walks away.

  “What was that all about?” I ask, and he grins, pointing up at the screen we are dead center in front of with the perfect view. Suddenly, the screen fills with a video image of Curtis, and my eyes dart to him, but he only grins and points back up at the screen again.

  “I’m Chef Curtis Rockwell, and this is Chef to Go. I’ll be surprising one lucky shopper with a chance to take me home with them, where I’ll teach ‘em how to cook a gourmet meal.”

  And then the feed cuts to Curtis as he starts walking up and down the aisles like he always does during every episode, searching out his latest victim. I smile as he gives the camera wide eyes, shaking his head vigorously as the little kid kicks their mom and takes off in the opposite direction. And then I lay my head on his shoulder, seeing at a distance when Carlos zoomed in on little baby feet sticking out from beneath a blanket. Curtis makes a sweet face at the camera and then holds his pointer finger over his lips for the international sign to stay quiet as he tiptoes to the next aisle.

  Finally, he stops, and a look comes over his face I’ve never seen before. It’s a look of awe, as if he can’t believe his eyes. And then the footage looks different, unedited, almost like a behind-the-scenes reel. It’s no longer perfect, the way it is when you see it on TV.

  The camera is a little shaky as I hear Carlos ask, “Yo, Curtis. You good, bro?”

  Curtis, not seeming to say it to anyone in particular, replies, “Yeah, I think she’s the one.” And if I hadn’t already recognized the grocery store, I would be one jealous bitch over whichever person Curtis had laid eyes on.

  Finally, the camera refocuses down in the distance in the frozen pizza aisle, and standing there is the hot mess express that was me on that night one month ago. I’m leaned up against the freezer door, finishing the telephone call I had with Emmy that night, and when I end the call, I start toward the camera.

  I watch the screen, transfixed on Curtis’s back as he heads toward me, and I bite my lip, knowing what happens next. But still, I laugh when I see us collide. That’s when I realize the entire audience around us laughs as well, and then a moment later, everyone lets out a collective “aaawww” as the camera zooms in the moment Curtis’s and my eyes meet for the very first time.

  I feel that moment to the depths of my soul, as if I’m feeling it once again for the very first time. Butterflies set off in my stomach, flying up to my chest, their wings tickling my heart as I lean my head on Curtis’s shoulder once again, and he kisses the top of my head.

  I ask him quickly, “Is this a viewing of our episode before it airs?”

  He winks at me then gives a chin lift toward the screen once more. I huff out in frustration that he won’t answer my questions until I see the next thing on the screen is us walking down the sidewalk toward my house. That answers my question, because if it was our episode, the whole grocery shopping part of the show wouldn’t have been cut out.

  I rest my chin on the palm of my hand,
my elbow propped on the table, as I smile, my eyes tearing up the moment I watch Curtis take hold of me on the screen, pulling me to the other side of him so I’m walking next to the building instead. I feel his hand come to rest on my thigh beneath the table, and I slide my fingers through his, tightening them to try to help control my emotions.

  The screen cuts back to the grocery store, in the middle of our conversation. “But what’s interesting, at least to me, is the majority of the people from here sound almost like a perfect mix of Southern and working-class New Yorkers,” I tell him, and after a pause, he smiles and replies, “Now that you mention it, that is exactly what they sound like. Hm!” He stops, looking back at me. “Lafayette really nailed the accent on True Blood, huh?”

  I see myself pout. “Rest in peace, Nelsan Ellis. He was seriously my favorite character,” and then my eyes dart to Curtis’s response.

  “Right? That actually made me really sad when I heard he passed away. Like, most of the time you hear about a celebrity dying, and it’s like, aw, that sucks, and you kinda just go about the rest of your day. His made me genuinely sad that we wouldn’t see him around anymore.”

  “Same,” I breathe, and then we stand there staring at each other.

  And stare at each other.

  And stare at each other.

  And the audience around us starts to giggle, and then everyone bursts out laughing when Martin yells off camera, “Cut!” and our eyes turn toward him in confusion.

  There are a couple of cute scenes of us in the kitchen, and there’s no denying how in sync we were with each other from the very beginning. I watch as I hand him utensils and things before he even has a chance to ask for them, our time together in Emmy’s kitchen seeming more like a choreographed dance than learning to cook.

  But then the screen goes white for a moment, and suddenly Curtis is speaking directly into the camera. I can tell from the background that he was in his living room when he recorded this part, and it must’ve been on his phone, as he adjusts it where he’s got it set up before sitting a little farther back on his couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and claps his hands together, a nervous smile on his face.

  “Erin… sugar… um… hi,” he stutters out, chuckling, and next to me, I feel his hand squeeze mine. “You’d think this would come easy to me, talking to a camera as if it’s a person, but this… this is for you. You. Hello, you, as Joe would say.” He does an actual face-palm, making me laugh. “Aaand now I’m quoting one of our shows. No. No quoting, Curt. This has gotta be original. It’s gotta be special. Because it’s your girl.”

  I turn to look at Curtis sitting beside me, and this time he meets my eyes for a moment, a sweet look on his face before he nods at the screen.

  I dutifully watch as he says, “In about ten minutes, I’m headed to the airport to pick you up. I haven’t seen you in what seems like a lifetime, and my heart feels like it’s going to come like… tearing out of my chest Alien-style.” He grabs the center of his chest and closes his eyes for a moment while he blows out a breath. When he opens them again, he looks a little calmer. “I have something for you,” he says from the screen, and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a royal blue box and opening it to show a gorgeous diamond ring.

  I gasp, letting go of his hand to cover my mouth, my fingers steepling as my eyes go wide. I don’t take them off the screen, dying to see what he says next.

  “I want to be able to relive this moment over and over, so I’m asking you to marry me out in public, in the middle of LAX, where tens, even hundreds, of people will be able to see and record if they want. And all the better, because then they’ll tag us on social media, and I’ll be able to enjoy the moment from all different angles.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I mean, that’s if you say yes. Please, dear God, say yes, or I’m gonna look like the biggest freakin’ tool.”

  The audience laughs around us, but I barely hear it I’m so focused on the video playing before my eyes, even knowing how the airport played out.

  “But just in case no one decides to care for the first time like… ever, our good buddy Carlos is meeting me, gonna catch it all for me, and he’s gonna make this cool little video that… well, I guess you’re watching now.” He opens his hand up toward the camera in a gesture showing it dawned on him I’d be watching this after he filmed it. “So, uh… yeah.” He glances at his watch then claps his hands together. “Time to go make you my future wife.” And he reaches toward his phone, turning the camera off, and the screen goes white for another moment.

  The next thing I see is me in the distance over Curtis’s shoulder before I got to baggage claim. There’s just a moment of me registering his handsome face before my knees visibly wobble, and then my man takes off like a bolt of lightning, catching me before I hit the floor. The screen goes white.

  Curtis’s face fills the screen once more. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “That was not the special moment. Not the right time to ask you to marry me, sugar. But I’ll think of something.” He looks off to the side, and I hear my voice off screen growl out dramatically, “Breadstiiicks!” And then Emmy yells, “Woman, calm your tits! We’re leaving in like two-point-five seconds.” Recorded Curtis shakes his head, chuckling to himself once more. “That’s my woman. That’s my future wife right there. Mark my words.” He winks at the camera then, and the screen goes black.

  That’s when I realize real-life Curtis is no longer sitting beside me. When I glance around, trying to spot him, I see he’s kneeling behind me, holding out the ring from the video, and tears fill my eyes once again as I let out a mix of a sob and a laugh.

  “Sugar, sugar,” he sing-songs, lifting one brow as he smirks.

  I sniffle. “Ah, honey, honey,” I squeak out, wiping my nose with the back of my hand.

  “Will you make me the happiest man on this whole damn planet and be my wife?” he asks, his eyes pleading.

  I bite my lip, trying to rein in my emotions, my pregnancy hormones adding to the chaotic beat of my heart. I can’t stand the fearful anticipation in his gaze for a second longer, so I let out a cry of happiness. “Yes!”

  He stands up then, pulling me out of my chair and onto my feet, and slips the ring onto my finger just as everyone in the audience cheers, a roar of applause erupting around us.

  I laugh as he picks me up, spinning me in a circle before kissing the hell out of me, and when he sets me back on my feet…

  I wobble a little.

  “Ah fuck,” I repeat the first words I ever spoke to him.

  I hear the laughter in his voice when he asks, “What is it, sugar?”

  I swallow thickly, pulling my lips between my teeth, trying to make the feeling go away, but no luck.

  “I’m gonna puke,” I get out, right before I bend over and vomit in front of every fucking person who works at my fiancé’s network.

  Epilogue

  Erin

  Five years later

  “DAAAD, DO WE gotta watch it again?” Louis, our twelve-year-old son, whines. “It’s so gross, and not just because Mom barfs. You’re so mushy.” He plops onto the couch between Curtis and me, and I thread my fingers through his, admiring the way our hands look like a work of art as our flesh tones go back and forth between light tan and dark chocolatey brown. We adopted him from Burkina Faso, a West-African country, two years ago after completely falling head-over-heels in love with him when we visited an orphanage during one of Curtis’s fundraising events. All the kids spoke pretty good English thanks to the missionaries who ran the home. And when we looked into those midnight eyes, we knew Louis was meant to be our son.

  “It’s not gross, Lou-Lou,” Alexis scolds in her sweet little voice, coming around the couch to hop up in my husband’s lap, their matching light-yellow hair shining beneath the overhead light as two pairs of turquoise eyes turn toward me. “It’s romantic.”

  “Hm,” Curtis says to our four-year-old. “That’s quite a
big word for such a little nugget.” And he tickles her ribs, making her squeal.

  “I learned it on The Aristocats,” she explains when she finally catches her breath.

  “Ah, those are smart kitties,” Curtis agrees, and they both nod at each other.

  “And the answer is yes, we have to watch it again,” I tell Louis, pulling him closer to me as I wrap my arm around his narrow shoulders and kiss the top of his head.

  “Ugh, fine,” he says haughtily, but then he snuggles against me, ever the momma’s boy.

  The video starts playing, the same as it’s always been. The day we met. The thwarted proposal. And then the addition of the night of the awards, when Curtis finally got to ask me to marry him. There’s a clip from our wedding, and us dancing at the reception. And the moment the doctor held Alexis up over the curtain during my C-section.

  Not long after we brought her home from the hospital, I had to return for a hysterectomy. But we were grateful for the little miracle we were given, and one day Curtis told me about a dream he had when we first started dating. One where we had a huge family with lots of kids, all different races, and how the little girl on my hip looked just like him. I agreed to his unspoken question in a heartbeat.

  Which led to the tear-jerking moment on the screen now, when Curtis and I stepped off the plane with Louis, as Emmy, Dean, my parents, and Curtis’s Yaya held up signs welcoming him to our big family.

  But then comes the new addition, the one we recorded this morning when we got the news. At the same moment, Curtis and I look at each other, our eyes locking for a moment of secret joy, and then together we watch the kids’ reaction.

  “Wait… what does that say?” Louis prompts, the excitement in his African accent making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  He reaches for the remote and pauses the screen, his eyes going wide as his jaw drops.

  “What is it?” Alexis asks. “Lou-Lou! What’s it say? I can’t read!”