by Lori L. Otto
“Will it fit our families? And do you want to do extended families? Any friends? I’d kind of like a few friends to come...”
“It is large enough to accommodate our extended families– within reason– and as many friends as you want to invite.”
“Can I have measurements?”
I laugh at her oddly practical question, feeling that I’m winning her over. “Yes.” I sit up to meet her eye-level, again tucking her hair behind her ears. The light cast by the lanterns makes her hair look even redder, her eyes more translucent. “You’re beautiful, Emi.”
“Stop distracting me,” she laughs.
“I can’t help it, you’re breathtaking.” She pushes my shoulder with her bandaged hand. I take her arm and pull her into my lap, her back pressed against my chest.
“Will you give me a general idea of the space... you know windows, walls, that sort of thing?”
“Whatever you need, Emi. Just as long as you let me surprise you with it.” I kiss her neck, slowly.
“But what if I hate it?”
I sigh into her ear before answering. “You won’t... but I will make sure Anna gives her seal of approval first. I know you trust her the most. Is that enough of an assurance?”
“And if she hates it?”
“Then we scrap the whole thing and elope to Tenerife.”
“Is it wrong that I kind of hope that she hates it?” She cranes her neck to look into my eyes, a look of mischief spreading across her face.
“Yes,” I tell her. “It is. For the record, though, we can honeymoon anywhere in the world you like... Tenerife, the south of France... anywhere.”
“Okay...” She is still unsure.
“Because I happen to know she’s going to love the place.”
“How can you know?”
“Didn’t I ask if you trust me? Hey, how’s this? Have you ever been unhappy with any gift I’ve ever given you?”
“No,” she says simply. “You’re a great gift-giver.”
“I always try to find things that mean something... that I know you’ll love. This is the same way, I promise.”
“Okay, then,” she finally agrees with a loud sigh. “You get the venue. I get to pick the colors.”
“Oh?”
“You said...”
“Okay, what colors?”
“Pink and silver,” she smiles.
“Pink suits you,” I tell her. She smiles back. “But I’m not wearing a pink tux.”
“I get to pick,” she argues.
“Absolutely not,” I laugh, knowing she’s not serious.
“Dark grey,” she says. “You’ve done the black tux enough... and that suit you wore that one evening in Vail... I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you that night... and maybe a pink tie.”
“I’ll agree to that.”
She shifts slightly, touching her lips to mine, her eyes gazing into mine. Her good hand brushes my unshaven chin.
“We have a lot of work to do, you know... decorations, flowers, invitations... what about the invitations? If I can’t know where we’re getting married, how am I going to do the invitations?”
“That’s what you have bridesmaids for.”
“But I have to design it...” she whines.
“Details, my love. No one is going to stop you from designing the invitation. Someone else is just going to have to put the finishing touches on it.”
“But...”
“No ‘but’... let go...” I encourage her soothingly. “Remember you said as long as it was me, you, the dress, rings and... a cake... that would be all you need.”
“I know,” she smiles. “I meant that. You may have to remind me sometimes... but I promise to be a good little bride and not get all OCD.”
“I’ll hold you to it... where’s Ruby?” I ask, missing our furry pet.
We both scan the yard, until I see her head poking out of the dog house. “She is actually sleeping. I wasn’t sure she would ever do that.”
“I think she’s just getting used to the new place. I’m too excited to sleep, too,” Emi says.
“Really, now?” She gets up on her knees and turns around to face me, sitting closely in my lap and putting her hand and cast behind my neck.
“Really,” she smiles broadly. I pick her up and lay her down on the blanket, kissing her quietly under the stars.
“Me, too,” I tell her, quirking a brow.
~ * ~
It’s been six weeks since Emi has moved in, and the newness still hasn’t worn off. Every few days, something else of hers shows up around the house, and I love discovering the subtle changes that she makes. It truly feels more like our home as each day passes.
After a jog around lower Manhattan, I come into the house and am overwhelmed by delicious smells coming from the kitchen. I still just can’t help but smile when I see her doing things around the house, our house. I peek into the kitchen to see her cleaning dishes as she dances to music coming from her iPod. Ruby paces around Emi’s feet, waiting for a morsel of food.
“What are you doing, Em?” I ask from the doorway, startling her.
“Oh, hey,” she jumps before turning around and smiling, adjusting the volume on the speaker before walking in my direction. “I made breakfast casserole. It’s in the oven, but it should be done in about ten minutes.” She leans up to kiss me as Ruby jumps up and down, begging for attention.
“Hey, girl,” I lean down to the dog, scratching her behind the ears. Something catches her attention, and she darts upstairs. “Do I have time to shower?”
“You do.”
“Hey, is that your phone ringing?” I ask her, recognizing her ringtone.
“Is it? My phone’s upstairs.” I jog to the bedroom to grab her phone, just as it stops ringing. Ruby is sitting on the bed next to Emi’s purse, her head cocked at the sound.
Looking at the caller ID, I call down to her. “It was your old apartment building.” The phone begins to ring again. “They’re calling back...”
“Can you see what they want?” she yells back to me.
“Hello?”
“May I please speak with Emi? This is Marcus.”
“Hey, Marcus, she’s tied up at the moment... this is Jack, is there something I can help you with?”
“Um, yes...” he hesitates. “I just wanted to let Emi know that she forgot to take the things in the downstairs storage closet.”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t realize there was another storage space,” I tell him. “One of us will be by later today to get the stuff. Do you know what’s in there, if I need a truck?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he says. “It should all fit in your car.”
“Thanks, Marcus. I appreciate the call.” I shower and get dressed before going back downstairs. I get some plates and silverware and set the table for us while Emi pours some coffee.
“What did they want?” Emi asks.
“Marcus says that you forgot to clean out the storage closet downstairs. I didn’t know there was one,” I laugh.
“Wow, I didn’t either,” Emi says. “That wouldn’t be my stuff.”
“Nate’s?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She carries over the casserole dish and sets it on the table. “That’s weird.”
“I can stop by there after my meetings this morning, if you’d like. Or if you want to come with me, we can go later this afternoon after your errands.”
“Ummm...” she thinks to herself. “If you don’t mind picking them up... I guess we may need to call Donna. I wonder if she knew about it.”
“I don’t mind at all. We can call her this evening after we see what’s in there.”
“Sounds good,” she says, seemingly unworried about the contents of the closet. In truth, I’m nervous, but I feel like we need to put him behind us, put him to rest, before the wedding. I think this will be a good test.
“Marcus,” I greet Emi’s doorman with a handshake. “Thanks for the call.”
“Ho
w is she doing?” he asks.
“She’s great, thanks for asking. How are you?”
“I’m wonderful, sir. I have to say, though, it’s just not the same without her.” He smiles warmly. “These tenants become your family.”
“I’m sure. But honestly, I like having her home with me.”
“I’m sure she’s happy, too.” I nod. “Are you ready?” he asks.
“Well, honestly, Marcus, Emi wasn’t aware there was a storage closet, either, so I don’t have a key or anything.”
“Oh,” he says. “I guess all the stuff in there is probably Nate’s then...”
“We’re assuming.”
“Should I call his mother instead?” he asks.
“I guess you could, if you felt more comfortable relinquishing the things to her, but Emi sent me here to do this. And we’re planning to call Donna this evening. I promise that everything will go to its rightful owner.”
“Oh, Jack, that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t know if Emi wanted to, you know...”
“I see. Do you know what’s in there?”
“A few boxes,” he says. “And it looks like some paintings. They’re all wrapped up.”
“Oh, okay. Well, let’s take a look.” He leads me down a long hallway, grabbing a large rolling cart and taking it with us into a service elevator. We go into the basement together, and he walks me to the door with the corresponding unit number to Emi’s old apartment. He takes his keys, finding the right one, and opens the door for me.
It’s a thin, long closet space with dim lighting. There are about ten wrapped canvases, some medium-sized, some small, and a few boxes set off to the side. Together, we load the dusty contents onto the cart. A part of me feels sad, guilty, knowing that these things belong to a dead man. I know that I really have no right to even be touching them. I am very careful and deliberate with every single piece, making sure that I treat them with the respect they deserve.
Marcus helps to load the paintings into the front and back seats of my Volvo. The boxes fit neatly in the trunk.
On the drive back to my house, I wonder if these paintings are ones that Emi has seen before, or if these will be a complete surprise to her. I wonder why he had wrapped them up and hidden them away. I wonder just what we will be faced with when we unwrap them... what kind of reaction to expect from Emi, who has said she’s put him behind her.
Once at the house, I carefully unload his things, bring them into our home, and set them neatly in the basement.
When Emi gets back to the house in the evening, I greet her with a glass of wine and a kiss. She sets her things down and looks up at me, her eyes curious. I have no doubt the contents of that closet have been on her mind all day.
“What was it?” she asks.
“It looks like some paintings and a few boxes. The paintings are all wrapped up. I put everything in the basement, if you wanted to go see what’s there.”
“Paintings? His agent supposedly keeps all of his paintings... she has them inventoried and stored somewhere. That’s odd. Okay, I guess I’ll go take a look,” she sighs, heading toward the basement with Ruby right on her heels. She turns around and looks at me as I stand in the hallway. “You’re not coming with me?”
“Are you sure you want me there? Maybe we should invite Donna over first?”
“No,” she says. “I’d really like you to be there with me, if you don’t feel too uncomfortable. Grab a beer or something,” she encourages me. “But I’m sure this isn’t going to be as weird as we think it will be.”
“I hope you’re right,” I tell her, returning to the bar in the kitchen briefly to fix myself a stiff drink. I find a bone for the puppy and carry it downstairs with me.
“Come sit next to me,” Emi says, patting the floor beside her. I take off my tie and unbutton the top couple of buttons of my dress shirt. “Let’s make quick work of this,” she adds, seeming upbeat, possibly a little detached.
“What first, the paintings or the boxes?”
“Ummm, I’ll tackle the boxes,” she says. “Why don’t you start unwrapping the canvases?”
“Emi, are you sure?”
“I’m sure, silly. Nothing in here is going to change the way I feel about you, Jack. Please, just know that. I know that.”
“But these are his personal things...”
“Really, we’re probably just fretting over paint supplies or old newspapers or something. I can’t imagine he’d be hiding away anything really important to him.”
“You’re probably right. Alright...”
I take my keys out of my pocket, produce a small Swiss Army knife and carefully slice through the paper on the back of the first canvas.
“A t-shirt,” I say. “A t-shirt on the floor... nothing too spectacular about that.”
“That’s mine,” Emi laughs. “But I haven’t had that shirt since college.” I notice underneath the shirt in question is what looks like a pair of overalls. My heart sputters in my chest as I recognize the outfit.
“Wait, did you... before?”
“No,” she laughs. “Never. I mean, at one point in college... well, it was actually that night in college...” She looks at me soberly and I realize she remembers those clothes too, and she’s talking about the night we met. Even then, she thought Nate had been the one to stir up those intense feelings in her. “I think I tried to seduce him. But it didn’t work out.”
“Who stopped it from happening?” I ask her curiously.
“I think we both did,” she says with a shrug. “I knew something wasn’t right about the kiss we shared in my bed that night. It didn’t feel the same. And he knew I was wasted. He may have wanted things to go further than they did, but I don’t think he would have been able to live with himself after that.
“Who would have thought that such a pivotal night in my life would also be such an important one for him? I mean, he painted about it...”
“I remember with perfect clarity every time you shut me down,” I tell her with a wistful smile.
“Well that really doesn’t happen anymore, now, does it?”
I shake my head and lean over to kiss her. “Thankfully, no. So Nate wasn’t your first, obviously... so who was?”
She blushes and laughs.
“This guy in one of my sophomore journalism classes. He wanted to be a screenwriter. He was cute, in a nerdy kind of way... I thought he was really deep, writing poems for me... until I realized they were all song lyrics. I felt duped,” she smiles. “But he wanted to pursue his career, and I was too much of a time-suck for him.”
“Idiot,” I mutter and smile. “But wait, you were a virgin when I met you?”
“I was...” she smiles. “If it hadn’t been for you watching over me, one of your frat brothers could have had his way with me.”
“Thank God,” I laugh. “Wow, but think. I could have been your one-and-only.” She blushes before kissing me.
“You are my one-and-only,” she says sweetly.
I start in on the second painting, pausing to cut open the tape on both of the boxes to make it easier for Emi to get into. Her left hand is still a little frail after having her cast removed earlier in the week.
“Hmmm... is this you? Yeah, that’s your hat.” Emi scoots toward me and eyes the painting. The image is of Emi’s back, neck, head and shoulder, a bare shoulder left exposed when her shirt had slipped off of it. Her head is tilted, her red hair barely peeking out from under her pink winter cap. I outline the slope of her neck on the painting, a shape that I am intimately familiar with. “It’s very pretty. I thought he just did abstract art... these are kind of unexpected.”
“Wow... I have no idea when he did that... it looks like Central Park in the background...” As her eyes examine the painting, I unwrap the next one.
“Look at your pretty feet. Where were you there?”
“No clue,” she answers. “Wait, how do you know those are my feet?” she asks.
“Those two freckles, there a
nd there,” I tell her, pointing out two marks on her left foot’s second toe. “I love those freckles.”
“Wow,” she blushes. She moves back over to the box, pulling out a framed photo. “Oh,” she says, sounding surprised.
“What?” She hands me the frame. “That is beautiful, Emi.” I clear my throat, a little uncomfortable. “Did he take that?”
“No, it’s, um, a photo I had sent him when he was in Vegas. Teresa took it... um, Jack,” she says, pulling a bra out of the box next. “I think maybe I should open the paintings.”
“Of course,” I say, eyeing the lingerie in her hand. “Is that yours?”
“Yes,” she blushes.
“Is that blood?” I ask, noticing a dab of red on the fabric. I wonder if this is the undergarment she had been wearing at the time of the accident... but then wonder who would have kept it in a storage closet.
“The paint is still on it...” I barely understand her mumbling. She rubs her thumb over the red smear.
“Would you like me to leave you alone?”
“No, but... one of these paintings may be a little... well, he painted a picture of me one day... it was Christmas Eve, just before he died... and if the bra is in here, I bet the painting is one of these.”
“I can handle it, Emi. I’m an adult... an adult who finds particular beauty in everything about you, Em. Something he and I both obviously had in common.”
“Okay, then proceed,” she encourages me, pulling out more items from the box. An old headband, a few receipts and ticket stubs, a ring. “I thought I had lost this years ago... wonder why he kept it.
“It’s weird,” she continues. “Most of this is from way before the time that we started dating. He told me he had always loved me... and I guess I always believed him, but there was a part of me that thought he might just be saying that, to make me feel more special than the rest... but I guess he really did.”
“Another thing we both had in common. I hope you don’t think that I just said that to lure you in.”
“Jack,” she says. “Baby,” she adds, a term she only uses when she really wants to convince me of something, her eyes soft and sincere. “I felt the same thing you did, remember? I knew it was ‘us’ from the start... I was just too drunk to realize it until 10 years later.” We both laugh and kiss, then continue with our discoveries.