by EJ Valson
"Oh, stop," I say coyly as I move away.
"OK, OK," he says, good-naturedly retreating. "I just haven't seen you look like this in a long time," he explains.
"Thanks," I say, softening a bit. "I appreciate that, but I've got to start getting ready. Another time?" I ask, though I don't mean it. I just don't want to hurt his feelings. After all, to him I'm his wife. But I need to respect Michael too-as his.
The whole interaction makes me uncomfortable, but I quickly shake it off, get in the shower to rinse off any stray hairs, shave my legs smooth and freshen up for the wedding. I take my time to pamper myself when I get out of the shower, applying lotion, cologne and some shimmery body powder I found the night before. I have enough time to apply polish to my toenails and fingernails-capping off my transformation. I dig out a decent set of earrings from a box under the sink and style my hair with some wavy tendrils. This is how I should start styling my hair. I laugh to myself when thinking that maybe for the first time in my life, I could be a trendsetter.
Next, I pull out the clay-red halter dress from a shopping bag. It's a silky, flowing fabric with a belt that flatters my waist. I find my new supportive strapless bra, pull the dress over my head, and put on my dark brown espadrilles. I take a look in the mirror, turning from side to side to make sure everything is in the right place. After applying a little more eyeliner and mascara and tweezing a few stray hairs near my eyebrows, I step to the mirror for one last look. I'm pleased. I look into my eyes and I smile. I'm starting to see myself again. I feel good in this body. In my body.
CHAPTER 19
4:00 p.m. comes fast. To my surprise we're not taking Olivia to the wedding with us. After dropping her off at my mom's for the evening, we quickly make our way out to the wedding site in Joe's truck. The man could not arrive without his pickup. He even removed his work tools and washed it for the occasion.
I sit quietly during the ride, staring out the window, admiring the hay fields and pastures we drive by. This view won't change much later, so I almost feel like I'm back in the future. I close my eyes and momentarily see Michael's face in my mind.
Joe starts singing along to an old song on the radio and I'm suddenly snapped back into the moment. I feel his hand reach over and stroke mine resting on the seat between us. I meet his eyes and he makes a cheesy face as he sings the chorus.
I can't help but laugh and soon find myself singing along. "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girls," I belt out. I haven't heard this song in years. This is the Joe I remember from high school. The one who enjoyed me and his life, when he wasn't preoccupied with a stifling job, a crappy paycheck and all the other stresses life brought then. When we were still friends and not bitter divorced enemies.
We make a left onto a dead end street and another quick left into a gravel driveway. I've been here before, or I should say later on-when another coworker gets married here...well, at least I think she does. It's a large house in the middle of a small patch of woods. It backs up to a canal that has a floating gazebo where people often have their wedding ceremony. I had a wonderful time at that wedding, though I do remember feeling a little heartsick for Michael. We were newly engaged, but awaiting his visa approval and I'd wished he were there with me instead of thousands of miles away.
I snap back into this reality when I see the rows of cars and people bringing in food and setting up flowers. I'm instantly nervous. I don't know how to live this life as Joe's wife in front of all these people. Will they notice something is off? Will they see right through me? Do they still think I'm Joe's quiet yet often crabby wife?
While hopping out of the truck, I'm careful not to bend my ankle in my wedge heels. To my surprise, Joe comes around and takes my hand. It's an odd sensation, walking hand-in-hand with him. I feel as if I should pull away for fear someone will see us. I have to keep reminding myself that this is natural. As his wife, I should be holding his hand.
I see an old high school friend standing near the entrance wearing tuxedo pants, dress shirt and a vest. I assume he's part of the wedding party.?In the future I occasionally see him around town with his wife and kids, but we never get together.
Adam spots us and gets a big goofy grin on his face as he walks over towards us. "Hey, hot stuff," he says to me, then hugs me so tight that he lifts me up.
This was the Adam I adored. He was a "good old boy"-all star athlete in high school and one of the funniest people I've ever met. Joe, Adam and I used to hang around together in high school, and sometimes after. I wonder if we still do here and now.
Joe is not the jealous type, so he laughs off Adam's compliment. Adam releases me before leaning into Joe and giving him a pat on the back. "Dude, look at your wife," he says to Joe.
Joe nods in agreement. I blush. I was confident in my decision to wear this outfit, but I didn't expect the reaction I'm getting. It makes me wonder how I normally appear!
I feel my nerves start to rattle with the anxiety of the situation and I'm starting to sweat a little, and not just from the heat. I'm aware of the impending stress of having to "perform" for everyone and now I am not so sure coming was a good idea.
"So, babe, do you know where we're supposed to go?" I ask, interrupting Joe in the middle of a rafting story. He tells Adam he'll catch up with him later and leads us inside to find the mother-of-the-bride.
I take a deep breath when I see a room full of old friends preparing for the ceremony. Just let them come to you, I tell myself, attempting to calm my nerves. After receiving about a dozen more compliments on my new look and smiling until my cheeks ache, I make my way to the ladies room and sit down in the first empty stall I can find.
Breathe, breathe, breathe. I allow the cool restroom air to calm me. I inhale through my nose and exhale out of my mouth with my eyes closed. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this. I start to feel better. I know I have to play the role of Joe's happy wife. I may have been doing this all along, even though I don't remember it. After a few minutes I get up to leave. I open the stall door and look in the mirror.
No one is in the bathroom, so I lean into the mirror and quietly whisper to my reflection, "This is you, and you know almost everyone here and they know you. It's going to be OK." And with that, I stand up straight, practice a smile and return to the crowd.
As my nerves calm down, I manage to get through my guestbook duties without a hitch. Afterwards, I reward myself with a few glasses of wine at the bar. The wedding and reception are full of love, life and laughter.
After dark, when the stars come out and the moon is shining brightly in the night sky, Joe whisks me away to slow dance in the grass. He has stayed mostly sober to drive us home safely, but is definitely relaxed. ?A song we danced to at our wedding is playing, and Joe is feeling nostalgic-I go with it.
I've missed slow-dancing. Michael and I are loving and affectionate, but I can't recall a time we have ever really slow-danced. We only club-danced in the early years, before we married and settled down with our kids.
I rest my head on Joe's chest and close my eyes as he leads. I'm tired from the day. I can feel my body letting go of all its tension and settling into Joe's embrace. Even though I don't love him anymore, and never loved him like I love Michael, he's familiar and that makes me feel a little safer.
"Look at all the stars, babe," he says looking up. I stare at the millions of bright diamond lights filling the summer sky above us.
I fleetingly wonder if Michael is out there under the same sky. Is he still in Sweden? Is he with a girl? Will we ever meet?
I lean my head on Joe's chest again and hold back tears. I tell myself that we're hugging, not dancing. Without Joe knowing, I let him comfort me as I quietly mourn for a life I'm not sure I will ever have again.
CHAPTER 20
On Sunday Joe invites family over to celebrate my second twenty-sixth birthday. He prepares steaks, burgers and side dishes. I appreciate the effort put forth, as it's something Michael would do for me. And
I muse that Joe keeps pleasantly surprising me.
I'm exhausted and slightly hungover from the few glasses of wine I drank at the wedding the night before. It seems I have a low alcohol tolerance in this body. Regardless, I decide to get myself together, shower and freshen up for the occasion-as well as mentally prepare myself to play yet another game of "this is your life!"
Around 5:00 p.m. I hear a car pull in the drive. "They're here!" Olivia squeals, while watching whoever has arrived through the window. I turn the TV off, quickly check myself in the mirror above the mantel, put on a happy face and go to answer the door.
I open the door enthusiastically and prepare to say "hello" to whoever is on the other side. Instead, I gasp and am rendered speechless. I'm completely caught off guard by the sight of two people who are standing before me. They are my dead grandparents. However, they are clearly very much alive.
"Hi, honey," my grandmother exclaims when she sees me.
I freeze where I'm standing, as she pulls me in for a hug. I am immediately transcended to another time, as I take in the achingly familiar scent of Dove soap and talcum powder. I lovingly acknowledge the feel of her soft curly hair as it brushes my cheek. I do my best to gently embrace her fragile body without hurting her. Everything about her feels real.
My grandmother appears unfazed by my stunned behavior and lingering hug when she steps aside after she's finished embracing me. Behind her stands my grandfather. He's a small, balding man who is very quiet, but warm. He slowly leans his thinning frame in to hug me. I feel my entire childhood rush through my veins.
The smell of his aftershave tickles my nose. His firm but kind embrace comforts me like a warm blanket. I feel a piece of my heart break and then heal, all at the same time. I never thought I would get the chance to feel my grandparents' physical presence again, as they both passed away in the last five years of my future life-my grandmother more recently.
I go through the motions of greeting Mary and my dad, who are right behind them, while still absorbing what has just taken place. As we move into the living room, my manner is still subdued as I watch my grandparents move around the house?as if nothing about this situation is abnormal. They have no sense of my confusion and bewilderment.
I stay in the background and track their movements as they walk across the room to greet Joe when he steps out of the kitchen. I stare intently as they sit down and take the cocktails Mary has prepared for them. I take in every detail of their interaction with little Olivia. I'm amused but saddened when my grandfather takes Olivia's hands and tickles her palms with his facial stubble-something that he used to do with all of his grandkids to get a giggle.
I feel as if I'm watching a scene from a movie. I'm a guest in this peculiar reality. I'm heartbroken, yet grateful for this opportunity to see them again. I never realized how much I missed them until they were gone. I silently curse life for this cruel joke, while choking back tears that are welling up in my throat and eyes-threatening to betray me.
After getting over my initial shock of the evening, I force myself to behave normally and enjoy whatever moments I may have left with my grandparents, as they will return to California the next week. I have no idea if I'll get the opportunity to see them again during my time here. Part of me wants to beg them to move in!
As my birthday celebration progresses,?I can't help but occasionally wonder how long this will last. Will the spell break? Will I find a magic portal to send me back home? I'm not sure, but for now I can't change what's happening or where I am. I have to sit tight, be patient and make do with my situation. I have a home, most of my family and friends, my daughter Olivia-and apparently, my grandparents. No, Michael isn't here, nor Stella, and maybe they never were or never will be. But for now I'm here?and I'm OK.
CHAPTER 21
Relocation
I'm so nervous. I don't know how to behave or where to stand or how to greet him. The moment is finally here. The moment we've been waiting for, for almost two years. We finally get to be together in one place, no more living thousands of miles apart.
I rush to the restroom one more time to check my makeup and hair. It has been six months since my last visit to Sweden, six months since we've actually seen or touched each other-because Michael's visa process discouraged traveling to the US. We managed to occupy ourselves with the holidays, even though we spent them apart, and successfully complete the visa process-as daunting as it was at times. It took twice as long as expected-almost one year. But we made it.
I hope that he'll be surprised when he sees me. Though he expects me to pick him up at his final destination in Portland, I took a quick flight to Seattle, so I could surprise him when he's finished with Customs. I can't believe I managed to pull it off. The timing was perfect and I got lucky that he didn't call while I was on my short plane ride.
While waiting for him, I call my best friend Kelly in California. She gives me a quick pep talk and helps calm my nerves. It's always a little awkward when Michael and I first see each other-sort of like two middle-school kids who don't know how to be around the opposite sex. We aren't the type to jump all over each other in public either.
I gaze out the large windows at another gate area, which we will depart from to go back to Portland....together. I look towards the direction of Seattle. Good things always seems to happen there.
My cell phone's ring startles me out of my reminiscence of our last trip to that city. I see his number on the screen.
"Hi, babe," I answer, smiling. I try to conceal the sound of the gate agent over the loudspeaker so he doesn't realize I'm here.
"Hey, I'm through Customs," he says, sounding tired. He can't sleep on planes and it's after midnight in Sweden.
"OK," I say. "So you remember you need to take the tram to the escalators to get upstairs to your gate?" I ask him. I'm all too familiar with the layout of the airport after multiple trips to Sweden.
"Yeah. I'm almost there," he tiredly replies.
"OK. Just let me know when you've boarded and I will see you soon," I say, a little giddy with covering my surprise. We say "I love you" and hang up.
I can hardly breathe I'm so full of excitement. I turn around to face the top of the escalator that will bring him up to where I am. I watch intently. What should I say, what should I do, where should I stand? Every time I see the top of someone's head, my stomach fills with butterflies. It feels like he's taking forever!
Finally I see him. His back is to me and I'm able to observe him without him knowing as he rides up the escalator. He's wearing his burnt orange track jacket that I have borrowed many times when chilly.
He steps off the escalator, still not paying attention to his surroundings, as he is focused on finding his gate. I slowly walk towards him from his left side. He must see me out of the corner of his eye because he turns and his eyes meet mine. I smile, he is surprised, we speed up our pace and embrace tightly. I can feel his muscles, his body, his warmth. He's really here, he's mine.
CHAPTER 22
"Happy Anniversary," Joe says, while carrying a large vase of red roses into the bedroom, where I'm getting dressed.
Out of habit I instantly cover myself, then smile and take the roses. "Thank you," I say, surprised by this unexpected event. "Happy Anniversary," I tell him, while trying to act like I'm in the loop. He gives me a lingering kiss on the lips, but I keep mine pressed tight.
I feel a sudden rush of anxiety. I don't know what I'm supposed to do in this situation. I totally forgot that our wedding anniversary was at the beginning of September. Now I have to play along and do what any good wife would do-celebrate it.
Joe and I have been getting along nicely over the past month. He's much more easy-going, helpful and friendly than the man I used to know. Something must have changed along the way. Maybe we finally became friends again.
Out of my new found respect for him I can't let him down. I have to do something nice for him. But the thought of having to be romantic is making me nervous and a littl
e nauseous.
"Well, I have to head out, babe. I'll see you tonight after I drop Olivia at your dad's. Then it's dinner and a movie for us," he says, chipper as he walks out of the room. I immediately feel guilty, but relieved that I managed to cover up the fact that I forgot what day it was.
After the usual Olivia drop off and morning work routine of grabbing coffee, checking email and having a quick chat with Stacy, I sit down at my desk to concentrate. What am I going to do for Joe for our anniversary....and what year are we celebrating? After counting the years and determining that it would be five years, I start jotting down on a notepad things he might like.
He drinks coffee a lot. He still likes tools and hiking stuff. What would I get Michael? Typically techy gadgets or clothes. Hmmm, maybe Joe would like some clothes. What do I get a man for our anniversary when I'm not really married to him anymore? This thought makes me laugh out loud, and I marvel that I'm finding humor in this situation.
Realizing that I only have a short amount of time to get something for Joe before our date tonight, I rush to the large home improvement store on my lunch break. The store isn't arranged much differently from the way it will be later, so I'm able to head straight to the tool section without a problem.