Waking Up With You (13 page)

“Thank you, kind sir,” I say with a curtsey, and he leans over to open the door for me.

On the way back, we talk about nothing in particular, just some friendly chatter. Whenever Jake’s firm is mentioned, I artfully change the topic. I simply don’t want to hear anything about my husband or his girlfriend. I don’t know if Matt notices, but he’s happy to oblige. For the umpteenth time tonight, I wonder why I am not attracted to someone as good-looking and intelligent as Matthew. I would be so much happier and content.

Matt stops the engine as he parks in front of the house. He’s about to climb down and open the door for me, but I quickly stop him by saying, “No, I’ll let myself out.” I’m out of the car when I go to the driver’s side and bend to give him a peck on the cheek. “I really had fun tonight, Matt. Keep in touch.” I amble to the front door when I remember that I haven’t signed the papers.

I stop him with my hand before he turns around. “You forgot the papers,” I cry out.

He grins like a little boy and says, “What papers?” He winks broadly at me. I laugh and wave goodbye to him.

I fish my keys out of my purse, but the door is open before I can unlock it.

Jake’s eyes glow with a savage inner fire as they deliberately roam over my body.

“Someone’s been naughty,” he murmurs tauntingly. He has a nearly-empty glass of liquor in his left hand.

“Hi Jake,” I speak in a tremulous whisper.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks like a cat about to pounce on its prey.

“Good time?” I repeat the question, while searching my brain for a good reply.

“Never mind. I can see that you clearly did,” he says. He turns around and starts to go inside the house, and I have no choice but to follow.

“Jake,” I say as I gingerly touch his back. “I…” I actually don’t know what I want to say. With my luck, I should have known he’d be early tonight. And he’s been drinking. I’ve never seen him drink before, and I don’t know how to deal with him when he’s in this mood.

He whirls around and shouts, “What?!”

I take a step back and shake my head. My movement seems to incense him further. He puts his glass down on the table and then positions himself so close to me that I can smell his after-shave and the alcohol on his breath. “Did you let him touch you here,” he softly asks as his finger traces circles in the exposed portion of my dress. I am frozen to the spot.

“Did you give him a taste of this,” his hand slips to the side of my dress, lightly squeezing my breast. My body aches for his touch. I close my eyes and wallow in the sensation. I don’t care that it’s anger and lust that are inciting him. I don’t want him to stop.

“And what about this,” his hand is now under my dress, traveling up my legs. When he feels my thong with his fingers, he groans and curses under his breath. He buries his face in my throat and mutters in a hoarse voice, “Do you know what you’re doing to me?” He molds me to his hard body with his strong arms. My heart is hammering against my ribs. As he bends down to kiss me, I reach my hands up and cup his chin with my hands. I stare deeply into his beautiful blue eyes for an eternity, and when I can bear it no longer, I bring his mouth hungrily to mine. His kisses are demanding and I revel in their urgency. I close my eyes and surrender to the pleasure.

I love you,
I say a thousand times in my head.
Emma, nooooh!

I reel from the shock of my unbidden thoughts. Unknowingly, I shake my head from side to side to erase them from my consciousness.

“Are you okay?” Jake whispers, as he briefly puts up his head. I nod, though my eyes can’t meet his.

“I want to…” he whispers the rest into my ear. My eyes widen in excitement, and I can feel every part of my body on fire. “Jake, please…” I’m not sure what I’m begging for, but my whole being has turned into an aching mass.

“I want you so much, Emma,” he says softly. As his words penetrate my brain, I feel my heart break into fragments. Want. He wants me. Why wouldn’t he? I’m practically offering myself to him.

Reluctantly, I pull away from his arms. His eyes are cloudy and he is momentarily bewildered by my action. My voice is gentle but firm. “We shouldn’t, Jake. You’ve been drinking and I… I guess I got carried away.”

“You got carried away? That’s it?” His voice is emotionless and it chills me.

“Yes.” I say nervously while biting my lip.

“Get the hell out of my sight before I do something we will both regret,” his tone is cold and lashing.

I’m about to say something, but the fury in his eyes makes me think twice. I turn back and see him gulping down the rest of his drink and slamming the glass on the table. His expression is grim and his hand is shaking.

Oh, Emma, you can’t have what you want. This is all you’re ever getting from this relationship. Take it! … No, Emma.
The heart wants what it wants.

Jake, please love me.

When I turned sixteen, Charlie had just lost his job at Kaplan Brooks. One of the senior partners walked away with their major clients, and the firm was forced to trim its staff. Charlie didn’t want to let my birthday pass without even a small celebration, so he brought me to Hugo’s for dinner. Just the two of us. We both had prime rib and their delicious garlic mashed potatoes. For dessert, the staff brought out a slice of chocolate cake with one lit candle, and everyone gathered around to sing Happy Birthday. It was wonderful. We could have celebrated at McDonald’s with French fries and nuggets and it would still have been the best. I adored my brother and I knew he would have done something even more special if only he hadn’t lost his job.

We reached home and the house was dark. Charlie unlocked the front door and, as we stepped into the house, our jaws dropped when we saw on the dining table a beautiful pink two-layer cake with sixteen candles lit up. There was also a huge balloon bouquet tied to a chair. Jake had been waiting for us to come home and, when he heard us parking in the garage, he had quickly lit the candles to set the mood. I noticed for the first time how handsome and stylish he looked in his charcoal grey suit. Overnight, he turned from Charlie’s best friend to my not-so-secret crush.

Jake was beaming as he enfolded me in his arms and wished me a Happy Birthday. He quietly handed me an envelope with a card. Inside was a reservations voucher for four rooms at the Disneyland Hotel for two nights, and ten hopper tickets to the theme park for my friends and me.

“You shouldn’t have, Jake,” I said as I hugged him, teary-eyed.

“Every girl deserves to have a memorable sixteenth birthday,” he said as he gave my brother’s back a pat. Charlie smiled his thanks.

They both sang the birthday song and prompted me to blow out all sixteen candles. We each had a slice of the cake and talked excitedly till late at night. It was the first time I ever really hung out with both of them. And it was the perfect ending to a special day.

So while Paige and our other friends swooned over the jocks and the popular boys, I had eyes only for my brother’s best friend.

Though I’m afraid to see how he’ll treat me this morning, I bravely wake up to make breakfast. I promise not to say anything, no matter how hurtful his words or actions may be. I was partly, if not fully, responsible for last night, and I just have to accept whatever he dishes out at me. After all, I did try to deceive him, and defied his so-called ‘request’ not to see Matt.

Promptly at seven, he walks in, sweaty from a workout at the gym, with a bunch of papers in his hand. He casually says, “Good morning,” and I say the same to him. He sits down to join me and helps himself to some fruit and yogurt.

No recriminations? No accusations? Why is he behaving like nothing happened? This is good. If he’s not saying anything, then we can just pretend nothing happened and act like we normally do.

“Emma, I owe you an apology for last night,” he says matter-of-factly. What? He is apologizing to me?

“Uhm, that’s alright,” I mutter hastily. I don’t want to prolong the conversation.

“I had a rough day at work, came home, started drinking. I was upset that you had opposed me again by going out with Matt. When I saw you driving in, I saw red and I wanted to teach you a lesson,” he finishes nonchalantly.

“Teach me a lesson,” I repeated. He nods curtly, his face devoid of expression.

“I’ll not say it again. Please don’t socialize with my staff,” he says in a tone that’s disapproving.

Socialize? Why is he suddenly understating things?

“He said I needed to sign some documents,” I start to explain. I can see that he’s busily looking at the reports he brought in.

“Let’s not get into it anymore,” he says dismissively, without looking up. He changes the topic, as if no longer interested in the previous one. Thank God. “I never asked. How did you do on your midterms?”

“Well, I think I did fairly well except in Philosophy, where the teacher asked the usual mysterious questions,” I reply

“Such as?” he asks, seemingly keen on what I have to say.

“Such as, is there such a thing as free will?” Of course, I put my foot in my mouth again and my eyes anxiously dart to his face, waiting for some sarcastic reply.

“Ah, the dilemma of determinism,” he says. Then he adds inexplicably, “We always have a choice, Emma. There’s no such thing as meant to be.”

What was that? An innocent remark? A warning? What is he trying to tell me? My brain goes on overdrive again as I mentally analyze what may or may not be his intention.

“Emma?” He startles me.

“Sorry, Jake, just thinking of what’s due today in school,” I lie to cover my inattentiveness. He goes back to studying his reports.

I get up and start putting the dishes in the sink. I turn the faucet on to start scrubbing them, but then I swivel to ask him something.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?” he responds absent-mindedly, still focused on the papers.

“Uhm… it’ll be Thanksgiving soon, and I was thinking it would be nice if…” I pause. I’m not sure how he’ll react to this.

He’s waiting for me to finish my question and I have no choice but to just plow through and get it over with.

“If we could celebrate together.” There, I said it. If he says no, at least I tried.
Please say yes.

“Why wouldn’t we celebrate together?” he asks, puzzled at my question.

Because you may want to be with her.

I give a half-smile. “Well, you know, you may be busy and…” I don’t want to ruin the moment so I stop talking.

“Do you want to go shopping together? For the turkey and other ingredients?” he asks smilingly.

Shop together? Does he mean it?
I flash him a wide smile and nod happily. “I don’t have anyone, but you may want to invite people over,” I quietly suggest. “We could get a twenty-pounder,” I excitedly say.

“Whoa! That’s gonna be too much. Everyone I know usually has Thanksgiving at their place, so it’ll just be you and me, kiddo.”

“Remember last year’s bird? Charlie bought it on sale at the last minute. I was searching the web for left-over recipes for a week,” I recall our last Thanksgiving with Charlie.

“I warned Charlie about that, but he insisted that the left-overs wouldn’t be too much,” Jake says with an expression of pained remembrance.

“It was his number one holiday. He loved it even more than Christmas. Maybe because Mom always prepared every one of his favorite dishes, from the stuffing to the pecan pie.

“And you pampered him the same way,” he says.

“Yup. What Charlie wants, Charlie gets,” I agree wholeheartedly.

We remain silent, absorbed in our own memories. Jake breaks the silence, his face with a tinge of sadness. “Em, I have to go. I’m late for an inspection.” He approaches me, touches my shoulder, and surprisingly plants a soft kiss on my forehead. “Just plan everything and let me in on the details.”

I want to hug him and lose myself in him. I want to press my face against his chest and inhale his distinct scent like a drug.

Instead, I say, “Sure. You’ll know a week before.” He does a little wave goodbye and then walks away.

He’s spending Thanksgiving with me, just like we used to, when Charlie was still around. Imagine that. I smile to myself in disbelief.

Paige and I are hanging around in her bedroom, looking through her digital albums for great shots she can include in an assignment for Photography.

“I can’t do this anymore, Em. I am so tired. We’ve gone through hundreds of photographs, but I’ve chosen only like a dozen. I need at least twenty more.” She’s whining like a child.

“Gosh! You’re the only person I know who takes so many selfies and is never happy with any of them. Even the ones you’ve saved.” I stretch my limbs from exhaustion.

We’ve been on the floor for two hours now and my legs are aching. “How about if we take a break? Sometimes, you get better ideas when you take a step back.”

“Fine. What shall we do then?”

“Ona’s?”

“We were just there yesterday.”

“Wrap some sandwiches and go on a picnic at the park?”

“Boring.”

“Okay, you think of something then,” I tell her, exasperated at the way my ideas are being rejected.

“How come we never spend time at your place?” she asks with one eyebrow lifted.

“I don’t know. Habit? I mean, even before I got married, we would hang out here, so I never even think of going anywhere else.”

“Are you sure that’s the reason, or has said Jake anything?”

“Ahh, no! He doesn’t mind. Why would you think that? ”

“Nothing. Just wanted to rile you up. It’s nice to see you come to his defense so fast,” she says with a grin.

“Whatever,” I say wryly. “Just make up your mind about what we’re doing.”

Paige finally decides to make some sandwiches. I spread some sour cream on the wraps, put on equal amounts of baby spinach, shredded chicken, tomato, onion, and avocado, and then roll the wraps tightly. Paige is making some fresh lemonade in a large container. For dessert, we bring a box of cookies.

We carry the picnic basket to Paige’s car, but right before we’re about to leave, she turns off the engine, gets out of the car, and runs inside her house and comes back after two minutes. As she climbs into the car, I look at her with a mystified expression.