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Patricia’s still under the weather, but she dragged herself out of bed at five in the afternoon like a stinking martyr, hellbent on making us our daily casserole. It took Jake and me a full ten minutes to convince her to go lie down some more.
We decided to work together to make spaghetti for dinner. Jake’s watching the pasta, and I’m browning the hamburger meat for the sauce. It’s nice, just the two of us in here. Our kitchen’s small. I’ve seen walk-in closets on TV with more space that this, but Jake’s not that big of a guy, and we work comfortably side by side.
It’s been a quiet afternoon. While Patricia napped, I spent some time online and Jake did his phone thing, but it felt different. Like we were more connected even though we weren’t actually talking. It reminded me of the lunch we had as soon as we signed the marriage license. We decided to walk to this little seafood stand just a few blocks from the courthouse.
It’s hard to describe how peaceful everything felt. It was one of the only perfectly clear days we had that entire six weeks in Seattle. The seagulls were out, and man were they loud. Jake held up a French fry, and one swooped down and grabbed it right out of his hand.
We stayed there for a little over an hour, just munching on our food and sometimes sharing a little with the gulls. I thought about what it would be like in a few years if we brought Natalie here, went for a walk like this, the three of us.
“I can’t believe we really did it,” Jake said.
“Yeah, I know.” We both laughed. We laughed a lot that day, like two kids who finally mustered up the guts to go doorbell ditching at the grumpy old neighbor’s house and couldn’t stop giggling afterward. Like they couldn’t seriously believe how audacious they’d been.
“I’m so in love,” Jake said.
“Me, too.” And I don’t know if you get this way, but every time I get too happy, like too many good things seem to happen all at once, it turns everything bittersweet. Like I can’t fully enjoy the fact that life is so stinking perfect because I know eventually it has to get worse. Eventually, I’d have to go back to the NICU and confront the fact that my month-old daughter might never leave that place alive. That she might never know who her mommy and daddy are or how much we love her.
“What are you thinking about?” Jake asked, and I didn’t want to spoil everything so I said I was thinking about Sandy and how she’d gush and be so surprised when I shared the good news.
“I’m really glad you have someone like that in your life,” he said.
“What about you? Did you tell anyone yet?”
Jake shook his head, and I thought I could detect a hint of that melancholy I’d just been feeling in his posture.
“Not even your mom?”
I didn’t know much about Patricia at the time. Jake’s so full of daddy issues he’s like a walking cliché, but he’d never said anything against his mom, so I figured they must be on decent enough terms.
“Nope.”
“What do you think she’ll say?”
Another shrug. I could sense some kind of cloud passing over the sunshine of our joy, so I shut up. Didn’t push it anymore. What and how Jake told his mother was his own business.
At least that’s what I thought.
That evening at the hospital, Jake’s phone rang while we were enjoying our first dinner as husband and wife.
“Please don’t tell me you just eloped with some drug queen you hardly even know.” The voice was so shrill and loud I could hear it from across the cafeteria table.
Jake turned the same color as a Santa Claus hat and stood up. “Hi, Mom. Now’s not really a good time.” He shot me an apologetic glance. I don’t think he knew I had heard every word.
The stupid thing is Jake blamed me for it all. I was so excited to tell everyone I posted it online as soon as we got back to the hospital that afternoon. He said I should have waited until he had a chance to tell his mom himself. We had a big fight about it in the cafeteria, and we were both still fuming hours later when I got back to the Ronald McDonald house after spending the evening in the NICU.
“How was I supposed to know you didn’t want it public?” I demanded after he went on moping about it.
“You should have asked.”
“So what was I supposed to do? Wait a few weeks for you to find the courage to tell you mom you’d gotten married?” Except I didn’t use the word courage. In fact, I may have included an anatomical reference that questioned Jake’s manhood.
“I can’t believe how selfish you are,” he exploded. “Was that the only reason you wanted to get married? So you could see how many likes and stickers and OMG, I’m so happy for you comments you can get? Are you really that much of an attention whore?”
I could tell he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but I slapped him anyway. Call it reflex if you want. I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Not on my stinking wedding night.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” I told him, waving my finger in his face as he rubbed his cheek. “Don’t. You. Dare.”
“You know I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” Jake’s such an expert at apologizing, it’s a good thing he’s not abusive. I could see a lot of immature girls running back to him and forgiving him over and over just because he sounds so stinking humble when he says he’s sorry.
I was tired and ready to be done with the fight. None of it was my fault, but if he was ready to kiss and make up, I wasn’t going to stop him.
“Next time, just tell me if there’s something you don’t want your mom to find out so I can be more careful.”
“Ok.” Jake gave a sheepish grin. “Next time we get married, I’ll be sure to remember that.” He patted the spot beside him on the bed. “I’m sorry we had a fight.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said and sat down next to him. “Every couple does it.”
“Yeah, but I think a lot of them wait until they’ve been married a week or two.”
We both smiled. Jake’s got a really nice jawline. It’s kind of square and angular. He gets that from his dad, but he’s got Patricia’s smooth, tanned skin. And his hair’s gorgeous. I don’t remember if I mentioned that yet or not. He doesn’t wear it too long, just long enough that you can detect a hint of curls. You should see him in his high-school graduation photo. He wore his hair down past his shoulders, and oh man. I don’t know a single girl — white, black, Asian, or otherwise — who wouldn’t die for hair like that.
I started playing with it while we were sitting next to each other, running my fingers through those loose curls.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Just enjoying your hair. I think you should grow it out long again.”
“No, why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
Jake gets embarrassed about stupid things. Sometimes it’s annoying, but sometimes it’s cute and endearing. He let out a little giggle before I kissed him, right on the spot below his ear.
“What are you doing?” he asked again.
I kept one hand on his hair and ran the other up his leg. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I kissed him again on the neck, that little indent right by his shoulder.
He grabbed one of my hands. “We shouldn’t. We can’t.”
“It’s ok,” I tell him. “We’re married now, remember?”
“Yeah, but don’t we need to wait a few more weeks? I don’t want to hurt you or anything.”
I freed my hand and let it creep up his shirt. My lips traveled down his jaw to his chin. “It’ll be fine,” I mumbled. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’m always going to worry about you.”
That melancholy feeling came back then. Squeezed my heart until I felt so full I literally hurt. Times like that make me think that God had to be as loving and gracious as Sandy always said he is because there’s no way I’d done anything to deserve a husband like Jake.