Authors: EJ Valson,Michelle Read
4:00 p.m.
comes fast. To my surprise we are 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. This view won’t change much later, so I almost feel like I’m back in the future. I close my eyes. I see Michael’s face in my mind.
Joe starts singing along to an old song on the radio and I am snapped back into the moment. I feel his hand reach over and stroke mine. I meet his eyes and he makes a cheesy face as he sings the chorus.
This is the Joe I remember from high school. The one who enjoyed me and his life, when he wasn’t preoccupied with his hard work and a crappy paycheck or all the other day-to-day stresses life can bring. When we were still friends and not bitter divorced enemies.
I can’t help but laugh and I
find myself singing along. “Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty girls,” I belt out. I haven’t heard this song in years. We make a left onto a dead end street and another quick left into a gravel driveway.
I have been here before, or I should say later on -- when another coworker gets married here...well, at least I think they do. It is 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 and I had 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?
I am careful not to bend my ankle in my high heels as I hop out of the truck. Joe comes around and takes my hand. It’s an odd sensation, walking hand-in-hand. I feel as if I should pull away for fear someone will see us. I have to remind myself that this
is
natural. As his wife, I should be holding his hand.
I see a close high school friend standing near the entrance wearing tuxedo pants, dress shirt and a vest. I assume he is part of the wedding party. In the future I occasionally see him around town with his wife and kids, but we never get together.
Luke 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 grabs me so tight that he lifts me up.
This was the Luke I adored. He was a “good old boy” -- all star athlete in high school and one of the funniest people I have ever met. Joe, Luke 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 h
e laughs off Luke’s compliment.
Luke leans in and gives him a manly side squeeze and pat on the back. “Dude, look at your wife,” he says.
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 stress 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 are supposed to go?” I ask, interrupting Joe in the middle of a rafting story. He tells Luke he will 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 think, trying 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 tell myself. 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 think over and over.
It works. I start to feel bett
er. 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 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. 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 I am pulled away by Joe 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 have 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 I allow it to settle into Joe’s embrace. Even though I don’t love him anymore, and
never
loved him like I love Michael, he is 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 rest my head back on Joe and hold back tears. I tell myself that we are 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.
CHAPTER 20
On Sunday Joe invites family and a few friends over to celebrate my second twenty-sixth birthday. He prepares steaks, burgers and side dishes. I appreciate the effort put forth, as it is something that 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 charades of my old and unfamiliar life. Around 5:00 p.m. I hear a car pull in the drive.
“They’re here!” Olivia yells to us, 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 caught off guard by the 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’m frozen where I stand, as she pulls me in for a hug. I am immediately transcended to another time as I take in her 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 after she steps out of the way when she has finished embracing me. Behind her stands my grandfather. He is 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 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 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 follow them with my eyes as they move 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 grand kids 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 am heart broken, grateful and angry all at the same time 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, as I choke back tears that are welling up in my eyes and 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 will get the opportunity to see them again during my time here.
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 is 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 am OK.
I am 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 I have 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 banned him from travelling. We have 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 will 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 from Portland to Seattle so that I could surprise him at his connecting gate when he is 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 I wait 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 Seattle skyline. Magic always seems to happen there.
My cell phone’s ring startles me out of my reminiscence of our last trip to Seattle. I see his number on the screen.
“Hi, Babe,” I answer, smiling. I am trying to conceal the sound of the gate agent over the loudspeaker so he doesn’t realize I am here.
“Hey, I’m through Customs,” he says. He sounds tired. He can’t sleep on planes and it is after midnight Swedish time.
“OK,” I say, then ask, “So you remember you need to take the tram to the escalators to get upstairs to your gate?” I’m all too familiar with the layout of the airport after multiple trips to Sweden.
“Yeah. I am almost there,” he answers.
“OK. Just let me know when you have 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 is 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 is wearing his burnt orange track jacket that I have borrowed many times when I was cold.
He steps off the escalator. He is 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 skin, his bones, his warmth. He is real, he is mine.