Not To Us (15 page)
Authors: Katherine Owen
Carrie gives me a curious look as she takes my wedding gown from the hanger and coaxes me into stepping in it. “Careful…Careful…,” she says over and over. In a last minute effort, she has removed my strappy white sparkly sandals from my feet. My perfectly painted light-pink toe nails flash up at me.
The panic takes over. I start babbling. “I don’t know what to say. I wrote down my vows, but it’s not going to be enough. It’s not going to come out right.”
“Ellie, it’s going to be fine.” She zips up the back of my dress and re-does the pearl buttons. I wave my hands in agitation. Ellie.” Carries steps around in front of me, surveying her work and grasps my arms. “The look on your face says it all.”
“The look on my face?”
“Trust me. Your vows will be fine. Your words will be more than enough.” She retrieves the veil and puts it on top of my head. The Gene Juarez crew styled my hair in a loose chignon at the back of my neck and she attaches the veil to it and pulls a few tendrils forward.“There, you’re perfect.”
“You look so beautiful,” I say. My eyes fill with tears.
“Thanks, Ellie…there are no words to describe you, friend.” Carrie beams at me. “Now, get a grip. Don’t cry. You’ll ruin all that make-up from the Gene Juarez trio.”
I gaze at Carrie. She is so striking. Her auburn hair swirls around her delicate porcelain shoulders. Her make-up is flawless. Her lips the perfect color of rose. Her green eyes sparkle. She wears a flashy diamond on her left hand that Robert must have given her for her own nuptials in Vegas a few weeks before. Mostly, though, what I notice is how happy she is. It’s there in her movements, in her voice inflections, and in her eyes. We have come full circle. I know that we both feel it. I grab her hand and hold it in mine.
“Thank you for everything, Carrie,” I say. Her smile deepens. “Don’t cry.”
Elaina and Emily walk in, dressed in all their silver and pink finery, respectively, with all the flower bouquets. I can smell the fragrance from the mixture of white and pink lilies and roses from across the room.
“Momma,” Emily says in pure joy. “You look so beautiful! Even better than Giselle.”
I flash my daughter a bright smile, while I tuck my note card with my vows inside my bouquet. “Let’s go,” I say to this group of gorgeous girls.
≈≈
The sun has come out. I take it as a sign as I stand before Michael and his friend, Samuel, who is marrying us. My dress swirls around me in the light breeze. We stand at the edge of the lawn under an arch that has miraculously appeared like so many other things that some angel has planned for me this day. I suspect it is more than one angel, perhaps a coalition comprised of Michael, Robert, and Carrie. I’m overjoyed, heady with nerves and indescribable bliss. Michael is looking at me now with this intense love, as he has been for the last twenty minutes. Samuel tells the crowd that we have prepared our own vows.
Michael goes first. “Ellen Kay, you are my soul mate. I love you as if you are the air I breathe. As you stand here in front of me, I can only thank God that now I can touch you any time I want because I’m complete with only you, Ellen Kay.”
His words cause my eyes to fill with tears. He has said these similar words to me before in this very place, just weeks before. I should have known that he would know exactly what to say
—
what vow to make to me today. I smile at him, but my mind becomes this blank slate and the minutes stretch on. I’m not paying attention any longer. I’ve drifted someplace else entirely.
“Your vows, Ellie,” Samuel says to me. Michael smiles at me. I’ve taken too long.
“Oh.” I whip out my piece of paper from the flowers. Michael is watching me. His steady gaze is making me even more nervous. I cannot read the words on the page. I stare at them for a minute.
The breeze picks up. I look over at the white sandy beach and the blue sapphire water and feel momentarily lost in all of this.
“Ellie,” Michael’s steady voice brings me back. “It’s okay.”
His words have a calming effect. I’m transported back and find myself standing in front of him. I see only him. It no longer matters that more than a hundred people have shown up today for this
just us
affair that has turned into some sort of spiritual renewal for everyone here. All that matters is him and me. I nod at him now. A slow smile spreads across my face. I let go of the paper and watch it fly away across the sand.
“There are no words to adequately describe what you mean to me,” I say in this beguiling voice. “I put my life in your hands because you complete me. We may be tested. There will be obstacles put in our way. Cancer may try to take me, but I will stay, here with you because you’re all I want, all I need, all I see. I love you, Michael.”
Michael is crying. Samuel is crying.
I turn because I hear more tearful cries behind me from this unexpected crowd of people that are gathered on our lawn in this rare display of sunshine on Bainbridge Island on this seventh day of February. People are wiping tears from their eyes. Bobby Bradford is
crying
, so is Carrie.
It is Emily Bradford who breaks the moment, probably, because it needs to be broken. There is too much emotion. Although I suspect she has grown bored in dutifully just standing there waiting for us to finish. “So, when do we get cake? When are you going to kiss her, Michael?” Emily tries to whisper, but the crowd moves at her words and little snippets of contained laughter wend their way toward us. I smile over at Emily and then back at Michael, who smiles only at me.
“Em, just a few more minutes, okay?” Michael says to her.
Emily nods and grins at both of us. “Okay,” she says. “Go on.” She waves her little hand in the air.
“Do we have the rings?” Samuel asks with a laugh. Emily brings the heart-shaped pillow up to us and gallantly displays the rings in her little hand, then retakes her place next to Elaina.
We exchange rings among the laughter. Finally, Samuel pronounces us man and wife before the enthusiastic, celebratory crowd, whose emotions seemed to have been on a roller coaster ride as much as our own as restless sighs reverberate throughout. “You may kiss your bride, Michael,” Samuel says.
I don’t know what I was expecting. I thought we would have this simple kiss, since Emily is trying to hurry this along, but Michael chooses this moment to begin our lives together with this never-ending kiss. It is a possessive, I-am-only-going-to-love-you kind of kiss. I kiss him back in kind. Then, with Emily loudly saying, “It really is time for cake.” We draw apart.
“I love you, Ellen Kay,” Michael whispers.
“I love you, Michael Thomas,” I say.
It is magical all around us. I bask in the amazing light, but then shiver with an unexpected gust of wind whipping up from the water and swiftly wonder;
how long it will last?
≈ ≈ ≈
Options
T
here are too many miracles this day. My mother and father are here. Michael’s parents are here. Upon learning the wedding date had been moved up, the Town & Country Market catered the entire thing and managed to feed the one hundred and ten people who have just shown up. Everyone I have ever cared about is here, including my wonderful boss, Harriet Windstrom, from my publishing firm in New York City. It is truly unbelievable. There are wedding gifts overflowing the table on the patio. The fourtier white wedding cake that someone ordered at the last minute has managed to feed the entire crowd and there’s still more cake for tomorrow. The cake is still a work of art decorated with shaved white chocolate and strings of white pearls on each layer. The photographer that also miraculously arrived, on short notice, has taken formal and candid shots of all of us. I don’t think I have stopped smiling, since I walked down the aisle to Michael.
It is four thirty in the afternoon, now. Some of the crowd has dispersed or left. There is a charming white tent with a dance floor set up on one side of flowing green lawn. I have taken a few too many turns on the dance floor with Michael, Robert, and my dad. I am now truly exhausted and this aching pain throbs in protest along my chest wall.
I mixed a few glasses of champagne with a set of my pain killers. I was hoping I wouldn’t need them. The pain from yesterday’s biopsy has been bothering me. I had to slip away to take a few more. I haven’t given a thought to my pregnancy at all. I can’t think about it. It makes me sad and I don’t want to be sad today.
My groom is busy talking to Josh, Ben and Tom, whose wives all hover together to one side of these men. Doctor’s wives, they all hang out together. This makes me a little uneasy, as if this is something I will have to learn to do. I watch from a distance with a dose of trepidation and envy. Will I ever fit in to that kind of crowd?
Carrie is coming over to me. She is arm-in-arm with a beautiful, tall brunette with this charming smile that lights up her face and dark brown eyes, who looks like a real life version of Angelina Jolie’s Lara Croft with the long dark hair, slender and tall, with an airy self-confidence that unmistakably conveys no one dares mess with her.
I like her instantly.
“Ellie, I want to introduce you to Lisa. Dr. Lisa Chatham, this is my best friend, Ellie. Ellie Shaw.”
My new name sounds strange. I think my surprise at Carrie’s casual use of it shows on my face. Dr. Lisa Chatham is grinning at me.
“Just call me, Ellie. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Chatham.”
“Ellie, it’s great to meet
you
. Call me, Lisa.” I glance over at Michael across the way who’s giving me a curious look. He says something to his group of friends and they all turn at once to stare at the three of us.
“I see the boys club is already on the alert,” Carrie says.
“What is your specialty, Lisa?” I ask. I suspect I already know what her specialty is. This little warning bell goes off in my head. Somehow, I already know that our first test of marriage has just arrived with this extraordinary woman, Dr. Lisa Chatham.
“I’m an oncologist as well as a gynecologist.”
“Wow that must keep you busy.” I can barely breathe.
“Carrie has filled me in on your health status, Ellie,” Lisa says. I look at Lisa and then at Carrie who just nods.
“I have breast cancer. There’s a double mas with complete reconstructive surgery scheduled for Monday morning,” I say with bravado. “I’m eighteen weeks pregnant due in July. That’s my
status
.”
“Yeah, well, let’s talk about that,” Lisa says. “I assume your surgeon has told you all the side effects with a double mastectomy and is intent on terminating your pregnancy? They’ve proposed radiation, chemo
—
the works, right?” Her tone is deprecating and to the point. She mimics words that I have just recently heard from Josh and Ben and Tom and Michael. The implication of her words twists across my face in a way that I haven’t allowed myself to feel. I’m sure my desolation shows.
“I’ve been promised a new perfect set of bodacious tah tahs,” I say in this soft, wistful voice. Carrie and Lisa exchange half-smiles. Lisa shakes her head and then laughs. I can’t laugh. I’m stricken with this weird sense of isolation.
Is this really happening to me? Is this what I want?
I glance around Carrie and Lisa and discover Michael making his way over to me along with Ben, Josh and Tom.
“Well, I’d like to talk to your doctor before you proceed with these surgeries, Ellie,” Lisa says in this serious, no-one-dares-fuck-with-me tone.
“Great, you can meet them all.” I gasp for air. “Because here they all come.”
Carrie steps forward, as if to shield both Lisa and me from the male-dominated doctors’ entourage that descends upon us. She makes the introductions of Dr. Lisa Chatham, oncologist and gynecologist to Dr. Michael Shaw, surgeon and my new husband; Dr. Benjamin Thompson, radiologist; Dr. Joshua Liston, surgeon; and Dr. Thomas Giordani, plastic surgeon.
There are no words spoken after introductions for a few minutes. The tension is evident. As if to add another element to this fine group of doctors, Lisa turns and her face lights up as this tall, dark handsome cliché of a man walks up and puts his arm around her.
“This is my husband, Dr. Stephen Chatham, he specializes in oncology and gynecology as well,” Lisa says, introducing Stephen to all the doctors she’s just met. I suspect that she knows of them all, at least, because she doesn’t miss a single name or their specialty.
“So, Carrie has filled me in on Ellie’s health condition. I understand you have her scheduled for a
double mas
with complete reconstruction on Monday,” Lisa says.
“Yes,” Michael says. He looks defiant as he stares down Lisa and Stephen Chatham. Then, he turns and looks over at me with this pleading look as if to say help-me-out-here.
“I think we should talk about options before we get to the let’s-just-cut-her-up-and-replace-it-all-with-silicone-stage,” Lisa says in an even tone. I hear the intake of shuddering breaths that runs through the group in a single instant, as if we’re witnessing how spontaneous combustion really works.
Everyone talks at once. All these doctors’ voices get louder and louder trying to make themselves heard. Carrie is speechless, although I don’t think she is too surprised at this turn of events. She has been around doctors more than me. I’ve only known Michael. I’ve only been a doctor’s wife for two and a half hours. I was a lawyer’s wife for eighteen years. It’s different. I must admit. The lack of decorum, the need to get points across, the need to be right is the same, just the process in which one conveys one’s thoughts is different; no one takes turns for argument here.
I step away from the turmoil of these miracle workers, if that is what they are. Lisa’s words
—
before-we-get-to-the-let’s-just-cut-her-up-stage-and-replace-it-all-with-silicone
—
resonate with me in a peculiar way. I cannot get the cadence of her voice or her choice of words out of my mind. Lisa, Stephen, and Carrie move toward me and away from my
team
.
“What options?” I ask above the noise. “What options?” I ask again.
I can hear the hope and desperation in my own voice. Michael must hear me, too. He stops talking and there’s a look I’ve never seen on his face before. Betrayal. It travels across his features in the guise of disappointment.
In me.
Apparently, as the patient, I’m not even allowed to ask what options I might have.
≈≈
The party is over. It is dusk, now. The children are inside. The Chatham’s have left. The newly-married Bradford’s are the only remaining guests. Even my mother and father have been squired away, by some kind neighbor
—
I cannot recall who
—
back to their respective hotels intent on catching early-morning flights from Sea-Tac Airport back to their homes.
Emily is already in bed. “Being a flower girl makes me tired,” she said to me, a half hour ago. I told her I understood because being a bride has been pretty exhausting, too.
Elaina is packing her suitcase. She is going with Robert and Carrie. Nick is sullen and sad to see her leave. Carrie and I have had a quick conversation regarding this young love between them. She and I are on the same page. We agree that it is the best thing for Elaina to go home with them tonight. Our two lovebirds do not agree with us.
Michael is out on the patio, sulking. He has been sulking for the past three hours. I notice a freshly opened bottle of champagne is next to him. I can only sigh.
It has been agreed to by all my doctors, by
my team
, we will meet at Josh’s medical office tomorrow afternoon, Sunday, to go through all the films with the Doctors Chatham, but that is all we have agreed upon. The tension on my team is almost more than I can take, but I have convinced them all, including Michael, that I would like the Doctors Chatham to see my films and review my prognosis before we just cut me up on Monday. Michael openly winced when I said it this way, but he loved me enough to agree.
I’m not sure he loves me as much as he did when we said
I do
in front of the one hundred and ten people this afternoon, but we shall see soon enough. We were supposed to go to a hotel for the night, but I have begged off on this option. I’m just too tired, too wrung out. I just want to wake up in our home, tomorrow, I told him earlier. Michael agreed, well, he nodded in complete silence and moved off to the patio, at that point, to brood alone. I hold on to this: we have something we agree upon.
“Ellie,” Carrie says simply. She gives me a hug. I try and take strength from it, now. She pulls me into the pantry of my new-to-me kitchen and closes the door. I’m still in my wedding dress. She’s still wearing the sexy silver number. “He gets this way. You
know
that. He’s just worried about you and it’s clouding his judgment and his normally open mind. It’s your wedding night, try not to worry. He’ll come around.”
I can only nod. This disconcerting thought that she knows him much better than I do weighs me down. I have to quell the fear and turmoil I’m feeling at Michael’s behavior and this overriding thought: Do I really
know
him? I blink back a tear and try to smile.
“Carrie, thank you for everything you did today. I cannot even begin to tell you what it means to me. Everything you’ve done for us, for me.”
“Ellie, everything’s going to be okay.” I nod, again. “Everybody wants the same thing. Everybody wants you well.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just want to be here.”
“You
will
be here.”
Carrie hugs me and I hug her back and ignore the pain that courses through me. The physical pain is so much less than this heartbreak that has overtaken me in Michael’s reaction to the Doctors Chatham questions about my cancer treatment. His reaction hurts me more.
Carrie opens the pantry door and we discover Michael and Robert standing there talking quietly. Robert smiles at us. Michael does not. Elaina and Nick soon appear and take in the subdued atmosphere. To break the tension, I go over and give Elaina a hug.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, Elaina. You look so beautiful. Thank you for being a part of this… special day.” I hug her tight.
“Thanks, Ellie.” She hugs me again, pulls back and searches my face. I give her a forced, bright smile, hoping to reassure her that everything is okay. She looks at me for a long minute and nods. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to Dad,” she whispers.
“We’ll see you tomorrow.” I move over to put my good arm around Nicholas. I kiss the side of his face, tweak his cheek, trying to perk up his glum expression at Elaina’s leaving.
“Daddy, what’s wrong? You look…is there something wrong?” Elaina asks as she steps over to Michael and he hugs her.
“Everything’s fine, baby. Just tired, that’s all,” Michael says.
He doesn’t look at me. I feel his coldness toward me all the way across the room. Nick and I, arm-in-arm, follow the newly-married Bradford’s and Elaina to our front door. We say our final good nights to them and Nick and I close the front door together.
“Mom, you really looked so beautiful today, still do,” Nick says.
We make our way back through the family room and into the kitchen, arm-in-arm. I watch Nick give Michael a secret smile across the room and see my new husband’s faint nod of acknowledgment at my oldest son’s compliment of me.
Nick kisses the side of my face and announces he’s going to bed.
“Good night, Nicky,” I call out. Michael says nothing.
≈≈
Now, I cannot get out of this dress by myself, but I’m out of people to ask, so I steal back down the stairs to try and find Michael. He’s sitting in the formal living room in the dark. We barely use this room and I wonder why he has chosen this one to brood in. I turn on the light, flooding the room with it. “Can you help me with this zipper? You have to undo the pearl buttons first, then the zipper.”
