Page 39 of A Treasure To Keep
Andrea kisses me gently as we both come down from our high. Soon, a hesitant voice comes from the front of the theater.
“Uh . . . ma’am, sir. It’s theater policy that every moviegoer has exited the theater after the credits to be cleaned between showings. We appreciate your understanding and hope you had a wonderful experience this evening. Please come back anytime for another showing of one of our amazing movies.” The scrawny teenager standing at the base of the stairs faces our direction while focusing his sight on the wall instead of us. His hands shake and his voice cracks as he guides one hand to the exit, voicing the script I assume his manager had him memorize.
Andrea and I chuckle as we subtly tuck him away and pull down my skirt to leave the theater, noticing the red cheeks on the young boy.
Andrea stops us, leaning over to the young boy and whispering. “I know. She’s magnificent.”
The next day, I run into James in the break room. At first, I don’t think she notices me when I try to tiptoe out of the room with my heels still on. I don’t want to lie to her, but the movie wasn’t my favorite. Until after the credits, of course.
“Oh, hi, El! How was the movie?” Stupid heels gave me away.
“Hi, James. That’s a fabulous outfit, if I do say so myself. Oh yeah, it’s because I picked it out for you.” Did that sound too cocky? “When it comes to the movie, Andrea and I definitely had fun.” Not a lie.
James tilts her chin down, eyebrows raised in a ‘I know what you did’ type of way. Stupid mother’s intuition. “You and Andrea fucked during the movie.”
“After the movie, but technically, we were still in the theater.”
“Changing the subject.” Thank god. “Guess who I saw shortly after I came back from maternity leave? Marco! He brought me some jeans that were practically destroyed, and he told me that he was seeing someone. Except when he came to pick them up the other day, his knuckles were bloody, and he was pretty defeated. Has he told you anything?”
I haven’t seen Marco since the night Andrea and I got engaged. Andrea told me about their conversation. While I’d love to find him and try to convince him that Andrea and I getting engaged won’t change anything, he’s right. Andrea andI will get married, grow our relationship, and live our lives together, while Marco will simply be there. When we first started this, the three of us, we had no quote-unquote endpoint. We were enjoying the time, the sex, and the growth Marco was having with Andrea. I guess getting engaged made things real for Marco.
“No. He hasn’t told me anything. Most of the time, when Marco and I talk, we argue.” Not a lie.
“I’m worried about him.” Concern etches her face while I’m sure she can see the slight annoyance in mine.
“You’ve become a lot more empathetic since you had Oliver. I have a love-hate relationship with it.”
“Oh, shush. Let me buy you coffee while we catch up. You and Andrea have been more on top of each other lately than normal, and I’ve been on mom duty. You and I haven’t escaped since that one night at the club. My husband still gives me shit about our night out. Let’s go.” She grabs her purse, dragging me out of the shop. We settle down in the coffee shop several storefronts down from the shop. We catch up on everything related to Oliver, my engagement, and dodging questions about Andrea and me having babies. Andrea and I still haven’t told anyone about everything we found out. Shit, we haven’t even discussed if we plan to tell anyone. We could tell everyone we’re childless by choice to avoid all the stupid sympathy people would give us.
James and I chat in the coffee shop until I realize I have about two minutes before my first client comes in. As I’m running to my office, I think, maybe, I should try to call Marco.
Chapter 42
Andrea
El and I have been working almost non-stop and haven’t had a day off together since the night we went to the movies. When El mentioned sitting around in our pajamas to start on wedding plans, I couldn’t think of anything better. El’s version of pajamas usually includes some sort of lingerie, a satin short and tank top set, or naked. To be fair, mine usually involve pajama pants or naked.
I hand a mug of coffee to El, wearing pajama pants, as El sits on the floor in tiny sleep shorts and a tank top. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I shouldn’t be surprised that she has a spread of photos, notes, and printouts from wedding websites. What I am surprised by is the massive amounts she has.
“What are the plans for our wedding, mon trésor?” El holds the mug in her hands, taking a sip while her eyes glimmer. I love it when her eyes sparkle. After she finishes sipping on her coffee, she hands the mug back to me, since there’s no space on the coffee table. That, and she knows there’s a high possibility that she would knock over the mug if she set it on the ground.
“It will be perfect! Hopefully. I want to get married in the fall, but we’ll wait until next year because this fall is too soon. I’m thinking late September to early October. That way, we can have a lavish honeymoon before the busy holiday season at work. Let’s find somewhere with a nude beach. If I’m going to lie on the beach, I can’t come back with tan lines. I’m open to getting married here or somewhere back home in France. I spoke with your mom the other day, and she said she will make either place work for her favorite person. She’ll make it work for you, too, of course.” She hands me a pile of pictures as she keeps talking about her plans for our wedding, and I sort through the pictures. Some of them are from the South of France, while some of them are from Paris. All different, but all of them home, nonetheless. A smile spreads across my face when I see this picture, one of El in a wedding dress. This dress screams El. The champagne-colored fit and flare lace dress had skinny straps and a sweetheart neckline that hugs her curves. It’s the definition of stylish, glamorous, and elegant. It’s El in a nutshell.
When El notices my smile, her eyes get wide, and she gasps as she swipes the picture from me. “That wasn’t supposed to be there! By the way, that’s not my dress. It was a close second. I went shopping with James while I video-chatted with Luci one day, when you were at work. Alessandro has been extra protective of her lately. Maybe it’s because she’s two weeks from her due date. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I tried on dresses for inspiration, but no picture you’d find on my phone, around my apartment, work locker, or car will show my wedding dress. It’ll be my little secret until I walk down the aisle. I’m informing you now that if you don’t cry when you see me, I’m walking back up the aisle.”
I shouldn’t be surprised she has a dress by now. Now that we’re talking about dresses, it might be the perfect time tomention this. “Speaking of wedding outfits, I have something for you.”
El raises her eyebrows before I disappear into our bedroom, grabbing the small ornate box from the top shelf. The last time I took this box down was the day I bought El’s ring to double-check that it went with what’s in this box. When I come back, El is still on the ground, sitting criss-cross applesauce and facing me. I sit beside her, opening the small box, and El gasps when she sees what’s in there.
“Ma mère had inherited beautiful pieces of jewelry from her grand-mère. No matter how poor we were or how little we had, I never would let her sell any of them. When I got cancer, she insisted on selling them to pay for my treatment. I made her promise that if I lived, she would keep them and never mention it again. When I moved to America, ma mère gave me these earrings to give to the woman I want to marry. If these don’t match your dress, I understand, but would you at least consider wearing these?”
El gently grabs the box from my hands, pulling out the diamond earrings. “And I thought I’d have a difficult time finding my Something Old.”
She places the earrings back in the box, wrapping her arms around my neck as she kisses me. “I love you.”
“Je t'aime mon trésor.” I take the earrings and the box from her lap, placing the box on the coffee table as I bring her into my lap, deepening our kiss. I reach for the hem of her shirt, about to lift it up and over her head, when someone pounds on the door. El and I snap our heads in the direction of the door, my hands frozen on the hem of her shirt.
“Maybe if we stay really quiet, whoever it is will go away.” I’m convinced El has no idea what ‘quiet’ is.