by DW Cee
“Emily?” I caught her mid-bite. Her eyes looked up but her mouth kept busy on the crepe. “Tell me some of the things you want to do in Paris. We can go out of Paris as well, if you like.”
Emily explained she had been to Paris with Sarah before, and she wanted to visit all the usual places most tourists wanted to visit. I’d have to ask Francois, the manager, to add a twist to all of our excursions.
While she added to her list of places to see, she shared bites with me, and once she was done, I led her to the Escoffier. I couldn’t wait to see her face when she saw the cooking lessons that were ready for her in the kitchen.
Emily’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she saw the huge kitchen she would cook in. This kitchen, at least five times that of French Laundry, contained kitchen equipment beautiful enough to place in any gourmet cook shop.
“Are we really getting cooking lessons?” She could hardly contain her excitement.
“Yes, Love. Put on the apron and let’s see what Chef Daniel wants us to make.”
I donned an apron with no thoughts of cooking. My satisfaction and pleasure would come from watching Emily enjoy herself. She followed the chef around like a little puppy and did everything he asked her to.
“Amily,” the chef gave her name a French pronunciation, “Recevez s’il vous plait lets oeufs, le beurre, le lait et le crème du refrigerateur.”
Her French was better than I thought. She took out the eggs, butter, milk, and crème from the refrigerator as the chef had asked. Then she found bowls and mixers and knives and cutting boards and went to work. Several times I served as translator for both parties while I grabbed a seat and drank my cafe. Emily was in her element. When all was done, we had more desserts than we could possibly eat. Of all the sweets my sweet created, the croissants were the winners.
Stomachs filled and hearts content, we walked toward the Tuileries Garden for a stroll in the park. Emily, lips spread with joy, was in deep thought.
“What are you thinking right now?” I wanted to share what was so important on her mind.
“I was thinking that our private lesson at the Escoffier was about the coolest thing I’ve ever done in my life!”
I knew she cooked well but I didn’t realize she enjoyed cooking to this extent.
“If life would have turned out differently for me when I was younger, I probably would’ve gone to cooking school after undergrad. I feel most comfortable in a kitchen. Maybe one day when I’m retired, I’ll enroll in a cooking school just for fun. Thanks to you, I’ve checked off another thing I’ve always wanted to do. Thank you.”
Whenever Emily shared with me about her earlier years my heart broke. These stories never got any easier to hear. But, I had the rest of our lives to spoil her rotten, in every which way my heart desired.
“What’s next?” She pulled me down the block. “This is so much fun! I might never want to leave.”
I led her to Chanel and forcefully nudged my thrifty girlfriend into the store. She positively refused to buy a dress here but I didn’t take no for an answer. She followed the same saleslady and tried on the dress and boots I picked out for her. By the smile on her face I knew she loved the outfit. It was a sleeker, night version of the outfit she wore up to San Francisco. She looked hot. We purchased the outfit and walked back toward the hotel.
I noticed that the smile had left Emily’s face.
“Do you not like the dress?” I asked, concerned. “Are you upset I didn’t give you a choice in the matter?”
“No, no. I love the dress. It’s beautiful and practical as well. I can wear it multiple times.”
“Then why do you look unhappy?”
She gave me a crazy apology for not having given me enough—emotionally and materially—since we started dating last October. Could she still not comprehend the depth of my love for her? Back to the theme of this trip, I had to assure her of my feelings.
“Emily. Back in New York when I was stupid enough to go chasing after your ring rather than stopping you from leaving, then back at home when you left me nothing but a letter and ran off to Japan, I promised myself that if we ever got a chance to be together again, I would spare nothing of myself.” Her lips slowly motioned upward. “Whether material or emotional, what I have is yours. And I know that materially, if our situations were reversed, you would do the same for me. So please let me dote on you the way I dreamed for so many months while you were away.”
Her face appreciative, her lips showing contentment, she answered, “I love you, Jake.”
“I love you too. Now let’s get ready for dinner.”
Emily went into her room and I hopped over to mine and called Francois.
“Allo?”
“Francois, this is Jake Reid.”
“Bonjour. What can I do for you?”
“Could I sign Emily up for cooking classes the rest of this week while we’re here?”
“But of course! The classes are held at the Escoffier at 6:30 a.m. every morning. There are two other mademoiselles signed up.”
“Thank you. I’ll let her know.”
“Au revoir.”
“Good-bye.”
Suiting up quickly, I used Emily’s card key and walked in on her as she was finishing. With her dress not fully zipped in the back, I took the liberty of helping myself by unzipping it and allowing my hand to travel up and down her body. Emily turned around and feigned a feeble attempt at loosening my hands. My lips carefully enjoyed parts of her body that weren’t covered in makeup.
“Jake,” she said, in a tone of gentle admonishment I chose to ignore, “what about dinner? I need to finish getting dressed.”
“Let’s skip dinner. We can go to the Eiffel Tower tomorrow.”
I could feel her inner battle as she pushed me away only to pull me back in for a kiss full of lust. She was so ready to be with me. I tested her struggling willpower even further and tugged off her dress. Quickly glancing at her almost naked body, my lips and hands reached parts of Emily that had never been explored. It felt amazing to touch her.
“Jake?” She let out a weak plea. “Jake? Honey? Please don’t…”
She continued pleading but I wasn’t listening. I was a few caresses away from sweeping her off her feet and making love to the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
“Jake…” She was letting out another round of pleas. “I’d really like to honor my mom’s wish and stay a virgin till I get married. Please?”
UGH! I stopped immediately and walked away. “I gotta get this done,” I thought and spoke a little bit too loudly. I needed to get this ring on her, and then maybe then she would be willing to be with me, knowing we had promised to spend the rest of our lives together.
Leaving the temptation of a bedroom, we went and had a delicious dinner at Le Jules Verne, then drove through the city. Around midnight we found ourselves back in front of Emily’s room. Our lips locking again, I let her go, knowing if we stayed together any longer, I wouldn’t be able to yield to her wish.
Sometime in the morning I was woken up by a phone call.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Reid. Can you come in this morning with votre amour and try on the ring?”
“It’s done already?”
“Oui.” I knew Henri was a master jewel setter but he exceeded my expectations.
“Of course. I’ll be there this morning.”
“Bon.”
I had to get up and think of an excuse as to why I needed Emily to try on this ring. What would I say to her? Hopping in the shower, I hatched a devious plan to make her believe she was trying on the ring for Mom’s sake, as the ring was supposedly going to be handed down to her. Yes, that was a good idea. Then another thought came to me—I figured out how I would propose to my love.
Quickly getting dressed, I went down to see Francois and asked to meet with the head chef. I asked the chef if he could make five petit fours with pictures on each of them symbolizing our relationship. Each petit four would be
placed in a ring-size box with the thought that I’d put the engagement ring in the sixth box. He would also pack a picnic basket for us so I could cross off the last line item on her bucket list—to picnic in the Tuileries Garden with someone she loved. The chef would have everything ready for me on Friday. My plan was set and I raced back to my room.
It was almost time for Emily to get back from her class, but I was still a bit jet lagged so I decided to close my eyes till she got back.
“Hi, Beautiful,” I mumbled as Emily woke me up snuggling into my body. “How was class this morning?”
“Excellent!” She sounded happy. “I have breakfast for you, if you like.”
Hungry, but liking the feel of Emily in my arms and in my bed, I held her a little longer.
“Why are you dressed but asleep? Do you want me to leave so you can sleep some more?”
My body perked up to the idea of placing Gram’s ring on Emily’s finger this morning. How would I do this without proposing? I kept telling myself I just needed to wait a few more days.
Emily’s curious eyes didn’t leave my sight as soon as I told her we were headed to Boucheron this morning. Her senses were on high alert. Walking hand in hand I spoke about our scheduled trip to the Louvre, lunch at Laduree, and a France vs. Italy soccer match in the afternoon. I could tell Emily was waiting for an explanation about the jewelry store, but I didn’t say a word. Later, I’d have to explain this was done not as a punishment, but as a defense mechanism. If I started talking, I would end up proposing on this very sidewalk.
Henri and Emily greeted each other, and I finally gave her an explanation.
“So Gram is about to hand down her mother’s diamond to my mom. It was my great-grandmother’s desire to see this ring handed down from daughter to daughter. Gram wants Henri, our family’s favorite jewelry setter, to reset this ring so she can pass it down to her. Gram nor Mom will have anyone touch their jewelry, except Henri.”
With only a baffled look on her face, she continued with her questions. I answered all her questions, but in her mind I was giving her all the wrong answers. After her many attempts at a different answer, she stopped talking. A chuckling Henri in the meanwhile brought the reset Asscher cut to me. My entire being began to shake at the thought of putting this ring on Emily’s finger. I handed over Emily’s eternity band and Henri walked out to give us a moment.
Emily was just as nervous as I was. She stared at the ring then looked into my face and eagerly awaited the question I wasn’t going to ask. I tried to smile, though I was sure it was an awkward one. Like the scene in Kyoto, I held her left hand and took a deep breath before holding the ring at the tip of her fourth finger. More than life, I wanted to get on my knees and propose to her this very second.
I’m sorry, My Love, was the only thought that echoed in my mind while pushing the ring on her finger and watching the brilliance on her face. The look in her eyes—a euphoria, a trance, an almost delirium of joy—paralyzed me. I had to remind myself to breathe or I’d buckle from a lack of oxygen. If Henri hadn’t interrupted our moment, I would have gotten down and proposed to Emily at the jewelry store. Before caving into my heart’s desire, I quickly took the ring off Emily’s finger. Her discouraged eyes turned away from me. I caught a flicker of tears in her eyes as she walked outside and pretended to look at the jewelry in the store. It was at this point I decided to pull up the proposal to tomorrow if possible. I called the chef and begged him to finish the petit fours as soon as possible and walked out to see my love. I held her in my arms for a while, knowing how hurt she was at this moment.
The inner workings of the Louvre held no interest for Emily. Sadness wouldn’t leave her disposition no matter how hard she tried. I took her to Laduree, a beautiful tea shop specializing in macarons and hoped food—her biggest passion—would bring my girlfriend back to life.
“Emily.” We had conversed so little since this morning. She only played with her food. “Emily!” I called again.
“Huh? Yes? Did you need something?” She finally looked at me.
“What’s wrong with you? You’ve been zoned out all morning since Boucheron. Is something wrong?” I’m sorry, Love. I know what’s wrong, but I can’t undo your sadness just yet.
Comically, jet lag was her excuse for her behavior.
“OK,” I responded, trying not to laugh. “Have you tried the macarons?”
“Yeah,” she answered unenthusiastically.
We left behind more macarons than we ate. Even food was not bringing out an animated response from Emily. This was going to be a long day for both of us.
Our third day in Paris, and to my chagrin, the chef called to say the petit fours would not be ready till tomorrow morning. Bummed out, I headed for Emily’s room.
“Why are you here by yourself? Is everything all right?” I was worried she might still be moody from yesterday.
“It’s perfect! I came in to call Sarah. I was just headed your way.” She reached over to kiss me good morning. Emily appeared to be back to normal, to my relief.
We headed out for a long day of shopping. From flea markets to antique shops to specialty boutiques to a group of book stalls, Emily bought presents for everyone back home. I knew my Emily was back when she told me she was starving.
“What shall we eat?” As always, I left the food choices up to her.
“I’ll probably regret this, but let’s eat at Moule et Frites. It’s right there,” she pointed to the restaurant just steps away from us. “Then I want to go eat ice cream at Berthillon.”
“All right.”
“Did you know,” I said while chewing on a mussel, “that there are 250 bouquinistes in the Left Bank? Most vendors have to wait eight to ten years to get a spot to open up a book stall.”
“How do you determine who gets a spot and where?”
“It’s all based on seniority. Some of these people have been there longer than we’ve been alive.”
“Fascinating,” she answered while finishing off her last french fry.
“Are we really eating ice cream now after such a filling lunch?”
“Are you kidding me?” She had an incredulous look on her face. “You can’t come all the way to Paris and not eat at Berthillon.”
“If you say so.” I was stuffed, but I guess my girlfriend still had room in her stomach.
The rest of the day flew by between dinner, opera, and another round of dessert.
I got up early on our fourth day to get ready for our big day. I hurried over to Boucheron and picked up the rings and earrings and safely put away everything but the engagement ring. Once Emily got back, I’d pick up the picnic basket and the blanket, and we’d go have our picnic. Jittery but thoroughly excited, Emily would finally and officially be mine. I waited anxiously for her to arrive.
We left for the kitchen as soon as Emily walked in the door, and I was too nervous to talk to her. Her big brown eyes stared at me and shadowed my every move without a word. We got to the garden, and I found a pretty spot near all the flowers and laid out the huge blanket.
I could see anxiety written all over my love’s face because of my silence, but I let it be since this would all be over soon. I quickly took the ring out of my jacket pocket and put it inside box number six. Then I looked through the basket to see what I should bring out first. Searching for the appetizer and wine, Emily spoke.
“Jake, I’m sorry but I don’t really want to eat any more French food. Can we just skip to dessert?”
I panicked! If she wanted dessert first, that meant I’d have to propose in the next few minutes. I hadn’t even considered how to propose—how would I ask her to marry me? Feverishly I searched through the basket for my six ring boxes and placed them in the correct chronological order.
“What’s in all these fun boxes?” Emily stared at the boxes with her beautiful smile.
“Open it.” Giving her the first box was cathartic in an odd way. Our crazy courtship was almost done. Emily would be mine foreve
r. I would love and protect this woman for the rest of my happy life.
Emily opened the first box, and I was disappointed that she still had that same look of wonder.
“I guess you don’t remember how we first met?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
“Oh!” Now she got it. “Of course. This was the cereal I was reaching for when I bumped into you. Oh, this is so sweet. Do all these boxes contain a memory?”
I nodded yes while she took a bite then gave me a bite. This petit four tasted no different than Captain Crunch cereal.
“I want the next box,” she demanded with her hands out.
I moved myself to face her so I could clearly see her expression when she opened the next five. Emily opened box number two, looked at it, took a small bite, then closed it back up.
“Why are you leaving half the taco in the box, and don’t I get a bite?”
“No. Don’t you remember? You had to leave halfway through our dinner because you got called away by the hospital. The story of our life! This one doesn’t deserve to be eaten beyond the halfway mark. I should’ve known then you were a workaholic…Next!”
I tried to get a sense of whether she was serious or kidding. My silence must have scared her.
“Please?” she asked angelically and threw in a kiss for good measure.
She opened box number three and thought about it for a few seconds.
“Oh, I get it. This is an opera cake. This must symbolize the opera we saw in San Francisco, right?”
I rang a pretend bell to signal that her answer was correct.
“This is loads of fun!” She clapped her hands like a little girl opening up gifts, and I was Santa who brought her everything on her wish list.
The chef had decorated the fourth dessert with a blue fondant and tiny orange Nemo-looking fish covering the petit four.
“This must be Hawaii. Too easy. Let’s see what this one tastes like.”
The fifth petit four was an Eiffel Tower, which we both agreed was too intricate and beautiful to eat. We saved it. Though I came up with the memories, the chef outdid himself on the artistry of each item.
