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On Their Wedding Day
Elizabeth approached her wedding day with a calm that eluded most brides. As an event planner, she knew two very important things: First, something was going to go wrong, so she planned for contingencies where she could and let the rest flow over her like a sea breeze. And second, the marriage was about a thousand times more important than the wedding, so why stress out about it?
Peter handled the entire thing with characteristic stoicism and good humor, none of the hundreds of details really entering his consciousness. So when the actual day arrived and she was being walked down the aisle by her father, Elizabeth was utterly surprised and charmed to see the expression on Peter’s face. When he took her hand, she felt him trembling. “Are you all right?” she whispered before the priest began.
“I’m just so happy,” he whispered back, and pulled her into a bear hug that took her off her feet. When he set her down, she saw tears in his eyes. He leaned in and kissed her, much to the delight of their guests. The priest cleared his throat.
“You’re supposed to wait for my cue on that,” he chided them gently, to a round of applause and laughter from those assembled. Throughout the ceremony and the reception, Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and she found herself wondering how she’d ever gotten so lucky as to deserve him.
On Their Wedding Night
The reception already a whirlwind in her mind, Elizabeth let Peter lead her to their hotel room. She’d barely eaten a thing, and had subsisted on candied almonds and champagne for the last several hours. To say she was tipsy was an understatement.
Once in the room, she’d had to enlist her husband’s help in undoing the elaborate buttons on the dress; referring to him as her husband gave her a rush that she knew must eventually end but hoped never would. She moved to the bathroom and changed into the sheer white baby doll she’d bought for the occasion. She touched up her lipstick, mussed her hair a bit to increase “the sexeh” as she called it, and spritzed on a bit more perfume. Looking critically in the mirror, she deemed herself worthy of her husband’s attentions and left the room.
Peter was sitting on the edge of the bed with his shoes and jacket off, a beer in his hand and looking tired. He brightened when he saw her. “Wow,” he said.
She couldn’t resist doing a little turn to show off. “You like?”
“I like.”
She walked over and kissed him where he sat, long and deep, eliciting a moan from deep in his chest, which made her smile. She sat in his lap and held his face in her hands, staring intently, hoping to imprint this expression on her memory forever, and kissed him again. She could feel his erection on her thigh as she started to remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. She smiled again as she got the last button undone, and stripped his shirt down his arms and back, tails still tucked in. “Lie back,” she ordered and he did. She followed, planting kisses first along his jaw, and then down his throat, his chest, toying with his nipples, kissing the hard muscles of his taut belly, working her way down, down.
She stopped with a hand at his belt, moved back up so her face was just inches from his. “Honey?” she breathed.
“Yeah?” he said breathlessly, looking at her with lust-drunk eyes.
“I think I had too much champagne,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Uh…” she scrambled off of him and ran for the bathroom where she was very noisily sick.
A few minutes later, as she sat with her face against the cool porcelain, she felt a hand on her back. She looked up – she hadn’t heard Peter come in. He crouched beside her and held out a glass of water. She took it and swirled some around her mouth, spitting it rather indelicately into the toilet. “Thanks,” she managed, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. He pulled her up against him, sitting back on the floor with her head on his chest. “Some romantic wedding night,” she commented, not able to keep the unwelcome hint of tears out of her voice.
“In sickness and in health,” he said, a smile in his voice. He began to rub circles on her back.
She looked up at him, again wondering how she’d managed to snag such a wonderful man. “Of course, you’ll tell all your friends and brothers that we had the most mind-blowing sex of your life?”
“Three times,” he agreed, and kissed her on the forehead.
October 9, 2006
El felt the cramping begin at about four that morning. She thought it must be her period, but a little bit of math told her it couldn’t be. She thought nothing of it and went about her day, taking her meeting with the people from the Met and returning to the office around 10:00.
When the cramps hit her the second time, they nearly flattened her out. She had been standing at her assistant Yvonne’s desk reviewing an email to a potential client when it hit, forcing her to double over, supporting herself with an outstretched hand on the desk.
“You OK, Liz?” Yvonne said, turning to her. “Liz!” She pointed down and El could see blood trickling down her leg. She rushed to the bathroom.
An hour later, she was sitting on a bed in the ER when Peter rushed in to join her. He pulled her into his arms, nearly smothering her. “What happened? Are you all right?”
She buried her face in his chest, clutching at him. He smelled like Aramis and traffic. “They said I lost the baby,” she said quietly.
“Baby?” he said, looking down at her. “What baby?”
“I know, what baby?” she said and burst into unwanted tears. She’d told herself she would hold it together when he came, that she wasn’t affected by the news. How could she be? She didn’t know she was pregnant, hadn’t been invested in it at all. And yet, the expressions that flashed by on Peter’s face were almost too much. Sadness, concern and fear for her as he realized what she’d gone through. He held her as she sobbed, murmuring, “Love you, love you,” over and over until she calmed.
Later that night, she sat slurping Peter’s special chicken noodle soup on their couch, a blanket around her shoulders, watching old Fraggle Rock episodes on a children’s channel. She found them oddly soothing. Peter walked in from cleaning up in the kitchen and joined her.
She put the soup bowl down, lifted his arm and curled up against him. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in closer. “So, there’s this elephant in the room,” she began.
“I know. What now?”
“I haven’t really even given this any thought before. It’s always been the Peter and El Show.”
“Could it be the El and Peter and…daughter show?”
She smiled; so if he thought about it, he clearly wanted a girl. “Maybe, I don’t know. What do you want?”
“I want what you want.”
“That’s not an answer. Tell me what you want.”
“I want us to be happy. I want us to be us. If that means a baby, then great. If it doesn’t, also great. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re there.”
She reached up and kissed him on the jaw. “You schmoopy bastard,” she said and snuggled in closer.
They sat silently for several minutes, he with his face in her hair, she almost dozing. “I’ve never been so scared in my life as when I got that call from the hospital today,” he said finally, his voice very quiet.
“Oh, honey,” she began, turning to face him.
He had tears in his eyes. “I don’t…I don’t know if I could make it if something bad were to happen…” He sobbed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, swiped the tears away.
She knew he could never keep anything from her, but this admission was something else, a different level of intimacy. She had never seen him display this kind of raw emotion before, and despite his pain it moved her immeasurably. She put her fingers over his mouth, swung her legs over his lap and straddled him. She leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, on his face, his eyes, kissing the tears away. She held his head to her chest and he clutched her to him. They sat that way for a long time.
When Neal Jumped Out a Fourth Story Window
Elizabeth stood in her kitchen, leaning against the counter drinking a glass of apple cider. She heard the back door snick closed as Neal stole away and she prepared herself for The Talk she was about to get from her husband. She was rinsing her glass out and putting it into the dishwasher when Peter came into the room. She turned to face him, saw the disapproval in his eyes.
“Before you say anything, let me explain,” she began. “You know I didn’t believe it when they found those initials on the diamond. There’s no way Neal would’ve done this.”
He opened his mouth and she cut him off. “You yourself said that diamonds were hard to fence, and anyone who’d pull this job was a fool. Well, Neal is anything but a fool.”
He blinked and held up his hand, finger pointing. “Plus he’s got too much to lose now,” she continued. “He wants to find Kate, and doing something like this would not get him to that goal. And did you see the bug on our phone? There’s no way that could’ve been put there after the diamond was stolen. The timing is all wrong. It’s clearly a setup, Peter.”
Peter took a step forward and put his hand on his hip. She interrupted him again. “So when Neal called me this afternoon and he needed me – needed us – I couldn’t turn him down. He’s a good man, Peter, and so I put up a little diversion so he could get past the surveillance team. Is that so bad? A little aiding and abetting? You know he’s innocent. You do.”
He closed his mouth and breathed out of his nose. He was clearly considering what to say. She turned her back and went to the refrigerator. “What would you like for dinner? Omelets?”
He sighed. “Sure. Shall I open some wine?”
She turned and smiled dazzlingly at him, her blue eyes twinkling. She could see him relax just a bit and she knew the discussion was over.
Every Sunday Morning
Peter came in from the cold, bearing orange juice, bagels and the NY Times. Elizabeth walked through from the kitchen, tray laden with coffee and mugs, and smiled to see him. Neal, who had dropped by early that day at Peter’s request to discuss their latest case, rose to help her with the heavy tray. He set it down on the dining room table and began pouring cups of steaming black nectar. He took his seat and watched, fascinated, as their Sunday morning ritual played out before him.
Peter set the bagels down on the table, removed his jacket and went to the kitchen, retrieving plates, flatware and napkins. Elizabeth took a basket from the pantry and began arranging the bagels inside while Peter fixed her coffee for her – light and sweet. She set the table as he poured the juice. They sat and Elizabeth buttered his bagel for him, licking the excess off her thumb, and handing it to him. He picked up the paper, removed the Magazine and handed it to her. She pulled out a pen and started in on the crossword as he pulled out the Book Review.
Finally, Neal had to say something. “You let her do the Sunday crossword?”
Peter looked up at him, brow furrowed. “Of course,” he said, as if Neal had just commented that the sky was blue.
“You practically shoot me if I even glance at it during the week.”
“That’s because he loves me,” Elizabeth said, eyes twinkling. She got up to get some peanut butter out of the kitchen for herself.
Peter leaned over and whispered to Neal, “I do it online later. Don’t tell her.”
Neal grinned and began to spread cream cheese on his whole grain bagel. Elizabeth returned from the kitchen. “Plus, he does it online later and doesn’t think I know,” she said breezily, returning to her seat. Peter barely reacted to being caught, and reached out to squeeze her hand.
Elizabeth leaned over towards Neal, still smiling. “See? True love,” she said, and went back to the puzzle. “Five-letter word for premature…” she muttered to no one, and filled in the letters.
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Thank you for your time.