 I've never been overly fond of Mondays, but when I roll to my side to quiet the incessant beeping of my alarm clock, I know instinctively that July tenth is going to be my least favorite of the year. There's just something intangible in the air. The sheets beside me are cool to the touch, and rather than Danny's beautiful face, I find a small note resting on his pillow as I look over my shoulder. I'm powerless to rein in the heavy sigh that escapes my lungs as I flop onto my back, reaching for the note with one hand and the lamp switch with the other. Squinting as my eyes adjust to the light, I read aloud, "Michelle... Had an early day at the office. Won't be able to make it home for lunch. Let's have dinner tonight... just the two of us? See you then. I love you... Danny."
Wrinkling my brow, I study the words over and over again, letting each one sink in as I throw the bedcovers off and head for the bathroom. "Just the two of us," I repeat, smiling as I pour a liberal amount of bubble bath under the tap, savoring the delicious aroma of vanilla steam that soon blankets the air. A romantic dinner with Danny is just what I need to pull me out of the doldrums that I've been in ever since Guillermo and Josefina picked Isabella up yesterday afternoon. Placing the note on the countertop, I pull the bedclothes from my body and fasten my hair atop my head with a clip, making a mental note to see if Robert can fit me in for highlights and a trim later this week. Sinking into the hot water, I drape a wet washcloth across my eyes and let my muscles relax as thousands of tiny bubbles caress my skin.
Unstoppering the tub once the last bit of soap is rinsed from my body, I step out onto the rug and wrap a towel around myself. Yanking open the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet, I reach for the pink pack of pills and flip open the lid, punching out the next one in line marked, 'Monday'. I pop it into my mouth and chase it with a sip of water from my bathroom cup, studying my weary reflection in the mirror as I swallow. Staring down at the five remaining pills in the pack, tears begin to sting the backs of my eyes as an image of Bellabear's toothless grin pushes its way into the forefront of my mind. I've always suffered with PMS, but my new obsession with all things maternal now compounds that misery tenfold, and I sit at my vanity, indulging in a good, hormone-induced cry.
Once the last tears are dry and my teeth are sparkling clean, I return to the bedroom in my bra and panties to dress and to call the twenty-four hour pharmacy on Fifth Street. Fighting off fresh tears, I cradle the receiver against my shoulder, slowly and calmly reading the eight digits of my prescription refill to the cashier as I slip into a pair of royal blue scrub pants. Hanging up, I pull the top over my head, threading my arms through the sleeves as I plop back down on the bed with a thud and remove the clip from my hair, shaking my curls loose.
Thirty-five minutes have passed since I first awoke when I reach for the small, porcelain jewelry box on my nightstand. Lifting the lid and setting it on the bed beside me, I sift through earrings and rings, trying to locate the gold hoops that I favor. Smiling when I find the second one of the set, I place the box on my lap, tugging first one lobe and then the other as I work to fasten the tiny clasps on each hoop.
Picking the box back up, I resume my hunt, searching for the opal birthstone ring that I'm never without. Panic briefly washes over me when I'm unable to find it on the first pass, but I force my nerves to calm as I distinctly recall returning it to this very box on the previous night. The next search yields nothing as well, and I'm nearly at the end of my rope as I dump the contents of the box on top of my nightstand, spreading out each item for inspection. Nothing. "Calm down," I soothe aloud when my heart feels like it may pound right out of my chest. "It's got to be somewhere in the house... you've just got to find it," I reassure, my eyes clouding with tears as I return each piece of jewelry back to the box. No wonder I hate Mondays. The first forty-two minutes of July tenth have proven to me that my womanly intuition is seldom wrong.
"Morning, abuelita," I say, entering her room with a soft knock, the forced cheeriness in my voice doing a poor job of masking the pain in my heart.
Her eyes snap up from her tray of breakfast to meet mine, her perceptible ear hearing what my lips aren't saying. "Come here, mi hija," she instructs. I obey, kneeling beside her, and I close my eyes as her tiny, wrinkled hand descends upon my left cheek. "What's the matter, child?" she asks, comforting me with her gentle touch.
Looking up into her compassionate eyes, I chew my bottom lip to prevent the release of yet another tidal wave of emotions that I can feel slowly building. "I can't find my opal ring," I say softly, pausing to take a huge, cleansing breath before continuing. "You know the one that I'm talking about?" I ask, not really expecting an answer. "It was a birthday gift from my father a few months before he left."
I avert my eyes, mindlessly tracing a finger across an intricate pattern in the carpeting beneath my knees. "We'll find it," she says, hooking a finger underneath my chin to lift my eyes to hers. "We will," she insists, looking over my shoulder at Olga as she enters the room. "Olga and I will help you find it." I smile weakly first at her and then at Olga over my shoulder as abuela explains my predicament to her.
Passing a dust cloth over the table as she replaces the empty dishes in the tray, Olga asks, "Where's the last place that you remember having it, dear?"
Shrugging my shoulders, I stand and walk to the chair opposite abuela's, sitting as I answer, "Well... I could've sworn that I took it off and put it in my jewelry box last night, but it wasn't there this morning, so obviously, I'm wrong." Racking my brain, I offer, "Maybe I left it in the kitchen. I remember taking it off to wash the coffee pot yesterday after Guillermo and Josefina left... maybe it's still sitting in the windowsill."
Both nodding in agreement, Olga says, "I'll bet that's where it is, sweetie." Placing her hands on my shoulders, she finishes sweetly, "Don't worry another second about it, Michelle. I'll bring it to you with your lunch after the two of you finish with this morning's therapy session."
Satisfied, I give her hand a light squeeze as she retreats to the kitchen with the breakfast tray, and abuela and I slowly make our way to the exercise room. The wheelchair is now but a distant memory, sitting folded in the opposite corner of the room, collecting dust. Abuela has gotten so dexterous with her walker that, late last week, we began taking afternoon strolls through the garden and across the grounds of the Santos estate. While the walker will continue to be vital to her ambulation, we will begin to regain a little more of her independence today when we practice, for the first time, walking with a claw-footed cane.
Her recovery is bittersweet. Sweet because I pride myself on my work, and because abuela has been one of my greatest successes. Bitter because finding work elsewhere is a daunting thought. Sensing the internal conflict going on in my mind, she plops herself down on the massage table and asks, "What's got you in such turmoil this morning?"
Shaking my head, I leave her side to retrieve the cold pack from the freezer, answering over my shoulder, "I'm just overly emotional today, abuelita... I don't know why." Seeing the unspoken question still behind her eyes when I return, I realize that she's not completely satisfied with my answer. Placing the ice pack on her right hip, I turn my eyes to hers and answer more honestly, "I was just thinking about how close you are to reaching your full potential, and that in a couple of months, you won't even need me anymore."
Reaching for my hand, she shakes her head 'no', saying, "That day will never come... never. You are part of this family now." It never ceases to amaze me how quickly I was welcomed and embraced by Danny's family, and I feel as though I'm on the verge of new tears as she finishes, "We will always need you... all of us."
I draw her fingers up to my lips, finding my voice before I whisper against them, "I don't know what I'd do without you and this little family that we've forged." Tears glisten in both of our eyes. Attempting to lighten the much too somber mood, I drop her hand and place my own on my hip, adding, "So don't think that you're going to get rid of me that easily."
Replacing the hot and cold packs and rolling the ultrasound machine back into its proper place once the session is nearly over, I adjust the length of the cane to accommodate abuela's height as she leans against the massage table. She takes a few tentative steps with my arms securely around her waist, her legs unsteady at first as she becomes accustomed to the lessened support that the cane offers.
Loosening my grip, I back away slightly and watch the concerted effort that she makes to slowly and cautiously take each step. "You see," she begins, completely winded after navigating her way back to the walker. "It'll be a while before I master that," she continues, pointing to the abandoned silver cane to her right. "Let alone... walk without any assistance." Leaving the exercise room ahead of me, there's laughter in her voice as she finishes over her shoulder, "Yes, dear... I'd say that your work here is far from over. I'm afraid that you're stuck with me."
"What a pity," I tease, laughing as we approach her bedroom, but our smiles soon evaporate when the door swings open to an anxious looking Olga.
Wringing her hands as she rises from the chair, she helps abuela to her seat before turning her eyes to mine and saying softly, "Oh, dear... I'm afraid that I couldn't find your ring anywhere. It wasn't in the kitchen as you thought it might be." My jaw drops and I think that I can actually feel my bottom lip beginning to tremble. Having very few reminders left of my father, the sentimental value of the ring alone, made it irreplaceable. Seeing the anguished look on my face, she finishes, "I looked over every square inch of the second floor as I cleaned. Michelle... I'm sorry."
Nodding, I stand in the doorway, casting my eyes over the full tray of food that Olga's prepared for me. The aroma of something that I'm sure is delicious makes me sick to my stomach, and as my appetite leaves me completely, I offer weakly, "If you'll excuse me... I'm not really that hungry."
Pushing herself to her feet, abuela volunteers, "I'll help you look for it, dear. I know what it's like to lose something that's very precious to you."
Waving my hand in the air, I gesture for Olga to help her back into her chair, replying, "Thank you, abuelita. I appreciate the offer, but that's not necessary. I'm just going to give the first floor a once over, and if it doesn't turn up, it's no big loss... I'll get another." She doesn't believe me any more than I believe myself, but she nods her head in agreement just the same.
I scour the living room, the dining room, the study, even the wine cellar... which I've been in but once. Defeated and empty-handed, I approach the storage closet, flinging open the door and turning on the light switch. The musty odor of stationary air combined with the stale smell of dust assaults my nostrils, and my eyes skate over the room to the crib and changing table to my left. Searching for my ring under the thin mattress of the crib and around the quilted padding of the changing table, I find nothing.
The wheels in my mind in perpetual motion, another idea occurs to me and I bolt from the room, flipping off the light switch and slamming the door shut behind me. Bounding up the stairs to our bedroom two at the time, I throw open the door and fling myself across the bed. Jerking the receiver off of it's cradle, I quickly punch in the seven digits that I now know by heart. "Josefina?" I gasp into the phone when she answers, completely out of breath.
"Michelle? Sweetie... what's wrong?" she asks worriedly.
Catching my breath, I answer, "I've misplaced my opal ring and I thought that it might have gotten mixed in with the baby's things. Could you look through Isabella's bags for me?" Not giving her a chance to respond, I add, "I'll wait."
"Give me a minute," she says, and I close my eyes and hold my breath as she sets the receiver down. I can hear little Bellabear happily babbling as Josefina moves about the room, and I smile broadly, missing her already. Hearing Josefina's steps drawing closer to the phone a few minutes later, I exhale sharply and bite my bottom lip in anticipation. "Michelle? I'm sorry, honey. Your ring's not here. Was it expensive?"
Tightly gripping the comforter in my hand, I answer, "Not particularly. Just a lot of sentimental value... it was a gift." Trying to change the subject, I continue, "Hey, Josefina... if you ever need a couple of baby-sitters again, make sure that you put Danny and me at the top of your list. We had a great time this weekend."
Laughing, she says, "You guys already are, Michelle. You don't have to butter me up." After a brief pause, she adds sheepishly, "Fess up, though... you did all of the work, didn't you?"
Defending his honor in his absence, I insist, "No... I didn't. Danny was great with the baby. He rocked her to sleep, and he got up with her when she had colic in the middle of the night. He even sang her to sleep, Jo."
I smile at the sharp intake of breath that I hear on the opposite end of the line. "My cousin?" she asks incredulously. "Are you serious?"
"Cross my heart," I answer, doing just that.
I can hear muffled sucking noises, and a warm feeling courses through my body as I imagine Bella nursing while her mom and I talk. "Gee, Michelle... I'd have thought that Daniel would be lining up for a voluntary vasectomy the minute that she cried for the first time." To stifle the laughter that builds within me as that visual pops into my mind, would be futile... so I don't. When I pause to catch my breath, she finishes, "So... which one of you is it, huh? Is it Isabella or you that's been such a good influence on my cousin?"
Joking aside, I answer seriously, "Both... I hope. Although... I'd place my money on Isabella. She's definitely hard to resist." After a brief pause, I confess, "I know that she's got me hearing my own biological clock ticking inside of my head."
"I think that you'll make an excellent mother, Michelle," she says, and I recall Danny's very similar words as we woke side by side yesterday morning. Just when I'm nearly moved to tears for the hundredth time today, little Bella lets out a tremendous belch that could rival any of the ones that I've heard escape Danny's throat. Smiling in spite of the heaviness around my heart, I hear Josefina exclaim, "Goodness, sweetie," the lilt in her voice raising it a couple of octaves.
Envying the early start that she got at motherhood, I answer sincerely, "Thanks, Jo. That means a lot coming from you." Recognizing Bellabear's whimpers of exhaustion, I finish, "I'd better let you go so that you can get that little bugger down for a nap. Talk to you soon."
Muffling a yawn of her own, she responds, "Bye, sweetie," and I drop the receiver back into its cradle.
Glancing around at the now clean room, I resign myself to take one last perusal around the house for my missing ring. Vowing to leave no stone unturned, I quickly formulate a top to bottom search plan in my head, leaving the bedroom and heading for the third floor. I haven't been up there since Danny and I packed up Pilar's things, but I'm determined to be thorough.
Ending my quest nearly three hours later in my old bedroom, I throw my hands up in surrender, mumbling, "Sorry, dad... I give up." Looking up at the grandfather clock in the hallway near the kitchen, I see that I've got less than twenty minutes before the afternoon therapy session begins. As I trudge up the stairs to our bedroom, I thread my fingers through my hair in frustration, remembering the mental note that I made earlier to call the salon and schedule an appointment for this week.
Flipping through my organizer as I lean against the fluffy softness of the pillows at my back, I locate the entry labeled, 'Robert M's'. Dialing the seven digits, I press the receiver to my ear, counting the number of rings before Robert's effeminate voice drifts over the line and asks me to leave him a voice mail. According to his outgoing message, he's on vacation this week. "Great!" I scream, slamming the phone down on its cradle just as the recording reminds me that I can schedule an appointment with one of his assistants during his absence. "Fat chance!" I bark, pounding my fists into the mattress as I recall the hideous shade of orange that a stylist-in-training turned my hair a couple of years ago. Ever since that fiasco, I haven't let a sole besides Robert within twenty feet of my hair with a bottle of dye.
Drawing the calendar of my discarded organizer up to my eyes, I look down at today's date to remind myself that this is Monday the tenth and not Friday the thirteenth. For the second time today, I pat myself on the back for the instincts that so accurately told me that this was not going to be my day when I first rolled out of bed this morning. Redepositing the organizer in the top drawer of my nightstand, I slam it shut with such force that the picture of Rick and Abby teeters on its stand. Straightening my clothes as I stand, I head for abuela's room to see if she'd like to start therapy a few minutes early, deciding to focus my energy on something productive.
Her physical therapy is like psychological therapy for me, and though it goes by in a flash, I find myself calmed, both by her soothing voice and by the wonderful aroma of roses as we stroll through the garden and head back to the house. I have completely regained my perspective when I make the fifteen minute drive to the Fifth Street pharmacy to pick up the prescription that I called in this morning. 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' is being filtered through the speaker above my head as I wait for the cashier to ring up my total, and I can't help the smile that creeps across my face as I hum and sing along with Bobby McFerrin.
Climbing back into my car, I ease back into the flow of traffic, desperately trying to locate the same radio station that the pharmacy was tuned to. Finding it just as the final chords are being played, I mutter, "Shit," as I change lanes. 'Summertime Blues' begins to play in its place, and I feel like I've been transported to the Twilight Zone when the cold air coming out of my vents suddenly blows warm. Banging my head against the steering wheel as I pull to a stop at the next red light, I wonder what I did to deserve this karma.
I can barely see through the tears that cloud my eyes as I stop at the security gate at the entrance to the Santos compound and press in the code. Leaning against the headrest as I wait for the iron gate to swing open, I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and have to suppress the urge that I have to vomit. My cheeks are flaming red with heat, and riding with the window rolled down for the past fifteen minutes has whipped my hair in a dozen different directions, save for the few chunks that are anchored to my skin by the sweat that is gushing out of every pore in my face. I'm a sight.
Pulling into my parking spot, I lay my arms across the steering wheel and bury my face in between them, allowing myself another good cry. Three short blasts of a car horn beside me rip me from my one-woman pity party, and I snap my head up, locking eyes with a jubilant looking Danny, who is grinning from ear to ear. I dab at the tear tracks on my cheeks, watching the mirth on his face give way to concern.
He's pulling me out of the car and against his body in a heartbeat, and I draw strength from his loving embrace as I sob into the shoulder of his olive-colored suit jacket. "What's the matter, baby?" he breathes into my hair, gently cradling my waist with one hand and my neck with the other.
"My air conditioner broke," I respond, taking in huge gulps of air as I fight to catch my breath. Feeling him trying to stifle a laugh, I whine, "It's not funny, Danny... it's hot as hell today."
Sliding his hands up to the sides of my face, he stares into my eyes and assures, "I'm not laughing, sweetheart." Taking my hand in his, he leads me behind him to his car, saying, "Come with me... we're getting out of here."
Stopping in my tracks, I raise my free hand to my mouth and gasp, "Oh God, Danny... I forgot about dinner." Pointing to my sweat-soaked scrubs, I finish, "I have to change."
Turning towards me, he cradles my chin in his hand as he lays a gentle kiss against my lips, shaking his head 'no' as he says, "You look beautiful, Michelle." Pointing over his shoulder to a picnic basket in the back seat of his car, he adds, "Just the two of us... remember?" Entranced by the soft fullness of his lips, I nod mindlessly, and he smiles at my admiration as he presses them to mine once again. "Besides," he begins, whispering against them as Olga appears around the corner of the garage behind me. "I called a few minutes ago and asked Olga to pack a bag for you."
Wrinkling my brow in confusion, I repeat, "A bag?" as my eyes drift from Danny's to the overnight bag dangling from Olga's chubby fingers. As she hands it to him, they exchange a knowing smile with one another, and I can't seem to put together one complete, coherent thought long enough to ask the questions that are racing through my mind.
I'm in a state of shock as they both lead me to his car, but I'm aware of her voice as it drifts into my ear, whispering, "Have fun, dear." Throwing my bag into the back seat beside the picnic basket, he eases into the driver's seat and we slowly wind our way down the driveway and off of the property.
I can feel the heat draining from my cheeks as he directs three of the vents in my direction. "I stopped at Towers and picked up that Pasta Primavera that you like so much. I hope that's all right."
Unable to form a response when I find that the words still elude me, I say nothing, staring at him stupidly as I watch him shimmy out of his jacket and loosen his tie. Stopping at a four-way stop at the juncture of a busy intersection, he tucks some of my wayward curls behind my ear, saying soothingly, "Don't worry about your car, Michelle. We'll take it to the shop later this week, ok?" Stroking my cheek with the back of his hand, he finishes, "Hey... you can even use mine until yours is fixed if you promise to drive me to work and pick me back up everyday."
Fidgeting with the pharmacy bag that I'm still tightly clutching in my hand, I inform, "It's not just the car, you know?" He places a comforting hand on my thigh, silently begging me to continue. "It's the whole day... it's been nothing but one disaster after another. And I knew that it was going to be this way from the minute that I woke up, Danny... I knew it... intuitively."
Looking out of the window as we turn into the heart of downtown Springfield, I wonder where we're going, but I know that I'll get some cryptic non-answer if I ask, so I sit back and bite my tongue. "Well... I hope to change all of that tonight, if you'll let me try."
Stretching my tired muscles, I sigh heavily as I reply hopelessly, "There's nothing that you can do to change anything now, Danny. The day's already been ruined. I'd rather just forget about it."
Licking his lips as a tiny smirk tugs at the corners, he persists, "Tell me about it."
Frustrated at his unwillingness to let me simply forget like I want to do so badly, I close my eyes as I recount the unpleasantries of my day. "Ok... for starters... I'm due to start my period in three days, and I've got a terrible case of PMS in case you haven't already noticed," I begin, shaking the fresh pack of birth control pills in his face as he nods in understanding. Something tells me that he's noticed. "Secondly... my hairstylist is on vacation just when I'm in desperate need of highlights," I continue, pointing to my dirty blond roots as I tug the ends of my hair taut in my fingers. "And last but not least... my opal ring, the last birthday gift that I ever got from my dad, is missing." When I see him hiding his mouth behind his hand, pretending to stifle a yawn, I spit, "How was your day, dear?"
Shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows, he answers, "Not as eventful as yours, I'm afraid."
"What are we doing here, Danny?" I ask, shifting my attention away from him and back to the road as he turns into the gravel driveway of The Oaks and parks under a shady tree.
"You'll see," he answers smiling, trying to contain his excitement as he throws the strap of my bag over his shoulder and grabs the picnic basket, circling in front of the car to help me out. Escorting me into the quaint little bed and breakfast, he tips the clerk generously and we are quickly shuttled up to our room on the second floor by an eager looking bellhop.
Danny plops down on the lacy, cream-colored duvet of the king-sized, sleigh bed, staring at me lustfully as the bellhop rattles off the amenities offered at The Oaks. About three minutes into his dissertation on private balconies, built-in jacuzzis, and room service, Danny abruptly ushers him to the door, shoving a wad of cash into his palm to shut him up.
Closing the distance between us in two, long strides, his mouth descends upon mine in a fiery kiss, our tongues tangling against each other. He leaves me breathless as his lips abandon mine to trail kisses down my neck, and his breath scorches my skin as he whispers, "You know, Michelle... I can't do anything about PMS." Giving equal treatment to the opposite side of my neck, he caresses my tingling skin with his tongue before continuing, "And I don't know anything about highlights." Pressing his lips to mine once again, he smiles against them before backing away slightly. "But," he begins, drawing my right hand up to his lips to press light kisses against my knuckles. "I can do something about your opal," he finishes, fishing my missing ring out of his pocket.
Staring down at the iridescent stone and then back up at him as he slides the ring onto my finger, I ask confusedly, "You had my ring, Danny? Why?"
"Because... I had to have this one sized," he answers, his voice quaking with emotion as he grabs my left hand and withdraws a small, blue, velvet box from his same pant's pocket. Tears spring to my eyes and my hand flies to my mouth as he lowers one knee to the floor. "Michelle," he begins, waiting for me to focus on his eyes before continuing. "I've known that I wanted you to be a part of my life ever since I first laid eyes on you." I dab at the tears that escape the edges of my lashes, and he smiles up at me lovingly as he says, "Spending the weekend with Isabella made me realize that I want our life together to begin as soon as possible. I want you to be my wife, Michelle... the mother of my babies. Please say that you'll have me as your husband."
New tears begin their course down my cheeks as he opens the box, and I stare down at the beautiful pear-shaped diamond sitting atop a platinum band. A sense of lightheadedness overcomes me as I watch him slide the ring onto the third finger of my left hand... a perfect fit... just like the two of us. So much for woman's intuition... July tenth has quickly become the best day of my life. "I don't know what to say, Danny," I finally manage to squeak.
Looking into my eyes expectantly as he presses his warm, wet lips to each of my fingertips, he whispers simply, "Say yes."
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