The edge was off her happiness now. “Why, are you ashamed of what I do? What do you tell your friends I do, Ian?”
“I don’t tell them anything. It’s none of their business. And no, I am not ashamed. Nobody appreciates what you do more than me.”
“Appreciating it and being ashamed are two different things, Ian.”
“We’re getting off to a bad start here. Let’s back up two steps and start over. I for one still feel like a newlywed so let’s act like it. That’s an order, Emily.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said, snapping off a smart salute.
Ian’s hand was on the doorknob when the door swung open. Ian stepped back, ushering Emily through the door as he nodded curtly to the doorman. Inside he maneuvered Emily to the secluded area where the head waiter stood discreetly with an immaculate white towel folded over his arm.
“Dr. and Mrs. Thorn,” Ian said imperiously. Emily flinched.
It was a small restaurant with only twelve tables and as many waiters hovering against the wall. One-on-one service, she thought. She knew immediately that this was the kind of restaurant where the tables did not turn over. One seating, and the dinner would take three hours, possibly longer if they dawdled over coffee and liqueurs.
Emily gave her husband a gentle nudge and whispered quietly, “Ask for the table by the wall. You don’t want to sit by the kitchen.” Ian bristled as the waiter led them to a draped table one table away from the kitchen door. Emily nudged him again. She could see Ian’s shoulders stiffen.
“This is unacceptable,” he said quietly.
That was good, Emily thought. When you said something was unacceptable, it left no room for discussion. The waiter veered to the right. Emily felt herself nod approvingly. Ian’s lips were compressed into a tight, white line when the waiter held her chair. If Ian wanted to pout, let him, she thought. If they were going to spend the kind of money she knew they were going to spend, then they deserved a good table. And if there was one thing she knew about, it was good tables.
“That really wasn’t necessary, Emily,” Ian said, smiling for the benefit of the other diners and the waiter as well.
“Yes, Ian, it was. We’re celebrating so we should get the best for our money. Or is it that it was my suggestion that’s bothering you?” She smiled sweetly to take the sting out of her words. “I guess this is the rose they give you,” she said, motioning to a single yellow rose in a bud vase.
“No, they hand it to you when you leave. I saw them in a box by the front door.” He always had to one-up her. There was no box by the front door on the little counter. She’d taken in the decor, everything, the moment they walked through the door. She let it go and nodded. “This is a lovely restaurant. I understand the food is wonderful, but incredibly rich. We’re going to gain weight, Ian.”
“I haven’t gained an ounce in seven years, Emily. You, on the other hand, are getting…love handles.”
It was true, she thought in dismay. She’d gone from a perfect size ten to an uneven size twelve. It was all the fast, greasy food she ate on the run, not to mention the sweets she was addicted to. Tomorrow she was going to go on a diet. “I know,” she said miserably. “Starting tomorrow I’m going to switch up and go on a vegetable and fruit diet.”
“Emily, Emily, you’re kidding yourself. They don’t serve fruits and vegetables in that dive you work in.”
Emily’s heart thundered in her chest, but she was determined not to spoil this evening. She leaned across the table to take her husband’s hands in hers. “I’ll give it a try,” she said. “Tomorrow is a new day and I’m looking forward to starting college and being a practicing doctor’s wife. How many committees do you think I’ll have to work on? Ooohhh, this wine is wonderful.”
“Have some more,” Ian said, refilling her glass just as the waiter arrived at their table to pour it for him. Ian waved him away. “I hate hovering waiters,” he whispered.
“Me, too,” Emily whispered in return.
“Bet nobody hovers at that place you work at.”
“You’re right. Ian, what’s the name of that place I work at?”
“What?”
“You know, the name of the lounge I work at? What’s the name of it?”
Ian shrugged. “It escapes me at the moment. It’ll come to me.”
“No, it won’t. You never asked me. I bank the checks so how would you know?”
“You told me, I guess. I’ve called you there.”
“So how do they answer the phone?” Emily persisted.
“Jesus, Emily, what is this, twenty questions? Just because I can’t remember the name of that joint doesn’t mean I don’t know it. I know the phone number by heart so why do I need to know the name of it?”
“What if something happened to me and you had to get there right away?”
“I’d call first. I have it written down somewhere. None of this is important, Emily.”
“Yes, Ian, it is. The dive I work at is called Sassy Sallie’s. That dive put you through medical school, paid our rent, bought our food, paid our utilities, helps to pay your student loans, paid for that suit, shirt, and tie, not to mention your underwear and shoes and socks as well as my new outfit. And this dinner. So, you see, it is important. To me. And it should be important to you too.”
“Emily, that isn’t what I meant. I meant the discussion. Dive is just a word. You’re the one who used it first when you first started to work there. I picked it up from you. I am appreciative. What is it you want?”
“Respect. Why did you tell me not to tell anyone what I do? You admitted you don’t tell people because it’s none of their business.”
“It isn’t. Do you tell people what I do?” Ian asked huffily.
“To anyone who will listen. I’m proud of you, Ian. Waitressing is honest work. Hard work. Look, let’s drop it. I guess I’m just tired.”
“You’re always tired, Emily. Are you taking those vitamins I got you?”
“I take two a day and I’m still tired. I can’t wait to sleep in and do nothing.”
Ian shrugged. Their salads arrived. Ian refilled their wineglasses a third time.
A long time later, their soup and salad plates gone, Ian said carefully, “Listen, I don’t have the foggiest idea of what I ordered for us. The menu was in French. I just pointed. I think it’s some kind of fish. Let’s not make a fuss if it’s something we don’t like. I’d hate to be embarrassed.”
Emily felt her hackles rise as she thought about the hours she’d worked, the hours she’d stood on her feet to pay for a dinner she might not even like just so her husband wouldn’t be embarrassed. She sighed and shook her head to show she would do as he wanted. She always did what he wanted. Always.
