I Do, Don't I?

Chapter Fourteen

I headed downstairs and looked for Marissa to ask for a glass of chocolate milk.

     I am seated with the tall half-empty glass of chocolate milk as my mind continued to circle around the surgery argument I've witnessed in my flashback earlier.  The unsettling sensation bubbling inside me.  A constant nagging feeling telling me that I need to know what it was all about.

     I gasped in sudden realization. It must've been about a boob job!

     I glanced down at my breasts but they seem to be perfectly normal.

     I guess it wasn't about a boob job or...

     I made another gasp when a thought struck me, giving me a shudder.  Have I possibly given up in another argument and have agreed to take the surgery that's why my breasts look perfectly normal?

     Another gasp escaped my lips.  Do I have breast cancer that's why Jude was so persistent for me to undergo surgery?

     But, wait.

     The doctor said that it's all "perfectly normal".  A cancer can't be something perfectly normal.  I wonder what's "perfectly normal" with me.  Maybe he could give me the answers I need.  But I can't ask him about the doctor or he'll get suspicious as to why I want to know about it so bad.  And what will I answer?  Neither do I know the answer.

     I shook my head to get rid of the annoying thought before Jude arrives at the bottom of the stairs.

     "Hello, darling," he said flashing his great smile.  "I have a fantastic idea in mind."  He rubbed his palms together then pulled the long sleeves of his gray v-neck shirt.  "I was thinking why don't we have dinner at the Little Corsican Bistro down Main Street?  What do you say?" he asked with a hopeful look on his face.

     I smiled at the idea.  "Okay."

     He clapped his hands together.  "Great!  Be ready by seven," he said before returning to his study room.

     I got up and headed to my room upstairs.  Better search for a dress now.  I don't want to suffer the punishment for fashion crime later on.

                                                  ******************************

After browsing on what seemed like hundreds of dresses, I finally found a red one-shoulder bodycon dress that goes up to my mid-thighs and paired it with black 5-inch pumps and black velvet purse with a diamond-studded lock.  Well, the purse doesn't really contain anything but I just think I would look more sensible and sophisticated with it, don't you think?

     I carefully traveled to the bathroom with the high shoes.  I can't visualize myself being able to walk in these even before the accident.

     Jude's car arrived at the fancy-looking restaurant's drive.  There were a few parked cars on the small lot and a teenage couple coming out of a blue Honda, dressed up for the night.

     "Shall we?" Jude made a tiny gesture towards the bistro after setting the car alarm on.

     "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Stanton," the thin white-haired man greeted in a French accent with a small curtsy.

     They do curtsy!  Would you look at that!

     "Do we come here often?" I whispered to Jude, observing the hushed voices underneath the French music playing.

     "Yes, we do," he whispered back as the French waiter who welcomed us earlier escorted us to our table.

     I wonder how they could have a table with a 'Reserved' sign for us...

     After the process of giving our orders to the waiter and handing back the red leather menu, Jude leaned a bit closer and spoke in a low voice.  "Okay, there's something I wasn't able to tell you," he paused and I waited for him to continue.  "I have made a reservation three days ago that's why we have a table.  This restaurant is posh, by the way.  Doesn't give you a table without a reservation."

     How sweet!  He has planned our dinner all along!  So that's why there's a 'Reserved' sign on top of it earlier.  Now I get it.  How much more dumb could I be?

     I smiled.  "That is so sweet of you," I cooed softly.

     "Glad you like it," he grinned.

     Moments after waiting for our food, the thin waiter has finally arrived with a tray of our orders.

     In the middle of the meal, a man, approximately in his fifties, at a nearby table called Jude's name.

     "Jude?" the man called out with uncertainty until we both looked at him.  "Jude!  It is you."  He looked at me, noticing me for the first time.  "Oh and I see you're having dinner with your wife.  How are you, Rachel?" he asked, causing a few head of nearby diners to turn.  He lowered his voice.  "Have you thought about the surgery yet?"

     Every nerve in my body shot up.

     "Sir--" Jude began but I cut him off.

     "Excuse me but...I don't quite...remember your name," I said carefully.  Clearly, this man hasn't heard of my memory lost.

     "Oh," he frowned slightly.  "I'm Dr. Custer.  Your nose specialist.  Do you remember now?" he said with a hopeful look on his face.

     I frantically searched our table for something to write on but when I found nothing, I turned to him.  "Do you happen to have a card?  I believe I lost your number."

     "Oh.  Well, here it is," he said cheerily, pulling out a small white rectangular card from his inner coat pocket and handing it over to me.

     Without looking at the card, I slipped it into my purse and smiled at the doctor.  "We certainly have a lot to talk about the surgery, Dr. Custer."