IX. Uneducated College Dropout Singe Language Speaker
I sat on the beach, and my eyes moved from the sand to stone.
“What’s wrong?” Emerson asked.
The water breaks on the stones, “I think I’m in one of those moments again.”
Emerson pushed up his sunglasses, “You mean one of those moments when you feel like someone is watching you when, in reality, you’re stressed?”
The sun brimmed above us, “Yes.” The wind brushed against my dress, “Why am I stressed?”
No. Seriously. Why am I stressed?
I’m in a beautiful country with my husband and without our child.
Nina and Matt hired several nannies to watch all the kids.
Well - correction - they hired several nannies, maids, and drivers.
Oh, how I missed the luxurious life.
“Are you in labor?” If I were a stranger, I would think he’s joking.
I felt my stomach, “I don’t think so. Did my water break?”
He looked down, “I can’t tell. There’s water beneath the bridge.”
I punched his arm, “Be serious.”
He nods, “Alright. Alright. Why is my honey sunshine stressed?”
I chuckled unamusingly, “I’m stressed because my husband wouldn’t take my stress seriously.” I punched his arm again.
Emerson grunted, “What did I do?” he whined. “We finally have some time alone, and all you do is punch me. If I want to get punched, I would’ve spent time with the unicorn.”
I pouted, “Then, go spend time with her!”
He settled two hands in the air, “Okay. Okay. I was wrong.” He hugged me, “How about a swim? You love swimming.”
“Yeah. Before I became a whale!”
He brushed my hair from my face, “How about we walk around and take some polaroid pictures? You love those things.”
I exhale, “Alright. Let’s go.” I giggled and made my way off the bridge.
I know Emerson released a breath.
He dodged a bullet, and he knows it.
The camera fits the size of my hand, and when I lifted to my eyes - I saw the world through the wondrous lens.
I love it.
The sound of the shutter.
I smiled when a click made its appearance, and another photo revealed itself.
I giggled, “Look Emmy! Look how cool it is!”
The day was filled with laughter and the sound of films. My smile only widens with each photo that’s pressed from inside. One by one, the roll emptied until we only had one left.
Emerson stood on top of me and clicked - another memory.
I can feel the sand beneath me, “How did I look?”
Emerson lowered the camera, “Like a complete tourist.”
I laugh, “Says the guy with the straw hat.”
He lifted his leg and settled on the side, “Fun?”
I nod, “Tons. Spain is so much fun! Let’s ditch the little girl!”
Emerson chuckled, “Don’t tempt me.” He poked my stomach, “So, where do you want to leave this one? Italy?”
“France, baby! France!”
He whacks my cheek with the photo. “You’re the definition of a warm mother.”
I grinned, “You bet your fine ass I am.” We’re joking. Of course, we won’t leave the children. We need them for our taxes. “So, husband to this perfect mother, what are we doing next?”
He laid down on the sand and turned towards me.
“I want to do this next.” He kissed my lips.
I slapped his arm, “Emerson! We’re out in public!”
He rubbed my stomach, “I only want to talk to you. Geez.” His brows crunch together, “What dirty thoughts do you have?”
I bit my lower lips that form into a smile, “I don’t know. Maybe a little of this and that.”
He raised a brow, “Don’t tell me.”
“You desperately want it, don’t you?”
I nod, “Oh yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
“Give it to me, babe.”
“Alright. Let’s go. Let’s go...eat.”
I moaned slowly, “You know me so well!”
Emerson stood up and held out both hands. I grabbed it, and he pulled me upward. We got into the car, and with the driver, we rode to a local restaurant. The restaurant is different from the ones near the beach. It was quieter with fewer people. It must be good.
A lady greeted us and led us to the table.
She hands us the menu.
It must be good.
I can’t read a single thing.
The lady clicked her pen, “Hola-”
That’s all I caught.
We should’ve stuck to the restaurants near the beach. I was too stupid to recommend the locals.
“Hola-” Emerson responded.
Then, it happened.
He became an alien.
Not really, but I didn’t understand a single thing that came out of his mouth.
I wasn’t the only one that’s surprised.
Even the waitress looked surprised.
Her frown turned into a smile.
Emerson looked at me, “She said they’re confident in their paella. Do you want to try it?”
“What’s that?” I’m still shocked.
"Paella is a traditional Spanish dish from Valencia. It is a rice dish that can have meat, fish, seafood, and vegetables. Since you’re pregnant, we should eat it with only fish.”
He smiled and became an alien again.
The lady took the menus before she looked at me and smiled. She said something, then rubbed my shoulder, and left.
“What did she say?”
“She said: Congratulations.”
“What’s wrong?” I repeated. I cannot believe he asked that question. Did he not notice what he did earlier? “My husband is fluent in Spanish? Does that sentence sound weird to you?”
He took a few blinks, “I never told you I could speak Spanish?”
I shook my head, “No. I’m just pretending to be surprised.”
“Oh. So, you do know.”
I smack his arm, “I was sarcastic. Of course, I didn’t know. When did you learn how to speak Spanish?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know. Elementary school?”
“Is there anything else I don’t know?” I wanted to get mad, but I couldn’t. I should calm down. After all, getting angry will get me nowhere.
“Would you categorize being fluent in Spanish...not important?” I know Emerson. He has this weird ability to avoid talking about specific subjects.
He nods, “Yeah.”
“Are you fluent in any other language that I don’t know about?”
“Let me rephrase this...What other languages are you fluent in?”
He shrugs, “I don’t remember.”
My eyes narrow, “Remember. Hard.”
His eyes wander towards the ceiling, “I know a bit of Japanese.”
“A bit of Arabic.”
He reached for my hand, “Is this really important, honey?”
I removed it. “And?”
“Latin?” My voice pitched, and I had an ugly look on my face.
“You know Latin?”
“That dead language?”
He puckered his lips, “Technically, it’s not dead. It actually transformed - first into what is called Vulgar Latin then gradually into Romance languages like Spanish, French-” he swallowed, “or so I heard.”
I ran my fingers up my hair.
I held up a palm.
I cannot believe it.
I don’t know this man.
Who is this man?
Or maybe it’s me.
Am I so self-absorbed to the point where I don’t know my husband?
Emerson scooted closer to me and placed his hands over my shoulders, “So I know a few languages.”
I look at him through my strands of hair, “A few? Try five!” My math is off. I know it.
“You know twenty-five languages?”
“More if you break it down into dialects.” Now he’s just showing off.
I lean away, “Who are you? What have you done with my hobo husband?”
I shook my head, “My husband would never lie to me about speaking more than one language.”
He gave me a tight smile, “I never lied.”
“You never asked me how many languages I’m fluent in.”
The lady came with a smile that quickly disappeared. She set down the fresh food and left.
“Pardon?” I ask.
“You never asked me how many languages I can speak,” he said cautiously.
“Oh? So, it’s my fault for not asking how many languages the man I love can speak?”
“Darling. That’s not-”
“It’s my fault for not casually bring up the conversation of languages?”
“It’s MY fault that we can never travel outside of the states, isn’t it?”
His hands shake, “N-No. That’s not-”
“It’s MY fault that we’re poor too, right?!”
He shook his head, “No. You got it all wrong.”
“Oh, so now I’m WRONG?”
“This uneducated college dropout single language speaker is SO SORRY that she made you POOR.” I inhaled a sharp breath, “Emerson!” I grabbed his wrist and twisted it. “My stomach FUCKING hurt!”