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Title: Whatever Happened to the Storks that Fly at Midnight? (2a/2)
Pairing: Julie/Wilson; House/Wilson implied
Rating: PG-13/R?
Summary: Julie goes out in search of the cure for boredom, Wilson finds out that Julie has been keeping a secret, and House lost a bet.
Warnings/Dislaimers/Spoilers: It's a Semi-AU, with the second season and all.
Note: Again, thank you to aheartfulofyou for the great Julie!inspiration. You're a star!
The Part 1. It's supposed to be a two-parter, but they decided to carry on. There's going to be a Part 2b, but that's about it, I guess. The way they keep writing themselves (well... me writing them talking to themselves...).
I'm interested in what anyone might think about Julie, personally, and what your personal opinion or take on the Julie!character, as seen (or unseen) on telly. It'll be interesting to know, because the screenwriters aren't giving... *g* Comments and criticisms on anything and everything are greatly appreciated! Thank you! *g*
---
It's Sunday. James'll be back soon.
She observes her clothes -- strewn all over the bedroom floor, hanging from the doorknob, on the bed, spilling over from the cupboard. Get a grip! she berates herself. It's only a dinner date, and she's acting like a teenager on her first date. She remembers her first date: it was nothing compared to the nervousness she's feeling right now. She doesn't even know where James will be taking her for dinner. It could be a drive-thru, for all she know. Sighing, she folds back all the clothes, rehangs all her dresses, and returns them to their places. All she can do is wait.
And waiting is what she does, sitting in James's favorite recliner, orange juice in one hand and the latest copy of Reader's Digest in another. She reads it once from front cover to back cover. She goes to the kitchen and refills her juice. She sits back down and re-reads the whole book.She reads the advertisements and memorizes the jokes. Reads the whole thing again back to front, and back again until finally she throws it onto the coffee table and sighs loudly. She reaches for her knitting basket and continues knitting a small jumper for Viv. Halfway through the jumper, she decides to knit a pair of socks for herself and another pair for Mabel. She plans something to knit for James, but her fingers tell her that she has done enough knitting for the week. She looks at the clock and stares at the door. She wills him to come home, but alas he's not a psychic and she's just a lowly housewife.
It's late, she grumbles to herself. Or early, depending on how you squint at the clock. Dinner date promises came and went.
She closes her eyes and sighs. She's been doing a lot of sighing lately. Surely it can't be too healthy, can it? Just a nap. Then she'll call him. She hopes he's all right, hopes nothing bad happened. Her heart beats a little faster. Her body thrums and her vision swims. She struggles to walk towards the telephone as her world tilts this way and that way. She rides the waves of agitation and anxiety. Take deep breaths, she instructs herself, willing herself not to panic. Because 'no good is good news', because everything is all right. She's overanalyzing the situation. Because they'll call if something did happen.
Call him! She stares at the phone in her her hand and her fingers shake badly as she tries to string a few numbers together.
Three rings and she hears his voice.
"James?" she asks. "Where are you?"
"I'm almost home," he tells her. "I'm just at the bottom of our road."
"Okay," she whispers. There's little tremors as she tells herself to relax. He'll be home soon, he'll be safe. And that's the most important thing. She overanalyzes things again, worrying about nothing. James is all right. And she replaces the receiver on the cradle and walks towards the front door. She checks herself in the hallway mirror. She straightens her clothes and combs her hair with her fingers. She can barely recognize herself, coming down from an anxious rush. Over nothing.
Light from her hallway spills onto the streets, and she can a see the cab driving up her way. She waits, restraining herself from running down the path and meeting her husband there by the side of the road. She waits as James climbs out of the back of the cab. Followed by House. She waits patiently as they unload their suitcases from the trunk of the cab. She waits patiently as they decide who should be paying. She shifts from foot to foot as the cab drives away and the two men walk towards her.
"Welcome home," she greets him.
"Thanks," James tells her, kissing her lightly on her lips. "I invited House to stay the night."
"Sure," she tells him. "I'll get the guestroom ready."
---
She spreads the sheets over the bed and listens to James lugging his suitcase into their bedroom. She wants to ask him why he's late, wants to ask him whether he's had anything to eat, whether he wants anything to eat. But she keeps her quiet and listens to him walk back into the living room. She smooths down the sheets and listens to him ordering some Chinese. She fluffs the pillows and listens to the two men talk and laugh. She can't perceive the words clearly, but she reckons that they're talking about the conference and some other medical issues.
Satisfied with the hospital corners at each end of the bed, she allows a small smile and lets herself out of the bedroom. She contemplates walking into the livingroom and listen in on the conversation -- something about septicaemea -- but decides against it.
She goes to bed alone, and sleep doesn't come easy. She spends the night listening to the unusually rough winds outside her window, whipping up a frenzy. The sound of leaves in the hard breeze reminds her of waves rolling onto a beach. Closing her eyes, she imagines herself lying on a sandy beach, counting the endless stars above her. She daren't open her eyes, for fear of reality, and she drifts off to sleep as she traces a constellation.
---
She wakes up alone; James's side of the bed still made and untouched. And she can't say that she's surprised. After a quick wash of her face and brush of her teeth, she goes out to find the two men, fast asleep in the living room. House sleeps in the recliner and James on the floor, his forehead propped against House's knee. There are empty takeaway boxes on the table. There are papers and printouts, pictures and graphs, charts and reports strewn all over the floor. A black pen leaks onto a blank piece of lined paper. A stray chopstick makes an oily stain on a graph.
She places her hand gently on James's shoulders and shakes him awake. He blinks and groans and presses his head on House's knee, trying to shield the morning light away from his eyes.
"Good morning," she tells him.
"Wh..."
"Time to wake up," she says, "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Just orange juice," he tells her, trying to shake his sore muscles awake.
She nods and straightens up. "What does he want for breakfast?" she asks, referring to House, who is softly snoring the morning away.
"Just make him some toast. And jello."
"Jello? Okay. We have some of those." Because James always buys them just in case House comes around. "Anything else?"
"Just coffee," he tells her, as he tries to shake House awake. House grunts in his sleep and nuzzles deeper into the recliner.
---
They sit around the breakfast table. Or rather House and James sitting around the breakfast table and she observing them. She grins at James's futile attempt to fend off House's incursion for a section of the newspaper. "You still have your section to finish," James admonishes, with the same tone he reserves for any of those toddlers of the Wilson-clan. She refills their coffee cups and sit at the far end of the table, writing a grocery list.
"I don't want to finish my section. It's talking about pterodactyls and dinobones they dug up. I'm a diagnostician. Not a prehistoric vet."
She looks up just in time to see James swatting House's hand away. "There's nothing in this section either. Just some court hearing on medical trials. Nothing to interest a man who acts like a tactless caveman most days."
"You're the one who enjoys the 'me Jane, you Batman'-type innuendoes," House accuses, before turning to her and pointing at James: "You should try that sometimes." She can only level her gaze with House and tries not to blush. Or grin. Or cringe.
"My sex life is none of your problem," James tells House. "And it's 'I, Tarzan. You, Jane'. Get your Disney characters right."
"Hey! Whatever rocks your superhero boat. And who says anything about any sex life?" House retorts. "Can I have more jello?" House asks her.
"It's in the fridge. Help yourself," she tells him and House really doesn't need to be told twice. "And can you get me an apple while you're there?" she asks him.
"Do you want me to rinse it for you, too?" House asks, head halfway inside the fridge.
"If you don't mind," she replies, collecting James's empty glass on her way to the sink. House lobs the apple at her, as he sits down in his chair. "Thanks," she tells him.
"Can you drive us to the hospital?" James pipes up and she turns around to look at him.
"Me?" she asks.
"You're the one with the car," James grins as he loops his tie. "I'll have to call the mechanics later today, see if my car's anywhere near ready."
"Sure, I'll just go get changed." She turns off the taps and wipes her hands dry. "Five minutes!" she hollers, as he makes her way into the bedroom.
In fact, she spends a good part of ten minutes and another five searching high and low for her car keys, only to find out that James has taken them with him. She finds them in her car, waiting for her, car engines already running. "Ready?" she asks, and receives nods and grumbles. "It's Monday again, isn't it?"
"House doesn't like it 'cause he's doing extra hours in the clinic today. For three weeks," James says, looking quite smug and pleased with himself.
"Rub it in some more and I'm withholding the marmalade."
"Hey! You're the one who lost the bet!"
She drives the car down the roads, watches other cars and other people, watches the trees whizz past, watches the clouds that march in the sky. She listens to the two men talk about Dr Cuddy, and the young doctors who works with House, and the new intern in the Oncology Department. She wonders what it's like to work full-time, have friends at work, have colleagues to gossip about, have interesting things to talk about and reminisce.
"Thanks," James tells her as she drops them off in front of the hospital. "Oh, and I bought something for you. I left it on my desk this morning. Hope you like." And she watches her husband disappear through the glass doors of the hospital. She drives home wondering what her husband might've bought for her from New York.
---
She cleans the house on Mondays. From top to bottom. It provides her with the numbing monotoneity that eats away the hours of boredom. James's little corner of the house is always the hardest to maneouver around. Tidy stacks of medical journals, binders of medical clippings, his numerous reference books and magazines cover most of the floor. She spots a pot of dead gladioli tucked in a corner, one she has never noticed before. She switches off the vacuum cleaner and props it by the cabinet. She picks the pot up and notices a yellow post-it note stuck to the side of the pot. She recognizes James's handwriting on it, followed by a series of 'conversations' that she finds amusing.
- House, what's this?
- Wanna bet? It's going to die in three weeks.
- No it's not. What's the stake?
- Three weeks worth of clinic.
- You're on. What'll Cuddy say, though?
- She'll deal.
There are dates scribbled at the bottom of the note. The plant survived three weeks and a day. Next to those dates are smaller squiggles.
- Damn! --H
- Damn right!
---
She likes the sense of satisfaction of being able to sit back and admire her handywork -- sparkling windows and spotless floors. There's not much one can be proud of when one's a housewife, she thinks. She can't say that she had save a life by performing a life-saving operation, she can't brag about profit margins or getting a promotion. And there's really nothing to brag about working in a candy shop three times a week. She can't brag about raising beautiful children up either. But she has a clean and tidy house, one she is mighty proud about.
The 'something' James bought for her from New York turned out to be two 'somethings'. A necklace and a book of Rudolph Burckhardt's photography from MoMA. It's a pretty necklace, the kind one'd wear to functions and formal gatherings. The necklace will definitely gather dust. The book, though, is interesting and full of beautiful pictures. She loses herself in the black and white pictures of forties Astoria and Queens -- deserted roads and crumbling buildings, black and white romanticism of a haunted gas station. Then there are pictures of smiling children, playing on the roadside, climbing up cold debris. She traces their faces, their little hands and bodies clad in jackets and jumpers and hats. There are no pictures of adults around. Only the innocence of childhood and the a forsaken land, abandoned when all souls moved away. There are no images of adulthood and all of its attendant complications and drama. Conveniently scrubbed out, blotted out, ignored.
If only life is a series of photographs from which one can choose what to keep, what to forget, and what to destroy. If only one can preserve such things in memory or eliminate them altogether.
---
Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, and she finds herself watching James dress for another day at work. It's Christmas Day today; not that they celebrate Christmas -- wrong religion and all. But James is never home for holidays, seldom home at any other day, She thinks of calling her mother. Maybe she can stay at her parents until the new year -- wait out the bitterest cold in Florida-- then return just in time for the first buds of spring. She thinks of calling, but then she'll have to endure a lot of 'I told you so'-s. She can't understand why Mother never like James.
She calls Mabel instead.
"Hello? Viv! Stop it! Sorry about that," Mabel's voice filters through the receiver.
"It's okay... Merry Christmas, Mabel."
"Julie! Hey! How are you? Andy! Could you please hang on to Viv for a sec?!"
"Busy, huh?"
"Yeah, Andy's whole extended family's coming in... three hours. My parents are avoiding them like a plague. My house is really not big enough for the lot of 'em. Not only that, my oven's on strike. But, all in all. It's okay." Mabel laughs. Julie can hear the pots and pans clanging in the background. She can picture the kitchen, bright and sunny under the winter sun with the scent of roast and pie. "So, how can I help? James working overtime again?"
"Yeah."
"He's been doing that year in, year out. You've got to talk to him about it," Mabel tells her.
"We don't celebrate Christmas."
"It's not about the religion. It's the holiday, it's the having a holiday dinner together." Mabel can be the sound of reason sometimes, but this time Mabel just doesn't get it.
"He's out there saving people, Mabel. What if we're having dinner and there's this girl bleeding to death? His job is important."
"He's not the only doctor in that hospital, you know..." Mabel sighs.
"The other doctors have kids and family and... well..."
"Julie," Mabel cuts her mid-sentence. "This conversation is futile. We've been having this conversation year in, year out. You just won't listen." Toby, Mabel's youngest, is screaming in the background and Mabel sighs again. "Hang on. Andy! Diapers!" Julie can hear Andy's muffled grumbling and Mabel's laughter. "Anyway. Where were we? Oh yeah, why'dya call?"
"I need a favor," Julie whispers.
"Whoa, why the whispering?" Mabel whispers too.
"Sorry. Habit."
"It's okay. Viv! Put your brother down! So, this favor of yours. Is it legal?"
---
Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn. And suddenly it's winter again. She's busy cooking up a storm, for this time James actually took December 25th off. They're having dinner. James is poking his head inside the oven. "The cake's coming really nicely," he says. Chocolate-flavored steam bursts out of the oven, floating lazily towards the ceiling. It feels like home. She looks out of the window and marvel at the twinkling christmas lights and that Santa snowman the neighbor's children made.
"Can you do the glaze? Do you still remember how to?" she asks.
"Well... it's been a while," James roots around the kitchen for the chocolate bar and butter. "I think I've got it."
"Okay, just ask if you're not sure. I'll just be in the dining room setting the table, okay?"
He comes over and kisses her lightly on her cheek. "Don't worry, Mrs Wilson." He hugs her tightly and releases her. "You go do the table and I'll take care of the rest."
James has invited friends from work to come and have dinner with them. House and Dr Cuddy and three of House's team members.
Dr Cuddy is first to arrive. Julie always thinks that James's boss is very beautiful. "Am I early?" Dr Cuddy asks, as Julie hangs her coat and accepts the box of chocolate.
"No, no. Of course not. We're just waiting for the cake to bake." Julie looks down and cringes at her disshevelled look -- there's flour and food stains on her skirt. "Sorry. Didn't have time to change, yet." Julie sits her guest down by the fireplace. "Um... Can I get you anything, Dr Cuddy?"
"No, thank you. I'm all right for now. And please call me Lisa."
"Well, if there's nothing... I'll send James out. He's in the kitchen, making glaze for the cake..." Julie gestures towards the kitchen.
"Wilson? In the kitchen? This I've got to see!" There's a mischievous twinkle in Dr Cud... Lisa's eyes and Julie can only follow Lisa into the kitchen.
Julie watches her husband greet Lisa and tells them she'll be in the bedroom changing into more appropriate clothes -- something less... stained.
---
She hears the front door being opened and closed; hears more voices, and can recognize House's voice above the din of "Hello, how are you"s. She can hear people complimenting James for the well-kept home and Julie feels a surge of pride. She's very proud of the way she keeps her home. Is pride a sin? There's not a lot that she's proud of. Maybe she's allowed this one indulgence.
There's a tentative knock on the door. "Julie? You ready?" And she can't seem to find the correct answer for the question. "You okay?" James asks again. He sounds concerned, somehow.
She settles by screaming "Just a second!" across the room.
She examines her reflection in the mirror. It's a new dress. She thinks it's appropriate for a house dinner party. The last thing she want is to embarrass James. She thinks about what Dr Cuddy -- Lisa -- is wearing, and how Lisa looks. Lisa is very beautiful, and very composed, very well-mannered and well-presented. She looks intelligent too. Well, she must be! She runs a hospital! Julie berates herself. All of the other must be too -- beautiful, or handsome, and very intelligent. House is a department head, like her husband. And House's team members are supposed to be the best next-generation doctors -- young, stylish, and very bright. She'll look out of place, won't she?
---
She is a spectator in her own home. She is the groundskeeper -- a maintainer of her husband's domain. She is more than that, of course -- her husband's wife, and hopefully her husband's child's mother. Children. But there seems to be little evidence of that at the moment. They talk amongst one another -- her husband and his friends -- about patients, office personnel, and office politics. They have intriguing stories to tell between them, and Julie is equally intrigued. This is the fascinating world of her husband, she thinks. She keeps a vigilant ear, waiting for the best time to offer them a slice of cake. Or maybe, she can just place a plate of cake in front of them and be done with it.
Dr Chase -- Robert -- is delivering the punch-line to an Australian adventure story and a wave of laughter follows. She lets herself have a small chuckle, though she's not sure what the joke is about.
"Ummm..." she hesitates and shifts on her feet. Six heads turn to face her, their facial muscles still arranged in a jovial manner. "Um... are you ready for dessert? It's a chocolate bundt cake. Nothing fancy..." She satisfies herself with six concerted nods.
"Bourbon?" House asks, gesturing at his plate of cake and she grins widely. "Good woman," he tells her.
"How's the glaze?" James asks his colleagues. "It's been a while since I made one."
"You made this?"
"It's all his doing, Dr Foreman," Julie says, beaming happily.
"It's Eric," Dr Foreman tells her. "Damn, I didn't know you can cook! You must be very proud of him, Mrs Wilson."
"Hey! I can cook." James is a picture of righteous indignation, and Julie is reminded of the James she often see between the pages of his childhood photograph albums.
"With scientific accuracy, I bet," Allison offers her two cents around a mouthful of cake. "Cooking is more than just accurate measurements, you know... And by the way, the cake is wonderful." Julie decides she likes Allison Cameron, just for the sake of it.
They eat cake; drink beer and wine. And all too soon she finds herself handing coats and scarves, waving goodbye and wishing safe journeys at four retreating backs. Arms snake around her waist and a chin rests on her shoulder. "James?" she asks. And she notices the jacket-coated arms, and the brush of James's wool scarf against the back of her neck. "You're going out?"
"I have to drive House home. He's too drunk," he whispers in her ear. "Don't wait up."
"Hey! Wilson! I can still drive," House calls out as he hobbles towards them. "Why don't you spend the night of festivities with the missus?"
"N... No, that's okay. We really don't want to spend the night of festivities bailing you out of jail," she tells House.
"I'm still sober, I can assure you."
"You drank us out of our house and home." James helps House into his coat. "What if they ask you to walk the straight yellow line?"
"You know that's not a nice thing to say to a gimp." House whacks the back of James's knee with his cane.
"Ow! I'm still driving you home. Keys." James gestures impatiently.
"How are you getting home after?" House asks, extracting his car keys out of his pocket.
"I'll stay over. We'll drive to work from yours," James replies, fastening the top button of House's jacket. "Come on, then."
She stands on the welcome mat of her home, watching James lead House towards the car. She feels a renewed sense of despair, and she tries not to dwell on it too much. Husbands don't need to tell their wives what they want to do, or ask any permission for anything. But the fact that James drives away with House, to stay overnight at House's, without even asking what she thinks about it... What is supposed to happen anyway? Is it normal, or is it not? She's not good at this marriage game. Not really.
She can't blame it on James, can she? Because she's far from perfect. She knows it, because she's been told time and again by a lot of people.
She's the youngest child, the only daughter. Her parents think the world of her. Her four brothers treated her like she's made from spun glass. They'll die for her -- all she has to do is ask. They'll jump off cliffs by her say-so, and she knows it. They'll ask her opinion on just about everything. They'll placate her anger with beautifully-crafted words and allay her fears with carefully-weaved endearments. But they are also far away from where she is, and they'll lecture her with 'told-you-so's. And she is not in a mood to be lectured at.
She must learn how to deal with these situations. She has got to learn how to. She desperately needs somebody to guide her through her days, explain to her these oddly-shaped holes in her heart. She wants somebody to be standing next to her, telling her that she's doing all right, or helping her clean any mess left lying about. But there won't be such people, there won't be such reprieve. Only herself, her thoughts, and her resolve. She knows that she has to grow up one day. But, by goodness, it is a hard thing to do.
She cleans the house, clears the rubbish, scrubs the kitchen, and vacuums the house from top to bottom. She polishes her silverware and glassware, and stores them safely for another day. Don't wait up, James told her. But after everything that she's done -- putting the house back into the order Mother would be very proud of -- she finds herself in the recliner, sitting in the same place recently vacated by House. Don't wait up, James told her. But after everything, she finds herself watching the rise of the morning sun and the unfolding of a bruised sky.
---
She's in the shower and James is getting ready for another day at work. James bought the wrong shampoo again. Her hair will make her pay for it, she's sure about it. She'll have to stop by the store to get the correct one. There's a phonecall and she shouts for James to answer it.
"Julie," James calls from the other side of the door, and knocks impatiently. "It's for you."
"Who is it?" She rinses her hair quickly, and waters the rest of the suds into the drain.
"St Francis." James turns the knob and pushes the door open. Julie shivers involuntarily as cold air pushes in through the steam around her.
"Who?" Wrapping her hair in a towel, she checks her figure on the fogged up mirror as she pads towards the door.
"St Francis Medical Center." James tells her as he hands her bathrobe over.
"OH!" And she can't get to the phone quick enough. And the puzzlement on James face can be termed as hilarious, if she doesn't know that there's going to be some serious questioning from him later.
And the questions came, as she replaced the phone in its cradle, next to the bed. "What's wrong?" he asks, grabbing his tie and walking out of the bedroom. There's a tinge of concern in his voice, and she smiles involuntarily at that.
"Nothing's wrong." She follows him into the kitchen; watches him pour a cup of coffee. She inhales and her throat constricts. "It's just..." What would he say? "They agree to employ me."
"Employ you?" James refills his coffee cup. "Employ you as..."
"A nurse," she retorts, and maybe she has just yanked the fridge door harder than she would've liked. And she doesn't like the way her hands tremble either. Should she have discussed this with James -- this whole 'embarking of a new career' initiative? What if James disagrees and tells her to forget about it? She grabs a pot of yoghurt and tries very hard not to slam the fridge door. The fact that it slams harder than usual is definitely not because of the lack of trying on her part.
"A nurse," she tells him again. "I took the course years and years back. I was a nurse for a couple of years, maybe more. I can't remember." She shrugs and peels the lid off the pot. There's an errant piece of blueberry bobbing in the thick white liquid. "But I didn't need to work, did I? Not at that time, anyway. Mother told me not to work. Told me to find a husband and get married, have kids, give her grandkids..." She fishes the blueberry with her finger and pops it in her mouth. "You and I? We dated. I allowed my licence to expire. We got married. Now, I found the reason to retake the exam. And Mabel's cousin works at St Francis." She plucks a teaspoon from the dishwasher. "It'll be good for me. Flexible shifts, something to distract me when I'm not working at Barry's or when you're working overnights. It'll keep me busy, keep me sane." She scoops a big, gelatinous spoonful. "If you want... you know... I can always coordinate my times with you, do the same overnights, um..."
"Okay," he tells her, as he places the empty cup upside down in the dishwasher. "When will you start?"
"I don't know yet... They asked me to... um... turn up today to do... well, fill in some forms and such, really... Um... Do you think it's a good idea? You know, me working? Mother is not very happy with my decision... What about you?"
"I bet your mother is going to blame me for this." James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. There's an uneasy silence -- a common occurance in their household of late. "It's all up to you," he says at last, as he loops his tie and heads out. "Right. Off to work for me," he says with a tight smile and a backward glance. "And you too, I suppose. Bye."
"Bye... Have a good day at work." She stays rooted on her spot. She listens to his footfalls, to the front door being opened and closed, to James starting his car and driving away.
---
Pairing: Julie/Wilson; House/Wilson implied
Rating: PG-13/R?
Summary: Julie goes out in search of the cure for boredom, Wilson finds out that Julie has been keeping a secret, and House lost a bet.
Warnings/Dislaimers/Spoilers: It's a Semi-AU, with the second season and all.
Note: Again, thank you to aheartfulofyou for the great Julie!inspiration. You're a star!
The Part 1. It's supposed to be a two-parter, but they decided to carry on. There's going to be a Part 2b, but that's about it, I guess. The way they keep writing themselves (well... me writing them talking to themselves...).
I'm interested in what anyone might think about Julie, personally, and what your personal opinion or take on the Julie!character, as seen (or unseen) on telly. It'll be interesting to know, because the screenwriters aren't giving... *g* Comments and criticisms on anything and everything are greatly appreciated! Thank you! *g*
---
It's Sunday. James'll be back soon.
She observes her clothes -- strewn all over the bedroom floor, hanging from the doorknob, on the bed, spilling over from the cupboard. Get a grip! she berates herself. It's only a dinner date, and she's acting like a teenager on her first date. She remembers her first date: it was nothing compared to the nervousness she's feeling right now. She doesn't even know where James will be taking her for dinner. It could be a drive-thru, for all she know. Sighing, she folds back all the clothes, rehangs all her dresses, and returns them to their places. All she can do is wait.
And waiting is what she does, sitting in James's favorite recliner, orange juice in one hand and the latest copy of Reader's Digest in another. She reads it once from front cover to back cover. She goes to the kitchen and refills her juice. She sits back down and re-reads the whole book.She reads the advertisements and memorizes the jokes. Reads the whole thing again back to front, and back again until finally she throws it onto the coffee table and sighs loudly. She reaches for her knitting basket and continues knitting a small jumper for Viv. Halfway through the jumper, she decides to knit a pair of socks for herself and another pair for Mabel. She plans something to knit for James, but her fingers tell her that she has done enough knitting for the week. She looks at the clock and stares at the door. She wills him to come home, but alas he's not a psychic and she's just a lowly housewife.
It's late, she grumbles to herself. Or early, depending on how you squint at the clock. Dinner date promises came and went.
She closes her eyes and sighs. She's been doing a lot of sighing lately. Surely it can't be too healthy, can it? Just a nap. Then she'll call him. She hopes he's all right, hopes nothing bad happened. Her heart beats a little faster. Her body thrums and her vision swims. She struggles to walk towards the telephone as her world tilts this way and that way. She rides the waves of agitation and anxiety. Take deep breaths, she instructs herself, willing herself not to panic. Because 'no good is good news', because everything is all right. She's overanalyzing the situation. Because they'll call if something did happen.
Call him! She stares at the phone in her her hand and her fingers shake badly as she tries to string a few numbers together.
Three rings and she hears his voice.
"James?" she asks. "Where are you?"
"I'm almost home," he tells her. "I'm just at the bottom of our road."
"Okay," she whispers. There's little tremors as she tells herself to relax. He'll be home soon, he'll be safe. And that's the most important thing. She overanalyzes things again, worrying about nothing. James is all right. And she replaces the receiver on the cradle and walks towards the front door. She checks herself in the hallway mirror. She straightens her clothes and combs her hair with her fingers. She can barely recognize herself, coming down from an anxious rush. Over nothing.
Light from her hallway spills onto the streets, and she can a see the cab driving up her way. She waits, restraining herself from running down the path and meeting her husband there by the side of the road. She waits as James climbs out of the back of the cab. Followed by House. She waits patiently as they unload their suitcases from the trunk of the cab. She waits patiently as they decide who should be paying. She shifts from foot to foot as the cab drives away and the two men walk towards her.
"Welcome home," she greets him.
"Thanks," James tells her, kissing her lightly on her lips. "I invited House to stay the night."
"Sure," she tells him. "I'll get the guestroom ready."
---
She spreads the sheets over the bed and listens to James lugging his suitcase into their bedroom. She wants to ask him why he's late, wants to ask him whether he's had anything to eat, whether he wants anything to eat. But she keeps her quiet and listens to him walk back into the living room. She smooths down the sheets and listens to him ordering some Chinese. She fluffs the pillows and listens to the two men talk and laugh. She can't perceive the words clearly, but she reckons that they're talking about the conference and some other medical issues.
Satisfied with the hospital corners at each end of the bed, she allows a small smile and lets herself out of the bedroom. She contemplates walking into the livingroom and listen in on the conversation -- something about septicaemea -- but decides against it.
She goes to bed alone, and sleep doesn't come easy. She spends the night listening to the unusually rough winds outside her window, whipping up a frenzy. The sound of leaves in the hard breeze reminds her of waves rolling onto a beach. Closing her eyes, she imagines herself lying on a sandy beach, counting the endless stars above her. She daren't open her eyes, for fear of reality, and she drifts off to sleep as she traces a constellation.
---
She wakes up alone; James's side of the bed still made and untouched. And she can't say that she's surprised. After a quick wash of her face and brush of her teeth, she goes out to find the two men, fast asleep in the living room. House sleeps in the recliner and James on the floor, his forehead propped against House's knee. There are empty takeaway boxes on the table. There are papers and printouts, pictures and graphs, charts and reports strewn all over the floor. A black pen leaks onto a blank piece of lined paper. A stray chopstick makes an oily stain on a graph.
She places her hand gently on James's shoulders and shakes him awake. He blinks and groans and presses his head on House's knee, trying to shield the morning light away from his eyes.
"Good morning," she tells him.
"Wh..."
"Time to wake up," she says, "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Just orange juice," he tells her, trying to shake his sore muscles awake.
She nods and straightens up. "What does he want for breakfast?" she asks, referring to House, who is softly snoring the morning away.
"Just make him some toast. And jello."
"Jello? Okay. We have some of those." Because James always buys them just in case House comes around. "Anything else?"
"Just coffee," he tells her, as he tries to shake House awake. House grunts in his sleep and nuzzles deeper into the recliner.
---
They sit around the breakfast table. Or rather House and James sitting around the breakfast table and she observing them. She grins at James's futile attempt to fend off House's incursion for a section of the newspaper. "You still have your section to finish," James admonishes, with the same tone he reserves for any of those toddlers of the Wilson-clan. She refills their coffee cups and sit at the far end of the table, writing a grocery list.
"I don't want to finish my section. It's talking about pterodactyls and dinobones they dug up. I'm a diagnostician. Not a prehistoric vet."
She looks up just in time to see James swatting House's hand away. "There's nothing in this section either. Just some court hearing on medical trials. Nothing to interest a man who acts like a tactless caveman most days."
"You're the one who enjoys the 'me Jane, you Batman'-type innuendoes," House accuses, before turning to her and pointing at James: "You should try that sometimes." She can only level her gaze with House and tries not to blush. Or grin. Or cringe.
"My sex life is none of your problem," James tells House. "And it's 'I, Tarzan. You, Jane'. Get your Disney characters right."
"Hey! Whatever rocks your superhero boat. And who says anything about any sex life?" House retorts. "Can I have more jello?" House asks her.
"It's in the fridge. Help yourself," she tells him and House really doesn't need to be told twice. "And can you get me an apple while you're there?" she asks him.
"Do you want me to rinse it for you, too?" House asks, head halfway inside the fridge.
"If you don't mind," she replies, collecting James's empty glass on her way to the sink. House lobs the apple at her, as he sits down in his chair. "Thanks," she tells him.
"Can you drive us to the hospital?" James pipes up and she turns around to look at him.
"Me?" she asks.
"You're the one with the car," James grins as he loops his tie. "I'll have to call the mechanics later today, see if my car's anywhere near ready."
"Sure, I'll just go get changed." She turns off the taps and wipes her hands dry. "Five minutes!" she hollers, as he makes her way into the bedroom.
In fact, she spends a good part of ten minutes and another five searching high and low for her car keys, only to find out that James has taken them with him. She finds them in her car, waiting for her, car engines already running. "Ready?" she asks, and receives nods and grumbles. "It's Monday again, isn't it?"
"House doesn't like it 'cause he's doing extra hours in the clinic today. For three weeks," James says, looking quite smug and pleased with himself.
"Rub it in some more and I'm withholding the marmalade."
"Hey! You're the one who lost the bet!"
She drives the car down the roads, watches other cars and other people, watches the trees whizz past, watches the clouds that march in the sky. She listens to the two men talk about Dr Cuddy, and the young doctors who works with House, and the new intern in the Oncology Department. She wonders what it's like to work full-time, have friends at work, have colleagues to gossip about, have interesting things to talk about and reminisce.
"Thanks," James tells her as she drops them off in front of the hospital. "Oh, and I bought something for you. I left it on my desk this morning. Hope you like." And she watches her husband disappear through the glass doors of the hospital. She drives home wondering what her husband might've bought for her from New York.
---
She cleans the house on Mondays. From top to bottom. It provides her with the numbing monotoneity that eats away the hours of boredom. James's little corner of the house is always the hardest to maneouver around. Tidy stacks of medical journals, binders of medical clippings, his numerous reference books and magazines cover most of the floor. She spots a pot of dead gladioli tucked in a corner, one she has never noticed before. She switches off the vacuum cleaner and props it by the cabinet. She picks the pot up and notices a yellow post-it note stuck to the side of the pot. She recognizes James's handwriting on it, followed by a series of 'conversations' that she finds amusing.
- House, what's this?
- Wanna bet? It's going to die in three weeks.
- No it's not. What's the stake?
- Three weeks worth of clinic.
- You're on. What'll Cuddy say, though?
- She'll deal.
There are dates scribbled at the bottom of the note. The plant survived three weeks and a day. Next to those dates are smaller squiggles.
- Damn! --H
- Damn right!
---
She likes the sense of satisfaction of being able to sit back and admire her handywork -- sparkling windows and spotless floors. There's not much one can be proud of when one's a housewife, she thinks. She can't say that she had save a life by performing a life-saving operation, she can't brag about profit margins or getting a promotion. And there's really nothing to brag about working in a candy shop three times a week. She can't brag about raising beautiful children up either. But she has a clean and tidy house, one she is mighty proud about.
The 'something' James bought for her from New York turned out to be two 'somethings'. A necklace and a book of Rudolph Burckhardt's photography from MoMA. It's a pretty necklace, the kind one'd wear to functions and formal gatherings. The necklace will definitely gather dust. The book, though, is interesting and full of beautiful pictures. She loses herself in the black and white pictures of forties Astoria and Queens -- deserted roads and crumbling buildings, black and white romanticism of a haunted gas station. Then there are pictures of smiling children, playing on the roadside, climbing up cold debris. She traces their faces, their little hands and bodies clad in jackets and jumpers and hats. There are no pictures of adults around. Only the innocence of childhood and the a forsaken land, abandoned when all souls moved away. There are no images of adulthood and all of its attendant complications and drama. Conveniently scrubbed out, blotted out, ignored.
If only life is a series of photographs from which one can choose what to keep, what to forget, and what to destroy. If only one can preserve such things in memory or eliminate them altogether.
---
Days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into months, and she finds herself watching James dress for another day at work. It's Christmas Day today; not that they celebrate Christmas -- wrong religion and all. But James is never home for holidays, seldom home at any other day, She thinks of calling her mother. Maybe she can stay at her parents until the new year -- wait out the bitterest cold in Florida-- then return just in time for the first buds of spring. She thinks of calling, but then she'll have to endure a lot of 'I told you so'-s. She can't understand why Mother never like James.
She calls Mabel instead.
"Hello? Viv! Stop it! Sorry about that," Mabel's voice filters through the receiver.
"It's okay... Merry Christmas, Mabel."
"Julie! Hey! How are you? Andy! Could you please hang on to Viv for a sec?!"
"Busy, huh?"
"Yeah, Andy's whole extended family's coming in... three hours. My parents are avoiding them like a plague. My house is really not big enough for the lot of 'em. Not only that, my oven's on strike. But, all in all. It's okay." Mabel laughs. Julie can hear the pots and pans clanging in the background. She can picture the kitchen, bright and sunny under the winter sun with the scent of roast and pie. "So, how can I help? James working overtime again?"
"Yeah."
"He's been doing that year in, year out. You've got to talk to him about it," Mabel tells her.
"We don't celebrate Christmas."
"It's not about the religion. It's the holiday, it's the having a holiday dinner together." Mabel can be the sound of reason sometimes, but this time Mabel just doesn't get it.
"He's out there saving people, Mabel. What if we're having dinner and there's this girl bleeding to death? His job is important."
"He's not the only doctor in that hospital, you know..." Mabel sighs.
"The other doctors have kids and family and... well..."
"Julie," Mabel cuts her mid-sentence. "This conversation is futile. We've been having this conversation year in, year out. You just won't listen." Toby, Mabel's youngest, is screaming in the background and Mabel sighs again. "Hang on. Andy! Diapers!" Julie can hear Andy's muffled grumbling and Mabel's laughter. "Anyway. Where were we? Oh yeah, why'dya call?"
"I need a favor," Julie whispers.
"Whoa, why the whispering?" Mabel whispers too.
"Sorry. Habit."
"It's okay. Viv! Put your brother down! So, this favor of yours. Is it legal?"
---
Winter, Spring, Summer, Autumn. And suddenly it's winter again. She's busy cooking up a storm, for this time James actually took December 25th off. They're having dinner. James is poking his head inside the oven. "The cake's coming really nicely," he says. Chocolate-flavored steam bursts out of the oven, floating lazily towards the ceiling. It feels like home. She looks out of the window and marvel at the twinkling christmas lights and that Santa snowman the neighbor's children made.
"Can you do the glaze? Do you still remember how to?" she asks.
"Well... it's been a while," James roots around the kitchen for the chocolate bar and butter. "I think I've got it."
"Okay, just ask if you're not sure. I'll just be in the dining room setting the table, okay?"
He comes over and kisses her lightly on her cheek. "Don't worry, Mrs Wilson." He hugs her tightly and releases her. "You go do the table and I'll take care of the rest."
James has invited friends from work to come and have dinner with them. House and Dr Cuddy and three of House's team members.
Dr Cuddy is first to arrive. Julie always thinks that James's boss is very beautiful. "Am I early?" Dr Cuddy asks, as Julie hangs her coat and accepts the box of chocolate.
"No, no. Of course not. We're just waiting for the cake to bake." Julie looks down and cringes at her disshevelled look -- there's flour and food stains on her skirt. "Sorry. Didn't have time to change, yet." Julie sits her guest down by the fireplace. "Um... Can I get you anything, Dr Cuddy?"
"No, thank you. I'm all right for now. And please call me Lisa."
"Well, if there's nothing... I'll send James out. He's in the kitchen, making glaze for the cake..." Julie gestures towards the kitchen.
"Wilson? In the kitchen? This I've got to see!" There's a mischievous twinkle in Dr Cud... Lisa's eyes and Julie can only follow Lisa into the kitchen.
Julie watches her husband greet Lisa and tells them she'll be in the bedroom changing into more appropriate clothes -- something less... stained.
---
She hears the front door being opened and closed; hears more voices, and can recognize House's voice above the din of "Hello, how are you"s. She can hear people complimenting James for the well-kept home and Julie feels a surge of pride. She's very proud of the way she keeps her home. Is pride a sin? There's not a lot that she's proud of. Maybe she's allowed this one indulgence.
There's a tentative knock on the door. "Julie? You ready?" And she can't seem to find the correct answer for the question. "You okay?" James asks again. He sounds concerned, somehow.
She settles by screaming "Just a second!" across the room.
She examines her reflection in the mirror. It's a new dress. She thinks it's appropriate for a house dinner party. The last thing she want is to embarrass James. She thinks about what Dr Cuddy -- Lisa -- is wearing, and how Lisa looks. Lisa is very beautiful, and very composed, very well-mannered and well-presented. She looks intelligent too. Well, she must be! She runs a hospital! Julie berates herself. All of the other must be too -- beautiful, or handsome, and very intelligent. House is a department head, like her husband. And House's team members are supposed to be the best next-generation doctors -- young, stylish, and very bright. She'll look out of place, won't she?
---
She is a spectator in her own home. She is the groundskeeper -- a maintainer of her husband's domain. She is more than that, of course -- her husband's wife, and hopefully her husband's child's mother. Children. But there seems to be little evidence of that at the moment. They talk amongst one another -- her husband and his friends -- about patients, office personnel, and office politics. They have intriguing stories to tell between them, and Julie is equally intrigued. This is the fascinating world of her husband, she thinks. She keeps a vigilant ear, waiting for the best time to offer them a slice of cake. Or maybe, she can just place a plate of cake in front of them and be done with it.
Dr Chase -- Robert -- is delivering the punch-line to an Australian adventure story and a wave of laughter follows. She lets herself have a small chuckle, though she's not sure what the joke is about.
"Ummm..." she hesitates and shifts on her feet. Six heads turn to face her, their facial muscles still arranged in a jovial manner. "Um... are you ready for dessert? It's a chocolate bundt cake. Nothing fancy..." She satisfies herself with six concerted nods.
"Bourbon?" House asks, gesturing at his plate of cake and she grins widely. "Good woman," he tells her.
"How's the glaze?" James asks his colleagues. "It's been a while since I made one."
"You made this?"
"It's all his doing, Dr Foreman," Julie says, beaming happily.
"It's Eric," Dr Foreman tells her. "Damn, I didn't know you can cook! You must be very proud of him, Mrs Wilson."
"Hey! I can cook." James is a picture of righteous indignation, and Julie is reminded of the James she often see between the pages of his childhood photograph albums.
"With scientific accuracy, I bet," Allison offers her two cents around a mouthful of cake. "Cooking is more than just accurate measurements, you know... And by the way, the cake is wonderful." Julie decides she likes Allison Cameron, just for the sake of it.
They eat cake; drink beer and wine. And all too soon she finds herself handing coats and scarves, waving goodbye and wishing safe journeys at four retreating backs. Arms snake around her waist and a chin rests on her shoulder. "James?" she asks. And she notices the jacket-coated arms, and the brush of James's wool scarf against the back of her neck. "You're going out?"
"I have to drive House home. He's too drunk," he whispers in her ear. "Don't wait up."
"Hey! Wilson! I can still drive," House calls out as he hobbles towards them. "Why don't you spend the night of festivities with the missus?"
"N... No, that's okay. We really don't want to spend the night of festivities bailing you out of jail," she tells House.
"I'm still sober, I can assure you."
"You drank us out of our house and home." James helps House into his coat. "What if they ask you to walk the straight yellow line?"
"You know that's not a nice thing to say to a gimp." House whacks the back of James's knee with his cane.
"Ow! I'm still driving you home. Keys." James gestures impatiently.
"How are you getting home after?" House asks, extracting his car keys out of his pocket.
"I'll stay over. We'll drive to work from yours," James replies, fastening the top button of House's jacket. "Come on, then."
She stands on the welcome mat of her home, watching James lead House towards the car. She feels a renewed sense of despair, and she tries not to dwell on it too much. Husbands don't need to tell their wives what they want to do, or ask any permission for anything. But the fact that James drives away with House, to stay overnight at House's, without even asking what she thinks about it... What is supposed to happen anyway? Is it normal, or is it not? She's not good at this marriage game. Not really.
She can't blame it on James, can she? Because she's far from perfect. She knows it, because she's been told time and again by a lot of people.
She's the youngest child, the only daughter. Her parents think the world of her. Her four brothers treated her like she's made from spun glass. They'll die for her -- all she has to do is ask. They'll jump off cliffs by her say-so, and she knows it. They'll ask her opinion on just about everything. They'll placate her anger with beautifully-crafted words and allay her fears with carefully-weaved endearments. But they are also far away from where she is, and they'll lecture her with 'told-you-so's. And she is not in a mood to be lectured at.
She must learn how to deal with these situations. She has got to learn how to. She desperately needs somebody to guide her through her days, explain to her these oddly-shaped holes in her heart. She wants somebody to be standing next to her, telling her that she's doing all right, or helping her clean any mess left lying about. But there won't be such people, there won't be such reprieve. Only herself, her thoughts, and her resolve. She knows that she has to grow up one day. But, by goodness, it is a hard thing to do.
She cleans the house, clears the rubbish, scrubs the kitchen, and vacuums the house from top to bottom. She polishes her silverware and glassware, and stores them safely for another day. Don't wait up, James told her. But after everything that she's done -- putting the house back into the order Mother would be very proud of -- she finds herself in the recliner, sitting in the same place recently vacated by House. Don't wait up, James told her. But after everything, she finds herself watching the rise of the morning sun and the unfolding of a bruised sky.
---
She's in the shower and James is getting ready for another day at work. James bought the wrong shampoo again. Her hair will make her pay for it, she's sure about it. She'll have to stop by the store to get the correct one. There's a phonecall and she shouts for James to answer it.
"Julie," James calls from the other side of the door, and knocks impatiently. "It's for you."
"Who is it?" She rinses her hair quickly, and waters the rest of the suds into the drain.
"St Francis." James turns the knob and pushes the door open. Julie shivers involuntarily as cold air pushes in through the steam around her.
"Who?" Wrapping her hair in a towel, she checks her figure on the fogged up mirror as she pads towards the door.
"St Francis Medical Center." James tells her as he hands her bathrobe over.
"OH!" And she can't get to the phone quick enough. And the puzzlement on James face can be termed as hilarious, if she doesn't know that there's going to be some serious questioning from him later.
And the questions came, as she replaced the phone in its cradle, next to the bed. "What's wrong?" he asks, grabbing his tie and walking out of the bedroom. There's a tinge of concern in his voice, and she smiles involuntarily at that.
"Nothing's wrong." She follows him into the kitchen; watches him pour a cup of coffee. She inhales and her throat constricts. "It's just..." What would he say? "They agree to employ me."
"Employ you?" James refills his coffee cup. "Employ you as..."
"A nurse," she retorts, and maybe she has just yanked the fridge door harder than she would've liked. And she doesn't like the way her hands tremble either. Should she have discussed this with James -- this whole 'embarking of a new career' initiative? What if James disagrees and tells her to forget about it? She grabs a pot of yoghurt and tries very hard not to slam the fridge door. The fact that it slams harder than usual is definitely not because of the lack of trying on her part.
"A nurse," she tells him again. "I took the course years and years back. I was a nurse for a couple of years, maybe more. I can't remember." She shrugs and peels the lid off the pot. There's an errant piece of blueberry bobbing in the thick white liquid. "But I didn't need to work, did I? Not at that time, anyway. Mother told me not to work. Told me to find a husband and get married, have kids, give her grandkids..." She fishes the blueberry with her finger and pops it in her mouth. "You and I? We dated. I allowed my licence to expire. We got married. Now, I found the reason to retake the exam. And Mabel's cousin works at St Francis." She plucks a teaspoon from the dishwasher. "It'll be good for me. Flexible shifts, something to distract me when I'm not working at Barry's or when you're working overnights. It'll keep me busy, keep me sane." She scoops a big, gelatinous spoonful. "If you want... you know... I can always coordinate my times with you, do the same overnights, um..."
"Okay," he tells her, as he places the empty cup upside down in the dishwasher. "When will you start?"
"I don't know yet... They asked me to... um... turn up today to do... well, fill in some forms and such, really... Um... Do you think it's a good idea? You know, me working? Mother is not very happy with my decision... What about you?"
"I bet your mother is going to blame me for this." James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. There's an uneasy silence -- a common occurance in their household of late. "It's all up to you," he says at last, as he loops his tie and heads out. "Right. Off to work for me," he says with a tight smile and a backward glance. "And you too, I suppose. Bye."
"Bye... Have a good day at work." She stays rooted on her spot. She listens to his footfalls, to the front door being opened and closed, to James starting his car and driving away.
---