I’m hoping you’ll forgive me. I’ll let my pictures do the talking today. Yes, they are blurry, but so is the memory of my wedding day. More than 15 years have passed.
I do remember, though, that there was laughter, there was joy, there were tears of happiness. We ate, we danced, we kissed, we hugged, we said ‘I love you, my husband’, and ‘I love you, my wife’ numerous times. It was a good day. I got the wedding on the beach of my dreams.
Getting ready in the morning…
Letting Kristina do the last touch ups before leaving the house…
Going for THE kiss…
Receiving a phone call from my mom with congratulations…
After ‘the good’ and ‘the bad’ there was finally peace – the wedding.
Kristina was here. The one who started it all. The other Kristina was also here. The one who spent the summer in Petoskey with me and braved the cold winter there, too. Amongst my sister, my mother and myself, we would call them the ‘tall Kristina’ and the ‘short Kristina’. Years later I met Christine, an amazing woman all around. That made things even more complicated and listening to my stories my sister would often interrupt me: ‘Which Kristina are we talking about here?’
Back in HHI the two friends were the only family by my side on my big day.
They missed out on my bachelorette party, but took part in the bridal shower. Both events were lots of fun and step by step brought me closer to my wedding. Still, I found it hard to believe that I was the bride to be. I don’t think I understood back then what marriage was all about. I needed 20 more years of good and bad experiences to start getting an idea what it truly meant to be married. What I understood was ‘the wedding’ and I knew exactly what I wanted.
I had always dreamed of a wedding on the beach. In reality, having older people walk on sand and complain about it was not something I wanted to deal with on my big day. So we planned the ceremony and reception at Country Club of Hilton Head.
And the photo shoot on the Dolphin-Head beach.
The mother of the Chef got his side of the family to help decorate the Country Club. The wedding colors were sand, of course, and blue, or shades of it. I consider myself a lover of the sea and the sky, indulging limitless shades of blue (occasionally indulging 50 Shades of Gray, too).
The Chef had planned the perfect menu and I ordered the perfect cake. Not only it was finger licking delicious, it was decorated with real seashells to go with our ocean theme. It was perfect!
The music had been carefully selected. Mostly by my husband to be. I was more into the cake business (see above) and let him be in charge of the songs. He had put a great list together, our song being Just the Way You Are by Billy Joel.
I had done all the scrubbing, waxing, toning and pampering that I could possibly do, and after numerous visits to my hairdresser’s, after a lot of trial and error we had come up with the festive yet beach appropriate hair do.
I didn’t trust anybody with my make up. I was certain I’d have too much of it on and wanted to stay as close to natural as possible.
I was ready to spend the rest of my life with this man. Or was I?
Let’s be honest here. I’m not the best driver in the world. I’m not the worst, either. Hilton Head Island that fall had the bumpiest roads for me.
The plantations on the island are beautiful and with lots of recreational areas. The houses are huge, but so is the space between them. The mail boxes, however, are dotted along the streets right on the road for an easy mail delivery.
It all started with me driving my precious Jimmy (GMC) one day and knocking one of those mailboxes down. I had no excuse! There was no squirrel on the road and I was not being distracted by my cell phone (we are talking years before that became a norm). I did knock it down. And I didn’t even stop! I kept driving, doing a ‘hit and run’ number, trying to escape the neighborhood which was very close to home. I got scared, of course, although there was no reason to be. It’s not like I had hit a person! I kept thinking about it the whole day and on the home, as I slowly passed by the house, I saw that he mail box was up, like nothing had happened.
By that time I was a bag of mixed emotions and couldn’t hold it inside anymore. I told my future mother in law about it and she talked to the neighbors. Bless them, they were easy going and very understanding.
The Lexus driver was not.
The day before the wedding the Chef took my Jimmy and I had some errands to run. We are talking about ONE day before MY wedding, so you can imagine… The Corvette, of course, was out of limits for mere mortals like myself. I had no other choice but to drive the massive Dodge Ram pick up. Don’t get me wrong, I love how much space a truck like that gives me when I’m a passenger. It’s a different story when I’m the driver. I remember feeling like I was in the ocean, the truck was MASSIVE!
I managed to drive to the mall without knocking any mailboxes down. I managed to park it. I also managed to scratch a Lexus while doing it. You can imagine my nerves, can’t you? Come on, I was getting married the next day! I didn’t need this. I kept panicking and thinking: ‘This is not good! This is not freaking good!’
Gratefully, the same tiny girl who felt lost in the ocean behind the Ram’s wheel had a big mouth, a sweet smile and a heart warming story to tell the driver, who accepted my money and let me go… Breath in, breath out.
Do they say the rocky road leads you to hell or to heaven?
My life in NYC was many things. What it wasn’t was ordinary and uneventful.
Our first place to live was a basement apartment. For those who are not sure what it is, imagine opening the building door and going down, instead of going up. Our one window was on the same level as the street. It was our place, however, and it was in Astoria, NY.
A couple of months later we moved into a much nicer one bedroom apartment (you had to go up the stairs to reach it) very close to the subway stop. Those who know anything about the city will understand the importance of this. Although most of the time the ride on the subway would make me nauseous and leave me grasping for air, having to walk just one block to get to it was very convenient.
The chef got hired at a restaurant in the heart of the city – The Sea grill at the Rockefeller center (now permanently closed). I wasn’t doing bad for myself either. I started at the same Rockefeller center working as a sales girl in a Christmas store. Later I got temporarily employed at the Teuscher (https://www.teuschernyc.com/ – the best job hands down in my ‘jobs all over the world’ career… I got to taste so many champagne truffles it was ridiculous. I’d even send packages to my family in Europe).
Finally I ended up at Tristan and America (https://www.tristanstyle.com/) steps away from the chef’s restaurant and the 5th Avenue. I got hired because… I had the most beautiful blue eyes! True story that, the one that still makes me smile today. The manager of the store was touching me quite a lot during the interview, but later he told me not to worry about it as he was gay! He admitted after some time that my eyes did the talking that day, and he was instantly captured by them. We became very good friends. Just like the city itself, our store was a great mix of races, nationalities and sexual orientations. And we all got along. We all belonged. That is what I loved about NYC the most.
The highs were truly high. I was going to the top rated restaurants, trying out tasting menus and enjoying champagne with gold. I was marveling the famous spots and museums the city had to offer. I was exploring the shopping venues and finding hidden gems of any cuisine in the world I dreamed of. Even the one from back home. And it was delicious.
Our love was blooming. Life in the city suited us. But just like Nelly Furdado in her song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pBo-GL9SRg), I’m wondering: why do all good things come to an end?
Call me a believer in fairy tales. Tell me I watch too many rom-coms and don’t have a clue about what a real relationship is about. Whenever I meet a man (not too often during these pandemic times) and fall in love (way too often no matter what times) I always think THAT man is the one for me. And THAT relationship will last forever. I don’t even care so much about getting married. My dream is to be engaged with the most beautiful ring on my finger.
Talking about the ring, it wasn’t just one diamond. Mine had a set of three!
The chef asked me to go for a walk with him one night. As we approached his Jeep I found roses on my side of the seat and a lovely hand written card. At that instant I knew something big was about to happen.
We drove to the beach on our plantation. The chef had a picnic basket with him. This was like a dream. I’ll walk to the beach anytime, especially with the man I love. I adore the flowers and the picnics. This was perfect! We sat down on a blanket and the chef opened the basket. He took out a bottle of champagne, 2 flutes, and… a chocolate cake! Didn’t I say it was perfect? On top of the delicious looking cake I saw the words in red icing : ‘Vilma, will you marry me?’
I remember his face. Easy smile was playing on his lips and reflecting in his lovely brown eyes. ‘Yes!’ – I said. I didn’t think about it, not for a second. Of course I will marry this man!
He took out a white box. I opened it and saw the ring. He put it on my ring finger (it was too big so the middle finger had to do for the time being). We kissed. Now THAT is a beautiful fairy tale ending to my engagement story.
But the story is just beginning. The chef, now my fiance, loved New York City. He had lived there a few years ago and kept dreaming about going back. I had only read about The Big Apple in magazines and seen the skyline of the city in every episode of Friends (https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0108778/)
So after a few days and many phone calls to family and friends announcing the wonderful news, after never ending looks at my ring finger (I honestly just couldn’t stop looking!) we packed our bags and set off towards NYC.
To be honest with you, all I want today is a day off. One day full of nothing but rest. Sure, a couple of massages would be great, a total makeover is recommended, some TLC is definitely needed. But as long as I don’t have to cook or clean, for a day, I’ll be happy.
Back then, at the age of 22, I was full of energy and my whole life was ahead of me. I arrived to Savannah, GA for the first time 17 years ago, and I remember to this day what the chef was wearing. Grey pants and grey shirt. Is it just me or it just sounds a bit too grey?! Today I am all into bold and bright colors, but back then it didn’t matter to me. I was only seeing the man underneath those clothes. My man.
The chef was living in Hilton Head Island, SC. I instantly fell in love with the place. The warm air, the green palm trees, the vast beaches…
As much as I enjoyed doing my own thing during the day and waiting for the chef to come home after work at night, I needed a job. If you are in a restaurant business you work long hours. I landed myself an easy job (http://www.redroof.com/) and started living the dream.
I’d often go to have dinner at the restaurant where my man worked (https://frankiebones.com/). We’d plan day trips on our days off and would generally fool around and have fun. I got to meet his family, too: his mother (a proud owner of a Corvette with a never ending supply of make up), mother’s boyfriend (younger than the chef and very much into motorcycles) and grandma (sweet old lady who used to have her restaurant business back in Michigan with her late husband). There were 2 brothers, one lived on the island and the other one out of state.
It all sounds like a dream, right? I was living with a hard working man who knew how to cook and always held my hand. A man who always answered: ‘Yeah, baby?’, whenever I called him: ‘Honey!’
However, signs of trouble started to pop up like flowers after the spring rain… There were rumors of sexual harassment back in Petoskey… There were whispers of drug use… There was money missing… There were trips in the middle of the night… Were these the signs of troublesome times to come? Yes. Was I ignoring them? Yes. To this day I am an expert of not seeing what I don’t really want to see.
A few months later we moved into his mom’s house. It made sense not to spend money on rent and help out with grandma, who was getting weaker by day. The house had 4 bedrooms and a pool inside! There sure was enough space for us all.
Just like that, I was living my life, having good times and successfully ignoring occasional bad times. Until one day I woke up with the diamond ring on my finger.
What if I had not gone back to the States the second time? Would I have found (and got to keep) my real love? Would I have seen more of the world? Would I have gone through less pain?
No point in asking myself that, I know. Still, I wonder. If I had not gone back, would I still be exactly where I am today? You know, some people believe that you can walk the straight line or you can walk in circles, but eventually you reach the point where you should be, no matter how long it took you to get there…
My second time in the States was very different from my first one. As different as the winter is from the summer, literally, as I went back to Petoskey in the month of January. And the Chef was not there.
It’s not that I didn’t know what real winter was about. I did, having grown up in Eastern Europe. I just never knew what it meant to spend a winter in Michigan. Luckily enough I had the perfect job for the season – working in a bakery shop. The smell of freshly baked bread and cookies and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee was just what I needed to forget 3 feet of snow outside. I loved working there. The customers were always happy and grateful for a delicious bite to eat. I was happy decorating endless trays of smiley face cookies. Our neighbors were happy with a half a dozen or so donuts I’d bring home to them at the end of the day… When I grow up, I’d like to have a bakery shop just like that.
My man with the brown eyes had moved down south, where his mom was living at the time. I couldn’t follow him straight away after arriving, I had to stay in Petoskey for a little while. I missed him a lot, but we frequently talked on the phone and I knew that soon enough I’d get to see him. In the meantime, I got to experience the joys of winter with a bunch of local boys. Cinema at the mall, movie nights in, riding snowmobiles out in the fields.
I was having loads of fun, but the time came when I couldn’t, I just couldn’t be without my Chef any longer. I bought a bus ticket from Petoskey, MI to Savannah, GA, and said goodbye to my friends. I boarded the bus to unknown, yearning to get there as fast as I could.
He was waiting at the bus terminal, just like he said he would be.
Take me on a trip, I’d like to go some day Take me to New York, I’d love to see L.A. I really want to come kick it with you You’ll be my American boy, American boy
It started with me getting the same days off as him. Later – a trip to the farmers’ market, then a lunch, finally a trip to the beach. ‘Vilma, will you be my girlfriend?’ – he asked me after a few dates. I couldn’t say no to the American boy!
He was in his early 30s. I had just turned 21. I was mesmerized by the chef. He was tall and had hazel eyes. And I had always been a sucker for the shades of brown, having blue (albeit out of this world) eyes myself.
He moved quietly, like a cat. I could never hear him approach me. I loved watching him work. Sure, he kept the cooks on their toes and bossed the dishwashers around. But he also prepared delicious meals effortlessly. He ruled the kitchen.
My English wasn’t so great back then. ‘Stop calling me a chief, Vilma. I’m a chef, not a chief’, – he told me after a few mispronunciations. Oopsie daisy!
‘Mom, I’m just chilling on the beach with Vilma’, – he once said while talking on the phone. Chilling? Was he cold? Did he mean I was cold? What did he mean? I couldn’t stop wondering… At the end of the day, I was in the States to improve my English, and it seemed that was much needed indeed.
Just like that our relationship was progressing. We got to spend more and more time together and a couple of gifts came my way. A hanging pot of the most beautiful blue flowers. A mix tape CD (remember those?). And I honestly believe I got double portions of dessert for lunch every day.
However, the summer (THE summer) came to an end. I packed my bags (had to buy some extra ones for the extra goodness to bring back home) and boarded the plane again. Back in my home country, I continued my studies. Mostly, though, I listened to the mix tape CD over and over again and kept telling my sister that, of course, I was fine and was not in love and didn’t even think about going back to the States.
This is what gets me confused. If I want something really bad, should I do everything in my power to get it? Or should I just let it be, and if it happens, it was meant to? How much of where I end up depends on my own actions, and how much – on the mysterious ways on the universe? The world is divided into ‘it was meant to be’ believers and ‘I’m going for it and nothing can stop me’ achievers.
I really really wanted to go back to him. So I did everything to make that happen: I pushed, I begged, I embellished the truth. I needed to see the chef again!
Mine is the one I got to spend in Petoskey, MI. The summer of many firsts.
Eager to see the world I listened to Kristina’s advice (https://restlessinlove.com/kristina/) and packed my bags for the summer. USA it is. I put a smile on my face to last 3 entire months and boarded the plane. Here goes my first time!
I remember walking the streets of Chicago where I had my training and not believing that I was there. Amazing! A couple of days later I arrived to my destination. I loved Petoskey. Thinking about it I probably would have loved any place in the States. I was abroad for the first time and that’s all that mattered. Petoskey had the best fudge around. For someone who’s addicted to chocolate that was heaven. There was the lake, there were huge malls (way to spend those tips, right, girls?), there was freedom.
I had a job as a housekeeper (here goes the first one again!) at Stafford’s Perry hotel (https://www.staffords.com/)
And so did my friends. We cleaned rooms during the day and took shifts in the kitchen in the late afternoons. Officially a salad girl, I spent more time licking bowls with remaining brownie mix than preparing actual salads. I was always up for running into the walk-in fridge to get whatever was needed, as I could quickly swallow a piece of chocolate on my way out.
We worked really long hours. At the end of the day we would be exhausted. But that’s not what I remember the most. I remember my friends. I remember lying on the cool grass, staring at the sky, and just sharing the moment.
For the longest time, living back home, I’d been dreaming of becoming a WAG. My country didn’t do bad in basketball. Actually, our players were quite good. I was into tall, athletic and handsome men, who travelled all over the world and made loads of money. ‘Have you found yourself a basketball player yet?’ – my sister asked me during one of my phone calls home. She knew all about my dreams, of course. ‘No, I found myself a chef’ – I told her.
