So Different (25 page)

“You were tired?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, taking the seat next to her, holding his hand out for her carton of food. She passed it to him and he ate in silence for a while as she continued to read.

“So what’s up for the day?” he asked.

“You don’t have to stay here all day with me. I mean, you do spend a lot of time here.”

“What’s your point?” he said, around his chewing.

“We’re friends, just pointing that out,” she said.

“It’s what you wanted, right, something more than Tuesday and Thursdays,” he said before putting another forkful in his mouth.

“Yep, just making sure you knew it hadn’t meant every day.”

“You don’t like me hanging out with you? Don’t friends hang out with each other?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t really. It’s been two weeks and you’re tired of me already. I’m hurt.”

She laughed, giving up. “Want to go skating with me?”

“Skating,” he said, his tone neutral as he handed the container back to her. She waved it away and he sat it down on the table next to her.

“Can you skate?” she asked.

“Not very well.”

“I’ll teach you, then,” she said, putting her book on the table next to her. “I’ll take you to this place I love, it’s called the Skateway. It’s five miles of paved roads reserved for bikes and people, no cars, and five minutes from here.” She popped up out of her chair, catching the look of trepidation on his face.

“I can’t skate. I don’t have the gene,” he said.

“What gene? Did Sally tell you that?” she asked, reaching for his hand and pulling him up to stand.

“Have you talked to Casper?” he asked, still looking for a way out.

“There is no skating gene. Yes, I’ve spoken to Casper. Come on, it’ll be fun, I’ve skated with Joshua and if he can skate, so can you,” she said, picking up their Chinese food breakfast and pulling him along behind her.

* * *

It was more like thirty minutes later; she’d had to go by Joshua’s home to use his skates because Adam didn’t own a pair. She stood next to him now, skates on, waiting for him to stand. It was taking him forever—he’d given her one excuse after another. What was the big deal, she could teach anybody.

“One more time. I’m a really good teacher,” she said, reaching for his hand. He had sat on the park bench for the last ten minutes, trying to talk her out of it. He’d been cute sitting there, his hair wild about his head, those glasses on his face, trying to convince her of his limited skating ability.

“Up,” she shouted. “Now. Stop being such a baby.”

“Tried to warn you, and those are my last words on the subject,” he said and stood. He abruptly started windmilling his arms for balance, and she had to jump back to avoid being hit. A small laugh escaped and she’d covered her mouth with her hand, looking away, not wanting to laugh outright. Okay, maybe it was going to be a little more difficult than she imagined. She took a deep breath.

“Okay, give me your hand,” she said and he placed his right hand into hers. It took her five minutes after that to get him to stand still again. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, she thought, but hell, she could do this. She scanned the area, waiting a few minutes until the path was clear; she wanted absolutely no one on the path.

“We can always stop,” he offered.

“No, we’re good,” she said and pushed off slowly. Tightly holding his hand, she skated around in front and grabbed his other hand.

“So I’ll stand in front, hold your hands, and we’ll go slow,” she said, giving him her best patient/teacher imitation. “Take a small push, really small.” He did, and what followed was something she would like to forget, torn from the pages of a slapstick movie, all stumbles, arms, legs, and bumbles. He pushed off, a small push, and they were making progress, albeit at a snail’s pace.

He really couldn’t skate. Her girls’ comments took on a whole other dimension now that he was here in front of her.

“Very good, let’s just keep this pace,” she said, pleased that he was moving. So what if he was stiff and slow. He was moving and his arms weren’t doing that windmill thing they’d done earlier. “See, it’s not so bad,” she said, smiling at him.

He smiled back.

“I’m going to let go of your hand, okay? See if you can do it yourself. I’m going to move to your side, just grab my hand if you need to balance,” she said, turning and skating around him to stand at this side. He was slow still, but moving forward.

“See, it just takes practice,” she said. She looked back over her shoulder; they’d moved two feet. Okay, so maybe she wouldn’t be able to share this activity with him.

“So let’s try and reach the next bench and then we’ll stop for the day,” she said.

“Not as easy as you thought,” he said carefully, as if talking would get him off-track.

She smiled
Nope.
“You’re getting better,” she said diplomatically; she could do
encouragement.
He smiled back like he wasn’t fooled.

They had skated about two more feet when Mariah spotted a group of skaters heading right for them. They were about fifteen, and they were moving in a huge clump.
Oh, Jesus, how am I going to get Adam out of the way?
She tried to calculate the distance to the bench, or at least to the grass alongside the track. It wasn’t that far to the bench, but no way could they make it. She could push him off the road, just a hip check onto the grass; that would work, she thought, but it was too late. The group of teenagers was racing, hell bent, toward them. “Oh, shoot.”

He turned, trying to look over his shoulder at what had her so concerned, and Mr. Balance Challenged lost it. There went all her hard work to get him stabilized, all gone down the drain. He looked startled. His arms went up wide out beside him, as he reverted to windmills when all else failed. The skaters were too close to avoid hitting him, or each other. She skated around to the front of him and tried to grab his hands. Whoosh, they were moving, she was moving backward, the skaters were around them now, buffeting them. She braced her arms on Adam’s chest, and he held on to her like he was drowning.

Oh, fuck
, she thought and she went to her left, freeing one arm just as a skater hit her, followed by a second. She was twirled around, and at least she was facing forward now. Then Adam hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground as he fell on top of her.

She pushed her arms forward to brace herself—her second mistake—and felt her right elbow give and twist. Adam was heavy on top of her; he hadn’t used his arms to take the weight from her as he usually did late at night. Why was she thinking about that now? She felt the pressure of more skaters falling on them, until they were one huge pileup of arms and legs, and she was somehow at the bottom of the pile.

It was quiet for a second before she heard a few groans, hers mixed in with them, too. She lay there until the others were removed. Adam had rolled over off her and sat on his butt, glasses in place but slightly askew. Someone asked him if he was okay.

“Sorry, mister, we came up on the two of you fast.”

“Mariah,” he said, looking over at her. Her arm was at an odd angle. She sat up then tried to put pressure on it and it wasn’t having it.

“I think I dislocated my elbow,” she said, sitting up. “I’ve been here before. Two years ago, tried breaking my fall when I was first learning to skate for the derby. Gotta get to the hospital.” She watched as his face underwent all kinds of changes: concern, alarm, and embarrassment all briefly warred before he settled with calm.

“You should probably take off the skates, and we’ll walk back to the car,” she said.

“Are you in pain?”

“Nope, they’ll reset it at the hospital. Then I’ll be in pain. I speak from experience.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, removing his skates. No way was he standing on these things again, if ever. He glanced around him at the other skaters, who appeared uninjured and were getting back in line to begin again. Youth, he thought. He used to be that young and impervious to injury.

He looked back at her.

“It’s okay,” she said, reaching for his hand. Mariah didn’t know who looked worse, him or her.

“Come on,” she said.

* * *

Two hours later Adam pulled up next to her home. They’d left the hospital after her arm had been reset. It was resting in a sling now. He’d driven to the pharmacy to pick up her pain meds.

He touched her leg, shook it a little to wake her. She glanced over at him and then she made the mistake of moving her arm. She snapped back against the seat, grimacing in pain.

“No sudden moves,” she said, giving him a weak smile.

“No sudden moves. What do you want to do first?” he asked after helping her inside her home. They both stood in the living room.

“I’d love a shower,” she said.

“Sure,” he said and helped her undress, covering her arm with a plastic bag, as per the nurse’s instructions. She stood nude before him while he reached around her and started the shower.

“Ready,” he said a few minutes later and helped her to step over the tub’s edge. He watched as she tried to wash in between wincing at the small movements that couldn’t be avoided if she did this herself.

“Let me,” he said, shucking his clothes a few seconds later and stepping in behind her. He took the sponge from her hand and proceeded to scrub her, then pushed her under the spray for her to rinse.

“Done?”

“Hair?” she said, looking at him, all pitiful and pleading, while pointing to the shampoo bottle sitting in a basket attached to the tub. “I hadn’t planned on it, but since you’re here.” She enjoyed the feel of his hands, strong moving over her head, massaging and shampooing as she leaned back into his body. He was something standing behind her, helping her to get clean. He pushed her head forward, making sure all traces of shampoo were gone. “Done?”

“Yes, thanks,” she said.

“It’s the least I could do,” he said, stepping out of the shower and putting a towel around his waist before he found one for her. He wrapped her in a towel and proceeded to dry her, hair and all. Then he helped her dress and found something for her to eat. It was only cheese and crackers, but it would do for now. He gave her a pain pill that knocked her out cold.

He sat for a while watching TV and watching her sleep. He debated whether to leave now to go home and pick up some clothes. He had work in the morning, but decided to stay here for the next few days. Hell, he was here most nights anyway. They were so far past friendship, and there was no use pretending about what they were becoming or what she was coming to mean to him. He checked his watch, stood up, left her a note, locked up and left to run a few errands.

He returned a couple of hours later and she was still asleep, finally getting some much needed rest. He’d stopped by the store for drinks and brought leftovers from his home. Elsa’s cooking was overflowing in his refrigerator; he needed to take some to work or ask her to stop for a while, as he was no longer at his apartment much. He’d also stopped by Joshua’s to tell him about Mariah’s accident and that he would look after her.

This pulled a smile and thanks from her brother. Said he was glad he’d hired an additional waitress. Adam found something on TV and sat and waited. He watched her as she slept, pondering again the knowledge that he was falling for her, in spite of his efforts to avoid this, with her or anyone. He felt protective of her; she was becoming more and more his.

* * *

End of the fourth week of August

Okay, this was starting to get weird, Mariah thought. Adam had taken this helping her too far.

“What have you done to my brother?” Yvette asked. She watched as Adam, an apron tied around his waist, played bus boy at Mariah’s brother’s restaurant.

“Not sure,” Mariah said, captivated. He had started helping her brother here at the restaurant in the evenings since she’d hurt her arm. Two weeks he’d been at it, and as much as she’d tried to dissuade him, he wasn’t hearing it. As it turned out, Adam was a pretty good waitress.

Joshua was at the register now, talking with Jessica, a recently hired waitress who had made it one week and counting.

Yvette had joined her for dinner. She had been coming to Joshua’s often now, mostly watching her brother. Mariah hoped she wasn’t going to be another female friend lost to her brother’s charms. She glanced over to find Yvette’s eyes trained on her brother. She’d been watching him most of the evening.

Mariah spotted Casper walking towards them. She was surprised because she hadn’t talked to her friend in a while. The newness of her relationship with Adam, Casper’s practices for the upcoming bout, and her dislocated arm had limited their normal get-together time.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” Mariah said.

“I know. Your new boyfriend won’t let you out of his sight,” Casper said.

“Yvette, this is Casper,” Mariah said, introducing them to each other while ignoring Casper’s comment.

“I know, the pivot from Team Thunderstorm?”

“Correct. You know your derby?”

“I do,” Yvette said, smiling.

“I thought we told you that Adam couldn’t skate,” Casper said, looking pointedly at Mariah’s arm in its sling.

“Yes, you did. But you didn’t tell me that he should not be allowed near anything that rolls for the safety of the American public,” she said and they shared a laugh.

“He seems to have worked out well for you,” Casper said, following Adam as he moved to another table to clear it. “Helping out your brother huh?” She waved to Adam as he made his way to the back, headed to the kitchen, a tub of dirty dishes in his hands.

“He must really like you,” Casper said. Mariah was silent to that. What should she say,
God, I hope so, because I love him?
This Adam, this helpful Adam, looking after her was creating havoc with her sanity, and she didn’t know what if anything to do about it.

She should tell him to stop, to make sure he meant this, this helping her, this taking care of her, this sticking around. She’d always been the caretaker, and she was content to be the recipient of Adams’ care, finding out that it was nice to be taken care of, having someone around to help. She was getting used to it, and that had her worried. What would come from this?

* * *

An hour later, Yvette stood up to leave. She’d been sitting alone for a while. Mariah had followed Adam down the hall to the kitchen. It was almost closing time. She grabbed her ticket, left a tip, and headed over to Joshua, who stood at the counter where he was engrossed in conversation with some guy. Yvette had seen Joshua often, chatting up what she assumed were single ladies that sat by the bar. She’d also seen his short sometimes sharp comments to the waitresses.

He was a very handsome man with beautiful auburn hair that matched Mariah’s. Joshua wore his hair braided neatly into some interesting and intricate designs.

“I’m ready to pay,” she said, interrupting their conversation.

“How was your dinner?”

“Fine. I’ve got a twenty, the dinner came to ten dollars, fifty three cents,” Yvette said, handing her money and the ticket over to Joshua. She knew he took you at your word when it came to money, but she noticed the cameras tuned on the register. She knew most didn’t take advantage, but the camera caught those that tried.

“You would think that a man of your situation would be more thoughtful to his workers,” she said, and her comment startled him.

“And who are you?” Joshua said, closing his hand around the money and the ticket she’d placed in his hand.

“Yvette, Adam’s sister,” she replied.

“I don’t believe I asked your opinion, Yvette, Adam’s sister,” he said.

“You know the old saying, one can catch more bees with honey?”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Here is your change,” he said placing it in her hand. “Thanks for coming by.” He smiled at her but dismissed her and her comments and quickly turned away and resumed his conversation with the man standing next to him.

* * *

Fourth week in September

Thursday Mariah left work. It was lunchtime and she was headed home. She wanted to pick up some pain medicine because her arm was starting to bother her a little. She didn’t have a 1-3 p.m. appointment today, so she could grab a bite to eat without rushing.

Her mind returned to Adam. He had been around all month full time, even more so with her arm in the sling. He stayed over, helped her shower, taken over her care and feeding.

She opened her door and stopped in surprise. Someone was sitting on her sofa, a woman, with her feet propped up, watching TV.

She popped up like a top and scooted over to Mariah, her face one big smile. “I’m Elsa, the cleaning lady,” she said, walking over to take Mariah’s good hand in hers.

“Oh.”

“You must be Mariah, Adam’s girlfriend,” she said and stood back and looked over Mariah, just like her grandmother had done when she was alive, with more than a little pride. “Not much to clean here, you’re neat like Adam,” she said.

“Oh,” she said, again at a loss for words.

“He works on my daughter’s teeth. I pay him back, I insist, I work for him, at his home, too tiny that apartment, not much to clean, so I cook. You like my food, he tells me, he call me yesterday. I come clean for you today. You hurt your arm, you’re his girlfriend and he wants to help you, like he helps me, just like my Carlos, good man. I’m done cleaning, but I don’t like to miss my soaps,
Jesus is left his wife for her mother, Carlotta, yesterday,
” she said.

“I see,” Mariah said.

“You’re hungry? Of course,” she said, not waiting for an answer. “There is some tamales and rice and beans in the refrigerator, I make the best tamales in town, you sit, I’ll fix you a plate.” She headed to the kitchen before Mariah could tell her no. Mariah heard the cabinets opening, followed by the silverware hitting the counter.

“You’re a pretty girl,” Elsa said, sticking her head around the doorway. “All the girls now wear the rings in their noses, tattoos everywhere,” she said, before moving back into the kitchen. She poked her head out again. “Sit, sit,” she said, coming out of the kitchen and pushing Mariah toward the couch. “You can eat here while we watch TV, don’t want to miss, today is the big day, Christina, that’s the daughter, confronts Jesus.” She turned and bustled back into the kitchen.

Mariah sat, turning as Elsa stuck her head out of the kitchen again. “Good you sit, you need to rest,” she said, her hand gesturing. She was shorter than Mariah, compact and sturdy.

“Adam’s girlfriend?” she said again, a smile on her face, her head sticking out the kitchen again. Mariah could hear the microwave going.

“We’re friends,” Mariah said.

“You’re the one that does the derby,
si
?”

“
Si
.”

“Then you’re the girlfriend,” she said, like that had been settled. “Here you go.” She handed over a glass filled with some dark soda. “Coke. Your food almost ready.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure, sure,” she said and turned and headed back to the kitchen, a whirlwind. A few minutes later she came out with a plate filled to bursting. Mariah’s eyes grew wide; she couldn’t eat all of that! She watched as Elsa put the food before her and placed a napkin in her lap. She sat next to Mariah on the couch, picked up the remote, and increased the volume on the TV, the sounds of Telenovela, filling the room.

“I’ll be back,” she said, quickly moving to the kitchen and then back, lickity split, with her own glass of coke. Mariah was forgotten, as Elsa was now lost in the world of the novela.

Mariah ate, watching but not understanding any of it. It was all in Spanish. She caught Elsa’s eye, and she started to fill her in on what happened.

There were two people, male and female, on the screen, and they were talking intensely to each other in Spanish. The woman started crying and the man said something that made the woman gasp. Elsa gasped, too.

“I gave you my heart,” Elsa translated, her eyes glued to the TV.

Elsa gasped again, two seconds later, her hand moving to her heart. “He says he no want her heart, it’s her mother he loves.” Elsa then said something in Spanish that she translated for Mariah as
the dirty dog.
An appropriate response in any language, Mariah thought.

Elsa spent the remainder of the half hour translating for Mariah while she finished her lunch.

At the end Mariah stood up, stuffed. She thought she probably wouldn’t need to eat for another two or three days. “Thank you, Elsa, but I’d better go. I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Sure, sure,” she said, reaching for Mariah’s plate and heading to the kitchen some kind of fast.

“You come back, anytime, we have lunch, yes. I’ll be here every Thursday,” she said, smiling at Mariah, reaching out and pulling Mariah into a hug, which Mariah tried to return with her one arm.

“I need to get something from my room first,” Mariah said, remembering her pain medicine.

“Sure, sure,” Elsa said, smiling, watching as Mariah left the room and a few seconds later returned.

“Nice meeting you, take care,” Mariah said, as she walked over to the door. “Thanks again for lunch.”

“Sure, sure, come back anytime,” she said, like it was her home and Mariah the guest, walking to the door and holding it open for Mariah. Mariah smiled one final time and left.

* * *

Last Saturday in August

Championship bout – Demented Divas vs. Team Thunderstorm

He still put his money on Team Thunderstorm. Casper and Greybolt were one formidable pair, and everyone had a bad day, or at least that was his explanation for their first loss to the Divas. If he thought it had been crowded before, it was twice that now. People everywhere. He’d lost Mariah somewhere in the crowd.

The beginning enthusiasm of the crowd lasted throughout the bout as he and his fellow fans were treated to one of the hardest-fought matches he’d ever seen. The Divas and Team Thunderstorm went after each other with a vengeance, determined to prove something; the Divas to prove that their last win hadn’t been a fluke, and the Thunderstorm struggled to prove that it had been exactly that.

Two hours later Team Thunderstorm was declared the winners. They’d pushed, shoved, hit, and knocked the Divas sideways. They were now on their way to regionals. Adam watched them roll around the rink, celebrating their win, the crowd still on its feet, screaming. He shook his head, laughing, caught up in the excitement of the crowd. He’d come to love this sport.

* * *

September – first week

Adam sat next to Mariah on the back porch, his laptop open, surfing the web. She had a book in her hand, but was looking out over the yard. It was getting dark.

“A Mr. Sanchez stopped by today. He said you’d sent him to finish out my front room,” she said, looking at him. He didn’t look up from his laptop. “It’s not necessary, Adam. You’ve gone above and beyond friendship.” She watched his face for signs of…what? “It’s enough to have Elsa help, which I love, by the way. You don’t have to do anything else, Adam, I mean it.” She kicked his leg to make him look at her. “It’s not your fault I fell. It could have happened somewhere else. I’ve been hurt before.”

“It’s what you do for friends,” he said.

“Don’t do it because you feel guilty. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all you’ve done for me since I’ve been hurt, coming by, helping me, feeding me, helping my brother at the restaurant. You don’t have to do any more,” she said.

“I needed to find a way to put Mr. Sanchez to work. He’s been having some dental work done for a while and I was in need of a way for him to repay me, to hold up his end of our agreement. It’s important to him. I only had the apartment. So you’re doing me a favor. And I’ve found that I like taking care of you. Not because I think you’re helpless and I’m some kind of white knight, but just as a friend, one I care for a great deal. No guilt anywhere in there. I promise,” he said, eyes clear and sincere.

“So you care for me a great deal?”

“Heard that part, did you?” He reached for her hand. He moved his laptop aside and pulled her into his lap, careful of her arm, and touched his lips to hers.

“Like in a very good friend type of way?” she asked.

He chuckled and kissed her again. “That’s one way to explain it,” he said, looking at her hair. “Is this your natural hair color?” he asked, running his hand over her head, looking to change the subject.

“Yes. I haven’t been able to change the color since the accident.”

“I miss the color.”

“No way,” she said, surprised. Here she’d been trying out normal for him, debating with herself the whole while. Which parts of herself were she willing to give up to have him permanently? The answer was foreign to the woman who hadn’t considered changing for anyone, who liked her crazy hair color. She was unsettled by the ease in which she was willing to trade some of herself so easily for him. Was that bad? Was her hair color that important? Weren’t you supposed to lose some of yourself to become a couple?

“Why is that surprising?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“I don’t know, thought you would have preferred my natural color. It doesn’t stand out so much. I don’t stand out so much.”

“It’s you. What’s wrong with standing out? I like the surprise of it, not knowing who’ll show up, the redhead or the blonde filled with aggression. I like aggression. When you were really energetic, it was the dark blue,” he said.

“Right,” she said, surprised. He’d noticed that her hair colors reflected her mood.

“You don’t believe me?”