Waking Up (11 page)

I almost call her kitchen-zilla, but the pleading look on her face stops me.  She really seems to be at peace in the kitchen.  I nod, stand against the counter, and wait for her to finish.  It smells so damn good in here I’m ready to eat the counter-tops.  Watching her is something.  She owns the space.  Outside of the kitchen she seems shy, insecure, but here… here she’s confident.

Sexy.

“You like turkey or ham?”

“Huh?” I ask.  Lost in thinking about her again, I didn’t realize she had finished the pie and is pulling sandwich fixings from the fridge.

“Turkey or ham,” she says with a smile.

“Yes please,” I grin back.  I’m starving and not about to hide it.  I’m not turning down any real food after the shit I’ve eaten all week.

Giggling at me again– my new favorite sound– she asks if I like provolone.  Lost in my thoughts of her laughter, I just nod.  Her giggles and smile have left me speechless.  I wonder if I could ever get tired of seeing her smile.  I don’t think I can and that thought scares the shit out of me.

“Can I get the drinks while you make those?”  I steel myself for her rejection.  Totally ready for her to shut me down again and kick me out of her kitchen.

“Sure.  The glasses are there.”  She points to a cabinet a few over from me.  “And the water is filtered, built right into the fridge.  I’ll have that.  You can have whatever you want.  Thanks, Tucker.”  The way she says my name has Tucker Junior wanting to come out and play.  Damn, I had gone a few minutes with him staying down.

Smiling like an idiot, I get two glasses down and head for the fridge.  I grab a quick glimpse of her as I walk by, allowing myself to enjoy her beauty for a second.  Still in shock that she let me help, I want to curse when I can’t find the water dispenser at first.  Not about to ask her for help, I keep looking and almost belt out a victorious scream and do a fist pump.  Somehow, I keep myself in check.

In my head, I do a victory dance.

Bringing the glasses to the table, I decide to put them in the same spots we sat in this morning.  Remembering our breakfast, though riddled with painful moments, I smile.  At that breakfast I realized how comfortable I felt with a complete stranger.  Throughout this whole day, I’ve been happier than I ever have before.  I’ve been at…
peace.
  Looking at the glasses, I think about moving them.  Sitting next to her, being closer to her, but I like to look at her.  Watch her smile and blush.

I head back to the kitchen to see if I can help with anything else, but I stop, struck by how much I enjoy her company, how beautiful I think she is.  I’m paralyzed by my thoughts of her and by the fact that it’s too soon to feel this way.  I’m feeling too much.  Staying here is a bad idea.  I have to tell her I’m leaving in the morning.

“You ready for lunch?”  Startling me from my thoughts, I come back to reality, to hazel eyes staring into mine, a tiny, perfectly shaped body standing in front of me holding our lunches, but what I really see is her lips.  Her lips are made to be kissed– just pouty enough to nibble on.  I want her in ways I’ve never wanted any other woman.  “Tucker, you ready for lunch?” she asks again.

“Oh yeah,” I croak out.  “I’m starving.”  That is no lie, but I feel like I need to cover up the fact that I was just mentally devouring her.  I can’t look at her, so I look down at my plate and freeze all over again.  Shit, this woman really is trying to kill me.  My sandwich is mammoth, filled with lunchmeats, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.  It has me drooling.  But, it’s the chips and the pickle spear that has gotten to me.  The fucking pickle spear.  This is how Grams made my plate growing up and she never forgot the pickle spear.

“Everything alright, Tucker?  If you don’t like what’s on your plate, you don’t have to eat it.  This is how I like mine.  I should have asked you first.”  Shit.  I hadn’t realized I was standing there staring at my plate.  Insecure Adriana is back.  I can see it in the slump of her shoulders, in the way her eyes are shifting not able to look at me.  I did this.  Over a stupid pickle spear.  Shit.

“No, I mean, yes, sweetness.  This is… perfect.”  Did I just call her sweetness?  I did and it suits her.  Her personality, her love of cooking and, well, maybe someday I’ll find out…  Pulling my thoughts back to comforting Adriana, I have to tell her what’s going on with me.  “My Grams used to make my plate just like this.  Guess I got lost in the memory.”  With that said, I start for the table.

“No way.  My mom always made my plate like this, too,” she said as she sat down.  “Adrian hates pickles so I always got two.  I didn’t mind because I love them.  Don’t know why mom didn’t just put two on my plate.  Think she thought that someday he would come around, but he never did.”

“Adrian?”

“Oh, sorry.  I told you I have a sister.  Her name is Kate.  We call her Katie.  Adrian is my brother– my twin brother.  I know, my parents aren’t very creative, Adrian and Adriana.”  It looks to me like she’s trying to sound irritated by their names, but all I see is love all over her face.

“You’re close.”  I meant it as a question, but it came out as a statement.  It‘s obvious by the look on her face how she feels about her siblings.

“Yeah, we’re all close.  A is a complete pain in my ass, but I think that’s why I love him so much.  He’s funny and talented and I think someday some lady is going to be really lucky.  When he finally grows up a little.” She chuckles at the thought.  “And Katie is beautiful and crazy.  Fun crazy, not crazy, crazy.  She may never settle down.  She makes my mom nuts.  She wants things for herself and won’t let anyone stand in her way.  I admire her for that.  She’s fierce and fearless.”  Her eyes are shining with pride talking about them.  It makes my heart ache that all I have is Grams.  I wish she had someone other than me to talk about like this.  I didn’t make her life easy.

“I take it you’re the youngest?”  I don’t know why I got this impression, but I did.

“Only by six minutes,” she pouts and it’s the most adorable pout.  It takes everything in me not to suck that lip into my mouth and claim it as mine.

“What do your siblings do?”  I find I’m completely curious about everything to do with her.  Anything that will give me insight into what made her the person she is today.  Finding out about them may help.

“Katie is a personal shopper right now, but her goal is to become a designer.  She’s brilliant and her designs are gorgeous.  And before you ask, the reason she doesn’t work for a designer is because she refuses to let someone steal her work and pawn it off as their own.”  I laugh, liking her sister already.  “A, he restores old cars.  You know, finds them, refinishes them, and sells them.  He’s brilliant, too.”  She hasn’t stopped beaming since she started talking about them and I’ve had to readjust too many times to be comfortable with.

“You’re a photographer.  Your mom is a pastry chef.  Sounds like a pretty brilliant family.  What does your dad do?”  I know I’ve asked the wrong question when her smile slips.

I’m expecting lost, vacant Adriana to be here for a while, but as soon as her smile slips, it’s replaced by one I haven’t seen yet and I can’t describe this one.  It’s full of nostalgia.  Full of memories.  There’s pain in her eyes, but I can see happiness there, too.  With glistening, smiling eyes she says, “My dad was a firefighter.”  Right there I know where this story is going and I wish I could stop her.  I want to stop her at the word
was
.  “He died three years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.  I tried saying it louder, but am having a hard time breathing let alone getting words out.

“Don’t be, Tucker.  My dad is a hero.  He always was.  He was a great man.  A great dad.  A great husband.  I can’t say it didn’t hurt to lose him, but when I think about it, I think about the little kids that will live a full life because of him.  He pulled three kids out of that house, Tucker.  Three kids.  Ranging from four months to seven years old.  He’s a hero.”  The tears never fall down her face.  If they had, I would have gone to her.  Part of me wishes they had and part of me is grateful they didn’t.  This woman has me tied up in knots.

I can see she has come to peace about her dad’s death.  I wish I could come to peace with my father.  Hearing her talk about her dad makes me realize how awful my father was.  He isn’t a great man.  He was a coward.  He still is.  Mikos Stavros is a lousy bastard who left his grieving eight year old son to fend for himself.  Who does that?

“How about you, Tucker?  Do you have any siblings?”

“Uh, no.  I’m an only child,” I say sadly.  I always wanted a brother or sister.  Someone to play with.  To hang out with.  To understand me.  So, maybe I wouldn’t feel so lonely, so miserable.  But, in the long run, it’s better this way.  No child should know the pain of losing their mom and then find out their father doesn’t love them.

“And, what about your parents?  They must be so proud of you.  What do they do?”  Feeling my skin get clammy and the food turning in my stomach, I can’t look at her.  It takes a few seconds to catch my breath.  Typically I avoid questions about my family, but something about her has me wanting to tell the truth.

Never taking my eyes off my plate, I say, “My mom died when I was eight, breast cancer.”  I hear her intake of breath.  I still don’t look up.  Before she says anything, I start again.  “My father pretty much wanted nothing to do with me after that so he dumped me off with my Grams and Gramps.  He floated in and out till I was thirteen for a day or so, but then he disappeared for good.  My Gramps passed when I was fifteen from a heart attack.  It’s been just Grams and me since.”  I can’t look up.  Not wanting to see pity in her beautiful hazel eyes.  I only want to see her smiling.  Not looking at me the way people have for years.  As an orphan.  As a Goddamn orphan– so awful his own father couldn’t love him.

When tiny arms wrap around my neck, I jump. Startled so much by the contact I wasn’t expecting, I almost fall out of my seat.  I never heard her get out of her chair or walk over to me.  She’s not squeezing me, just a light hug of comfort.  “I’m so sorry for your loss, Tucker.  You were just a kid.”  That’s all she says and she walks back to her seat.  When I look up, she’s eating her lunch like nothing happened.  No pity in her eyes.  WTF?  Am I on Candid Camera?  She can’t be real.  I need a topic change.  Enough talk about me.

“So, do twins run in your family?”

“Yeah, every generation on my mom’s side.  Adrian and I broke the mold, though.”  I’m confused and she must be able to tell.  “The twins for more generations than I can count have always been girls.  A and me are the first ones to not be two girls.”  Although she’s answering the question, the vacant look I’ve already come to despise has come across her face.  She is somewhere else in her head.  Looking in her eyes, she seems so lost… so
broken.
 

Watching her come back to life, I think another change of topic is in order and this one should be safe.  “I love your house.  As I was driving through the neighborhood I was thinking in another life these are the kinds of houses I would like to live in.”  I leave out that I was taking pictures of them.  Don’t want her to think I’m a creeper.  “Maybe you could give me the name of the designer and builder before I leave?  They might be interested in traveling my way sometime.”

I’m smiling thinking how smooth I am complimenting her house and possibly getting one built for myself until I see her glistening eyes and all the color drain from her face.  Eyes blinking rapidly, she’s doing all she can to not cry.  The fuck did I say now?

“Uh, it’s impossible to… to give you the arch… architect’s name, but you’ll meet the builder tonight,” she says with a shaky voice

“Impossible?”  Why did I just ask that?  What is wrong with me?  I can see how upset she is.
Jesus, Tucker.  This is when you let things go.
 

“Yeah… umm… you see… he was… the architect… was my husband.”

Oh, shit.

“I’m so sorry, Adriana.  I had no idea.  I’m really sorry I brought it up.”  I feel like a total asshole and I can hear that I’m blurting the words out at lightning speed.  I just want to say them as fast as I can.  I want her to hear that I’m sorry.

I don’t know if it’s the look of horror on my face, my bungling of the words, or how fast I’m saying them, but she seems to calm down instantly and looks right at me.  Her stare pins me in place.  “It’s okay.  You would have no way of knowing.  But, you’re right to admire the houses.  They’re beautiful,” she says with a sad smile that has my heart tearing for her pain.  “Alex was a visionary.  The way he could envision homes and buildings, other people just couldn’t do that.  I wasn’t surprised that he had a list of people waiting to work with him.  He created beauty wherever he went.”  That sad smile stays on her face while she sits there lost in her little world that I can’t enter.

I can’t watch her like that this time.  “You said I’d meet the builder tonight?”

“Yeah.  Preston is one of the guys who will be here tonight.”  A beaming smile crosses her face at the mention of this man and a feeling I’m not accustomed to fills me. Jealousy
.
  She mentioned earlier that Preston normally helps her with the smoker and now she smiles at his name.  Wonder what the story is between them?

“What made you decide on photography?”  I need a distraction from
Preston.
  What kind of name is that anyway?  Kind of like Epping.  Blah.

“My parents gave me a cheap, little camera for my tenth birthday.  I don’t know why they did that, but I started taking pictures of everything.  I was hooked.  Never stopped loving it.  And here I am, still loving it today.”  

I love watching how she lights up when she talks about the things she loves, like her family and photography.  Not just because her hands make her so animated, but because her eyes tell the story.  They bring me to wherever she was.  Good or bad, I’m there and feel it with her.

“Well, college must have taught you a lot, too.  I’m guessing you put a good amount of thought into where to go for a good photography program.”

Again, I asked the wrong question.  Vacant Adriana is back.  Waiting for her to work through the demons in her head I wonder if she even realizes that she gets lost.  Watching her eyes clear, I wait for her to speak.  “College was an easy choice.  I was going to go wherever Alex and Preston went.”  So, she knew them both for a long time.  “We applied to all the same schools and got accepted to most of the same ones.  For reasons that aren’t mine to tell, we had to stay local.  So, UNH it was.  I’ll be forever grateful for college.  It changed everything for me.”  Looking at me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, she asks, “Are you done with your lunch?  I need to get to work on the other desserts.”