Waking Up (12 page)

I dip my head in a yes gesture, unable to find words.  All of mine seem to be wrong anyway and I can tell she’s done talking for now, using the desserts as an excuse.   My attempt to make her day fun by getting to know her was an epic fail.  All I had done was upset her and remind her that she’s still in mourning.

Not taking no for an answer, I clean up the lunch dishes so she can get back to work.  Not like there’s much to clean.  A couple plates and knives to load in the dishwasher.  Even an ass like me can handle that.  I can tell she’s still upset.  Hearing her slam measuring cups on the counter-tops and stop to take calming breaths, I want to wrap her in my arms.  I want to apologize for hurting her.  But, then I look at her left hand and see that she’s still wearing her wedding ring.

Pain shoots straight to my heart.  
What are you doing, Tucker?  You’re fawning over this woman and all she wants is that man in the pictures.  Alex.  She said his name is Alex.  She wants him.  Leave in the morning.
 

Sighing, I head into the living room and plop onto the couch.  I would offer to help with the desserts, but I know kitchen-zilla won’t let me and right now I can’t take her rejection.  I need to be away from her.  I need to not want her.  Closing my eyes, trying to block out the visions of her, the exhaustion of the week takes over.

                         ********************

What is it with this man and wanting to help in my kitchen?  Now he wants to make lunch.  Does he not understand how being a guest works?  I’m already behind schedule.  
Breathe, Adriana.  You do need to eat.  Just tell him you’ll make lunch.
 

I explain to him he’s a guest as calmly as I can.  I know I’m a little uptight when it comes to my kitchen, but this is my space and I like it just so.

Why does he look like the cat who ate the canary?  What’s he so amused about?  Suddenly irritated, I make quick work of the pie and pull out all my favorite sandwich fixings.  Not sure of his preferences, I try asking him if he likes turkey or ham, but he’s somewhere in la-la land and gives me a dopey, “Huh?” which cuts through my irritation and I have to admit is so damn cute.

When he offers to get the drinks, my first instinct is hell no, but I realize there’s no real harm in it.  I need to loosen up.  Telling him where things are, I glimpse his firm backside while he gets the glasses.  Well, I assume it’s firm with how well it fills out his jeans.  I want to touch it, grab it, and find out for myself.  I had been doing good, not ogling him, but that butt cannot be ignored.  Who am I kidding?  Nothing about this man can be ignored.  Everything about him screams Stare.  At.  Me.  I’m.  Eye.  Candy.

I can tell he doesn’t know where the water dispenser is, but he’s not asking so I don’t offer my help. Male pride and all.  I learned from Alex a long time ago not to step in if men don’t ask.  It’s like chopping off their dick he told me.  I didn’t get it, but he said men don’t want to be saved.  They’re supposed to do the saving.  Hence the saying, damsel in distress.  I’m struck with the realization that, again, being with Tucker has made me think of Alex and I haven’t fallen to my knees in a tear filled, anxiety riddled puddle.  What is this man doing to me?

Turning with the plates in my hands, I almost drop them.  Tucker is standing at the opening between the kitchen and dining room not moving, like a beautiful statue.  The smile on his face is breathtaking.  Both dimples are in full force.  His blue eyes are intense, so blue, it’s like seeing a clear sky on a summer’s day.  They are such a contrast to his black hair and olive skin.  I’m afraid I’ll drop the plates my hands are shaking so badly.  I’ve never seen a man this gorgeous before.

Quickly, I send a silent apology to Alex for that thought.  Alex was handsome.  There was never a question about that.  But, Tucker… Tucker has taken handsome to the extreme.  Alex was the boy next door, every cheerleader wanted him handsome.  Tucker is the smile and every woman gets wet.

Clearing my wayward thoughts, I take a few more steps his way.  He doesn’t seem to know I’m here.   I startle him by asking if he’s ready for lunch.  His expression tells me he was somewhere else.    It’s taking him a minute to come back.  As he does, a different expression crosses his face.  He keeps staring at my mouth and I’ll be damned if wetness doesn’t start pooling in a place I thought had forgotten how to work.  

He tells me he’s starving and takes his plate.  I start toward the table, but notice he’s not moving.  He’s just staring at his plate.  Oh crap.  I didn’t ask him if he likes pickles or chips.  I should have asked if he likes mustard or vegetables on his sandwich.  I just made it my way because Alex liked it that way, too.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Quickly sputtering, one hand moving faster than my mouth, I tell him he doesn’t have to eat the food if he doesn’t like it.  He doesn’t even seem to notice me tripping all over myself.  Thank goodness for that.  I’m mortified that I just assumed how he liked his food.  Ready to go take his plate from him and throw the food in the trash, he comes out of his fog.

“No, I mean, yes, sweetness.  This is… perfect,” he says with a catch in his voice.  Did he just call me sweetness?  I think I might faint.  He tells me his Grams used to make his plate like this.  I understand now why he was lost, staring at the plate.  I wonder if he said that in an interview and thinks I lied about reading that tabloid crap.

I blurt out about my mom making my plate this way too and always getting two pickles because Adrian hated them which led to telling him I have a twin brother.  I always blurt things out when I get nervous. Call it verbal virus of the mouth.  Of course, telling him about having a twin led to me telling him more about Adrian and talking about Katie.  I love those two.  I love how funny A is and how fearless Katie is.  I know I pout when I admit I’m the youngest by six minutes, but it’s been an ongoing joke in my family forever.

I thought it would be hard when Tucker asked about my dad, but it wasn’t.  My dad was an amazing man.  I still miss him every day.  When I see my hazel eyes in the mirror every morning it’s a reminder of him.  Telling Tucker about his death was... I don’t know?
Freeing.
  I wish I could be that way about Alex.  I don’t know why I can handle my dad’s death better than Alex’s.  Maybe because my dad’s been gone twice as long.  Maybe because he was a firefighter and we always knew there was a chance he wouldn’t come home one day.  Maybe because I watched Alex die in front of me.  Or maybe it’s because of the secret that’s been slowly killing me every day since Alex died.  I don’t know why, but every day I feel a little more dead inside.

Not a conversation I feel like having with a guy I just met this morning, I ask if he has any siblings.  He says no, but a sadness takes over his face. A longing.  I ask about his parents, comment how they must be proud of him.  I know I’ve made a major blunder by the look of agony he gives me before looking down at his plate.  My lunch starts to sour in my stomach when he won’t pick his head up and look back at me.  I’m not sure what horrors he faced as a kid or what hardships, but I know by the hanging of his head that Tucker Stavros did not have an easy life.

By the way he’s glaring at his plate, I know he’s avoiding facing me.  Then, he tells me his mother died of breast cancer when he was eight and my heart breaks for him.  He was so young to be without his mom.  I think of my mom and the wonderful relationship we have.  I’m not prepared for him to tell me that his father basically walked out on him right after, dropping him off on his grandparents’ doorstep.  What kind of son of a bitch does something like that?  The anger that bubbles to the surface is threatening to explode out of me.  I’m breathing heavy, trying very hard to focus on what he’s saying because he’s not done talking.

Still fixated on his plate, he tells me his father stopped coming around for good when he was thirteen and that his Gramps passed away when he was fifteen.  I think there are gouges in the underside of my table, I’m squeezing so hard, keeping myself from screaming out that his father is a useless piece of shit.  But, then I look at Tucker.  Tucker, who on TV, on the big screen, is larger than life. But, before me is a man who just told me how horrible his life really was.  He isn’t the movie star.  He isn’t the TV actor.

He’s a
broken
man
.
 

Pushing my chair out, I walk over to him and do something that surprises even me.  I wrap my arms around his neck.  After Alex died, I swore off all physical contact.  Between losing him and the secret haunting me, I couldn’t take being touched and I didn’t want to touch anyone.  Having Tucker come here today is changing something in me.

Tucker jumps at the contact, almost falling out of his chair.  I hold on to him, not too tightly, just enough to offer comfort.  “I’m so sorry, Tucker.  You were just a kid.”  I don’t know what else to say so I let go and walk back to my seat.  With my stomach still doing flip flops, I start eating.  I want him to feel okay with what we talked about.

When he slowly raises his head, I’m happy that he isn’t looking at his plate anymore.  He looks confused which I’ll take over the utter devastation that was on his face only moments ago.  Smiling at him, I take another bite of my sandwich.  We continue to eat for a few minutes in silence.

I’m not prepared when he asks if twins run in my family.  I’m still processing everything he told me.  My parents had always told us famous people were just like regular people.  They lived and loved like regular people.  They hurt like regular people.  I got to see that first hand today.

Explaining to Tucker how twins go many generations back, but that me and Adrian were the first ones not to be two girls brings my secret slamming to the front of my brain.  A familiar pain hammers my stomach and my soul feels like it’s being ripped from my body.  The shame and guilt I’ve been carrying from this secret is killing me little by little every day.  The pain, it follows me everywhere I go.  It’s in everything I see.  Nothing makes it stop.  And no one…
no one
except mom knows the truth.  How I wish she didn’t know.  I don’t know how she can even look at me–
love
me.  Has to be a mom thing.  The others can never know.  They’ll never see me the same way.  They’ll never forgive me.  They won’t be able to
love
me anymore.

Oh, shit.  I did it again.  He’ll never stay here if I keep looking like a nut case who can’t have a simple conversation.  Peering at him, I see he’s looking at me with a cautious look on his face.  Shit, shit, shit, and double shit.  Then, he smiles at me and I think it’s going to be good.

I was wrong.

He starts telling me he loves the house and the neighborhood.  He makes a comment about how in another life these are the kinds of houses he would like to live in.  It warms my heart.  I wish Alex were here to hear this.  A movie star wanting to live in one of his houses.  Doesn’t surprise me one bit.  I always said Alex was going to bring beauty to the world, one neighborhood at a time.  He just didn’t get to live long enough to make that happen.

Then, Tucker drops my heart into my feet by asking me to give him the designer and builders name before he leaves.  My eyes instantly water.  I blink them as fast I can to keep the tears from spilling over.  I could so easily give him Preston’s name, but I’m tired of not being able to talk about Alex.  I’m tired of being paralyzed.  Alex and I both deserve better than this.

Somehow I squeak out that it’s impossible for me to give him the architect’s information, but he’ll meet the builder tonight.  I can see the confusion on his face when he asks why it’s impossible.  I must look a mess because instant regret crosses his face after asking.  I don’t handle Alex talk well.  Whenever his name comes up it feels like losing him all over again.

Today is his birthday.

Today would have been his birthday.

God damn it, he’s still looking at me.  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea inviting him to stay here.

Too late.

“Yeah… umm… you see… he was… the architect… was…”  
Oh for Christ sake, Adriana, just spit it out,
  “my husband.”  Like a thousand pounds had been lifted off my chest, I can breathe again.  I got through a sentence about Alex without going into a full blown panic attack.  I didn’t run away or pass out.  Wow.  Holy shit.  I can do this.

Tucker is busy, talking a mile a minute, apologizing while I’m realizing I’m alright.  Smiling at him, probably not my best, but what I can muster at the moment, I tell him it’s okay.  He had no way of knowing.  I’m glad he admires the houses.  They’re beautiful and I tell him so.

I surprise myself by talking about how he created beauty wherever he went.  It feels right to say it and makes my heart feel warm.  Makes it feel lighter.  It has felt so heavy since he’s been gone.  For a small moment, I’m able to remember Alex without crippling pain and it’s beautiful.

I want to laugh at the hesitancy Tucker shows asking about the builder, but it’s my fault he’s acting that way.  Poor guy only met me a couple hours earlier and he’s seen me come close to losing my shit a few times.  I’m shocked he’s still here.  He must really be sick of fast food.

I don’t have to fake my happiness or smile when I tell him he’ll meet the builder tonight.  I’m nervous about Tucker meeting Preston and want to show off Preston at the same time.  He’s my best friend.  Has been since I was six.  Him and Alex.  I’m just worried what he’ll think of me letting Tucker stay here.  Will he think I’m disrespecting Alex?   A look I can’t explain crosses Tucker’s face, but it’s gone quickly and he asks me why I decided on photography.

I chuckle thinking of the cheap camera my parents got me as a kid.  I loved that thing and took it with me everywhere.  I even slept with it, but I don’t tell him that.  He’ll think I was a freak.  Probably compare me to the paparazzi he deals with.  I am obsessive at times, but I was ten when I slept with my camera.  I’ve outgrown that habit.  I haven’t outgrown my love of photography.  

When he asks about going off to college I expect to freak out, but it only takes me a few seconds to breathe through it.  It was really easy to tell him that I knew I would go wherever Alex and Preston went.  I know he doesn’t get that, but I really need to start getting the other desserts made and time is ticking.