Unplugged II: Unplugged, #2

by Sigal Ehrlich

  Engrossed and somewhat amused, I look up the #TylerLeeAdamsSocks hashtag. A giggle escapes my mouth just before I cover it with my hand. The brief amusement is a product of the many retweets of a photo Tyler apparently posted a couple of days after Christmas. The image shows Tyler’s legs clad in worn jeans stretched before him next to a fireplace with my Christmas gift, the socks I made him as the focal point of the photo. My lips stretch even wider to his caption and fall open when I read the full tweet. I’m left stunned.

  @TylerLeeAdams: Best. Christmas. Gift. Ever.

  The next image is of a woman, also posted by Tyler, the woman’s hair covers her face, revealing only her serine smile. My heart pauses and right after, melts.

  @TylerLeeAdams: This, and her smile.

  It’s a candid photo of me, I’m unrecognizable, but that sedated, dreamy smile, definitely belongs to me. And it brings me back to lying next to the fire, next to Tyler, on one of the most memorable nights of my life.

  “I’ll hold you in my heart until I can hold you in my arms.”

  -Peter Pen. A quote from a favorite childhood book Ivi started rereading last night.

  “Hey.” His voice alone makes my body come alive. It baffles me each time anew, how powerful his effect is on me. Like I’m under a constant spell. In a dreamy, euphoric Tyler-enchantment.

  “Tere.” Hi, I say in Estonian. To be precise, I purr it like a little kitten. God, I got it so ridiculously bad.

  “Tere, Kiisu.” Tyler’s voice is low and flirtatious.

  “So, what do you — ” Him.

  “Tell me everything about — ” Me.

  Our questions collide and morph into low, goofy chuckles.

  “You go first,” Tyler says, ever the gentleman, which he insists he’s not.

  “How’s Jeremy handling being,” I laugh dryly. “Outed.”

  Tyler chuckles briefly. “I think he kind of enjoys the attention. Though I managed to control it in a way. Eli gave a bland statement to appease the tabloids. Something to prevent them from starting to dig further.” As an afterthought, he adds in a pleased tone, “Fans been pretty cool about it.” A muffled sound of rustling sheets reaches me when he pauses. My mind, as a reflex, conjures an image of Tyler in bed, prompting a heated flutter beneath my navel. His next words come out dripping sarcasm. “Comes with the job; people expect me to produce the occasional scandal, or sensation. Guess no one’s really shocked.”

  “And finally, you throw them a crumb!” I declare and add, “If we’re being honest here, I must say that your feigned choir boy act of late has been sort of boring.” I tease, my chuckle soft. “Imagine the headlines if they ever found out that their idol has been slumming, shnoodling the hired help!”

  “Shnoodling.” Tyler murmurs through a snort. “Fuck, you think someone would spill the beans about Adina and I . . . shnoodling?”

  “Ha, ha,” I say drily while grinning to myself.

  Tyler goes on and recounts the highlights of Jeremy becoming “public knowledge.” I laugh fondly when he spices it up with some of Jeremy’s trademark gems. My favorite is the one where the boy read somewhere how celebrity parents impact baby name statistics and he can’t wait for a new generation of Jeremys to arrive in the world.

  “So?” Tyler says fifteen minutes into our call.

  “So?” I echo.

  His voice reaches me with an amused lilt. “There were people who got personally offended, some loved it, and more than a few even mourned the loss of my hair.”

  I snort in amusement. Oh, Tyler’s almighty locks.

  “And yet, you haven’t reacted to it,” he continues.

  “Oh, you cut your hair? I knew there was something different about you, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  A breathy chuckle comes from the other line.

  I bite on my lip. “I think you look very sexy with your buzz cut Mr. Adams.” I can’t wait to run my fingers over it. Can’t wait to see it up close. To feel it against my skin.

  “Glad you approve, Miss Kert.”

  Then Tyler goes on and explains how the sensational haircut came to be. That Jeremy’s school had a fundraiser event to raise awareness for children’s cancer research, where both Jeremy and Tyler got their hair shaved. A gesture that raised a hefty sum. With an affectionate tone, Tyler adds, “Like a champ, Jeremy stepped up and got his own head shaved.” Pride and genuine adoration fills me as I imagine them both going through the noble deed.

  “I’m sorry Tyler, but I think your son is the real rock star.”

  “Nothing to apologize for, Kiisu. Couldn’t agree more.”

  The sun is set low in the sky as we make it back to camp. I claim a moment to take in the glorious vision in front of me, telling my friends that I’ll catch up with them shortly. I take a deep breath and drink in the breathtaking mountains now shining with soft pink-gold, caressed by the late-noon sun. The chilled air enhanced by freshness of open lands and greens fills my lungs. The scenery in this untamed part of the world is like none other, yet what lies beneath it is so devastating and wounded. I turn around to look at the village. The hard work we’ve put in thus far is noticeable, but there’s still so much to do. We can fix the living conditions. The material things are simpler to restore. What we can’t fix are the bruised human lives scathed by misfortune and injustice.

  Holding on to the thought of our accomplishments so far and of what is waiting for me after this mission trip, I collect my thoughts and go join my team for a status update now taking place in Big Mom’s living room.

  I listen to Mike talk about progress and deadlines, nodding, making my best effort not to let the bitter-sweet feeling larking in the back of my mind to distract me. Mike explains that the initial workload assumption was wrong which caused for the delay with completing our work on the school we’re rebuilding. “A delay of thirty days, give or take a few,” Mike concludes, nodding at one of the older ladies.

  I purse my lips. I really wanted to be here when the school reopened. To be here and finally feel like I’ve done something to help, done something to alleviate, at least a small bit, the suffering. Be here when the kids come into a new place with the new toys and equipment people donated. I wanted to be here just for a glimpse of their faces when they get to see everything that we’re preparing for them.

  Well, that won’t happen. I can’t afford coming back so soon. I need to save some money first. Another thought that starts an entirely different tailspin in my mind. What the heavens am I going to do when I’m back in the states besides canoodling with my. . . with Tyler?

  “You want to make God laugh, tell him your plan.”

  A quote by Woody Allen Ivi read (and snorted sarcastically over) just before boarding her flight..

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return to your seats and keep your seatbelts fastened. Thank you.” When the inflight announcement ends with a static purr, I check my seatbelt and gaze out the round window. Knowing full-well that the best way to pass the long hours that follow is by sleeping, I still can’t seem to relax and let the plane’s hum lull me to sleep. It’s rather incredible how a few hours and a couple of miles above the clouds can disconnect you from one reality and sends you off to a completely different one.

  Just a few hours ago, I hugged my friends goodbye with promises to keep in touch and a hope to meet again someday. Departing from most of the team was easier than the intimate, emotional goodbye from Renata, Pedro, and not to mention, Raj.

  Pedro is going back to Brazil in a week. Renata decided to stay for another month. Just like me, she wanted to be there when the school reopens. Only she’ll get to do that and I won’t. As Pedro put it, “One call to daddy and she gets to stay.”

  Leaving Raj was a different story, though. Familiar with his living conditions and what he faces daily, the crack in my heart with his name on it splits a little wider. All these people I get to meet on my mission
trips are like threads twirling around a spool that’s located inside of me, little by little cushioning, enriching me with their life stories, personalities and uniqueness. Making the spool bigger and tighter, fuller with unique experiences I get to live and special people I’m lucky enough to meet. Forever they’ll have a special place in me, all of them.

  “Miss, what would you like to drink?” The flight attendant stands by my row with a kind smile, one hand loose on the trolley.

  “Tomato juice, please.” I order the one drink people order only on flights.

  “Anything else?” She serves me the drink with a little napkin.

  “I’m good. Thank you.”

  Bringing the drink to my lips, I watch in complete horror as the glass shakes in my hand and a splash of liquid tomato sloshes back out, tainting my white cotton shirt and the triangle between my thighs in puréed red. Of course it would happen with tomato juice! It’s not enough that normal people like myself usually look like they’ve emerged from the eye of a hurricane after a transatlantic flight. Now I get to meet the man of my dreams looking like I’ve been shot in the stomach and . . . a bit lower.

  Getting back from the toilet with the stains somewhat faded yet still noticeable, I plop into the seat with an annoyed sigh. The thought of seeing Tyler in a few long hours not in an entirely pristine condition, to say the least, quickly snowballs into bigger concerns. I’m heading to L.A. again. This time around I have no real purpose or plan. I’m about to put my life on hold just to be with someone. Little by little, I’m freaking myself out. What am I doing? It feels like my rationale and sensibility barometer is out of whack, making me giddy. I’m venturing back to be with Tyler with no other direction whatsoever. No grand plan. No clue as to what’s next.

  No, really? What. Am. I. Doing?

  I take a deep breath and put thoughts of consequences and repercussions in a provisional “fudge that” pile, plunge my earbuds in, close my eyes, and let this red-eye flight take me to my next destination. Take me to Tyler.

  After a quick stop at the toilets where I try, once more, to rid my clothes of the pinkish smudges, I make my way to baggage claim. I’m starting to think that maybe the universe is trying to send me a message as I gape at the abandoned conveyer belt, lamely rotating a single torn bag tag.

  By the time I’m done filling out forms and going over the missing baggage procedure with the brisk agent, my exasperation reaches new heights. I apologize for snapping at the now scowling agent, take my documents and head toward the arrivals hall. The thought of seeing Tyler soon both soothes me, like I’m coming back home, and adds a new kind of anxiety, only this one involves an urge to rush to the closest bathroom and vomit. Taking a few more steps, I look for Victor, Tyler’s driver. I burst out into laughter when I spot him. My tension dissipates at once. Standing tall, a head above everyone around, with a fitted black suit and his perpetual frown, Victor holds up a whiteboard boasting “KIISU” in bold black marker.

  He nods when he sees me, advancing my way. “Welcome back, Miss Kert.” He scans me solemnly. His brows pinch. “No luggage?”

  “It got lost,” I say on a sigh, feeling a bit out of place, having a private driver pick me up. . . especially looking like I do. Next to him, in his crisp suit and impeccably ironed dress shirt, I look like a runaway teen. “Tore, just tore,” I mumble to myself. That’s how I’m going to meet Tyler soon.

  “They are running late. They haven’t left New York yet.” As we make our way to the car, Victor informs me that Tyler is not waiting for me in the car, or at home, like I hoped he would.

  My gloomy spirit drops a little lower. Victor opens the back door for me, waiting as I get in.

  When he settles in the driver’s seat and cranks the car, I clear my throat and ask, “Victor, would you mind dropping me off somewhere else?”

  Looking a tad uncomfortable with my request, he says, “Mr. Adams said to take you — ”

  “It’s okay, I’ll talk to Tyler when he’s back.” Not allowing him any space for debate, I give him the new address.

  “Hey . . . what a surprise! Come here, you.”

  Jay’s arms around me are like salve to my weariness.

  “Didn’t think I’d get to see you so soon, thought Ty wouldn’t let you out of sight,” he murmurs as though to himself.

  I burrow under his embrace for some long soothing moments before letting the poor guy I just dropped on unannounced, go.

  “You look like an adorable train wreck.” He gives me an elated grin.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I murmur and add, “I feel like I’ve just been through one.”

  “Want to freshen up?” he suggests. Giving me another look, he says. “Grab a shower?”

  “Please. That would be wonderful.”

  He points to the hall. “Last room on the left.”

  Taking a couple of steps, I turn back to face him. “Um, do you have anything I can borrow, my clothes are a total mess.”

  He gives me another look and nods. “Sure.” Less than a minute later, Jay offers me a bundle of folded clothes and a towel. “Here, make yourself un-stinky!”

  “I swear, you’re like my private fairy godmother,” I tell Jay, cradling the mug with herbal tea he made me while I was in the shower.

  “I’d feel more comfortable with a less feminine label, thank you very much,” he counters.

  “My savior,” I say in a ridiculously low, masculine tone.

  Jay chuckles briefly. “You sound like you might be suffering from constipation.”

  That earns a throw pillow in the face.

  Grinning, Jay plops next to me on the sofa and extends his legs on the coffee table. His grin turns mischievous as he turns to face me. “So, you’re back.”

  “That I am.” I set the teacup beside me and burrow my palms inside the long sleeves of Jay’s borrowed hoodie.

  He keeps his dancing eyes on me. “Lookie, Lookie, little miss Kert is about to play house with the Tyler Lee Adams.”

  “Playing house.” My murmur comes out in perfect harmony to my eye roll.

  Jay’s grin doesn’t waver. “What else should I call it?” Jay brings his pointer finger forward. “Living together, check.” He touches his other pointer finger to the one he has outstretched. “Coupling. Check.” Another confirming finger gesture follows. “A kid. Check.”

  “Okay. Ha ha. Not funny.” I point up my finger. “Living together, not sure. Check.” I tap my other finger to my pointed one. “Kid’s not mine. Check. Got my point?” I frown at him amicably.

  Disregarding my little play of defiance, Jay brows wrinkle. “What do you mean by living together, not sure. Ty knows about this? Because as far as I understood, you moving back in was a given.”

  I lightly shake my head. “I don’t know.” I gaze ahead. “It’s not like I’ll be working for Tyler now. I need to — ” I huff. “I don’t know what I need.” I sigh. “Find my own place, find a job, settle in, you know . . .” It’s more of a question rather than an answer. Questions I’ve began asking myself ever since I insisted I purchase my own ticket back to the states. A long and almost futile battle. “I guess this is something I need to figure out by myself.”

  Our conversation gradually moves on to less stressing topics: Jay’s work, someone he had two and a half dates with, my trip to Nepal, Max’s latest antics and a new Thai food place Jay insists we should visit together. When my eyes become heavy, Jay encourages me to stay awake, fight the jetlag. Albeit, as the minutes tick by there’s only so much I can do to stay awake. Powerful fatigue takes over and in no time, I snuggle against the armrest and cease fighting it.

  “What do you mean?” A low voice tainted by exasperation penetrates my deep slumber.

  “Hey, don’t look at me.” I blink my eyes open to Jay spreading his arms sideways, transmitting: “not my fault.”

  Blinking away sleep, my eyes hone in at the scene before me where Jay is shrugging to a solemn Tyler. Tyler! Seeing Tyler a few feet away has my hea
rt skip a beat or seven. Thirty days of longing. Thirty days of wanting him so bad, and he’s here, right in front of me. I inch up, clearing my voice, “Tyler?”

  Feels like my voice has the same effect on him as his presence has on me. As though shaken out of a dream he turns to me, his expression a mixture of sweet surprise and excitement. With eyes caressing the sight of me, Tyler closes the distance between us.

  I watch him raptly, drinking in every bit of his handsome self, from his new shorn head to the charcoal blazer over white t-shirt, to his destressed jeans, down to the army boots on his feet while my heart slams wildly against my ribcage.

  Reaching me, he crouches to level our stares. The most tender smile dons his bristle coated lips just before he leans in to softly kiss my lips. “Tere, Kiisu.”

  A happy, timid smile stretches my lips. “Tere, Tyler.”

  Still looking at me like I’m the most precious thing in the universe, Tyler sends his palm to cup my cheek. “God, I missed you,” he says and surprises me as he pulls me into a tight hug.

  “So, I guess I’m not needed here anymore,” Jay says over a teasing grin.

  Easing back from our embrace, I rise to stand. “Thank you for everything.” I send Jay a thankful smile. My eyes meet the window that reveals a pitch dark night. “What time is it?”

  “After two,” they answer in stereo.

  Here’s to fighting the jet leg. I’ve slept for a good two hours.

  “What are you wearing?” Tyler’s voice calls for my attention. His brows bunch, eyes scanning me. I return his quizzical gaze. “I was a total mess after the flight and Jay was kind enough to lend me his shower and some clothes.”

  It’s my turn to give Tyler a perplexed look, what with the frown furrowing his features and the little muscle working under his jaw.

  Taking my hand in his, Tyler turns to Jay, “We’d better be going.” I jerk my head back in surprise to his weird change of air.