A Little Like Love (Robin and Tyler)

by Cheyanne Young

  The doorbell rings and startles everyone with how loud it is. Tyler must have installed a doorbell loud enough to wake up an entire mansion, not just a small two bedroom apartment.

  “Who is that?” Miranda asks, stepping backwards into the kitchen as if she’s looking for a place to hide.

  Marcus pulls open the door. “It’s pizza!”

  “I ordered it,” I explain. “We were all hungry so…” But when I look back at Miranda, she’s not watching me. She’s sitting on the bay window with my cell phone in her hand. The screen is still lit up and displays my recent call list. “You called my mother?” she asks. Her face distorts in pain and betrayal. “How could you do that?”

  “Hey,” I say, taking the phone from her. “I just wanted her to know you were safe.”

  “You said you wouldn’t call her!”

  “I’m sorry, but I had to.”

  The front door closes and Marcus walks in carrying two pizzas and a two liter of soda. He’s temporarily unaware of what’s going on, but that doesn’t last long. “I trusted you!” Miranda snaps. “I trusted you with everything and you lied to me.”

  “Miranda, stop. I didn’t do anything to hurt you. I just told her that you were safe with me. She doesn’t even know where we are.”

  “Where did you say we were?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t say anything. She didn’t ask.”

  This stops Miranda’s tirade. She looks to Marcus who stands there gnawing on his bottom lip as the pizzas make the whole room smell delicious. She sighs. “Thank you for not telling her. Salt Gap is our place and I don’t want her to know about it.”

  I nod and place a finger over my lips. The tension lessens in the room. Everything will be okay.

  I mean…it has to be.

  Chapter 3

  My car is back to normal again. But that’s the only thing that’s normal about life now. We’ve been in our rental house for three days, each of which Miranda spent at the diner for twelve hours a day. I’ve done a whole lot of shopping for things we need at the closest Target, which is an hour away.

  We have dishes and shower curtains and clothes hangers and a Texas shaped welcome mat at the front door. There is an area rug in the living room and a pitcher of sweet iced tea in the fridge. We have air mattresses in our bedrooms and Miranda has a closet of new clothes, some of which are maternity shirts even though she gagged when I brought them home. I haven’t found a furniture store that will deliver out here yet, and I don’t exactly want to ask Marcus to borrow his truck again, so we don’t have a couch. Miranda and I have taken to dragging our air mattresses into the living room for night time movie marathons since, oh yeah, they don’t get cable TV out here in Salt Gap.

  It’s been a fun three days with my niece. The stress of moving and unpacking is nothing compared to the stress of my old life in Houston. I’m no longer fielding phone calls and driving all over town, shuttling picky home buyers from place to place. I haven’t worn high heels all week and my feet thank me for that every single day. In fact, I’m wearing pink fuzzy house slippers that totally don’t match my black yoga pants and neon yellow tank top. If all goes well, I won’t even change out of this outfit all day.

  It’s eight in the morning and Miranda is getting ready for work. I lean against her door frame and watch her apply her makeup. She twists her hair into a cute bun held together with chopsticks from the Chinese takeout we ordered two nights ago. I keep forgetting she’s pregnant. And we should probably do something about it.

  “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

  “No, why?” she says with a bobby pin dangling out the corner of her mouth.

  “For your pregnancy. It’s pretty important that you get regular checkups and stuff.”

  “Oh.” She removes the pin and slides it on the side of her head to pin back a few stray hairs. “Yeah I guess. But I don’t have insurance and people have babies all the time so it’s probably fine.”

  “I’m making you an appointment today.”

  “But—” she objects.

  I raise an eyebrow that dares her to challenge me. “I’ll put you on my insurance and I’ll pay for it. I don’t care. That’s my relative in your uterus and I won’t let it have subpar medical care.”

  Without a word, Miranda drops the pins in her mouth, stands up and wraps her arms around me. I hug her back. For a long while we just stand here, her arms around me and my hand on the back of her head, pressing her to me in a way I know she needed from her mother. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.

  When she pulls away there are tears running down her cheeks. “I’m scared,” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “We will get through this. I won’t leave you and I will not let you do this alone.” She wipes the tears away from her eyes and I put my arm around her shoulder, making us face the mirror. It’s hard looking at yourself in a shiny piece of glass when you know the person looking back at you has something to be afraid of. “Even if I have to take those stupid Lamaze classes with you, I will.”

  This gets a laugh out of her. It’s funny, how as I stand here both scared for myself and scared for Miranda, a little laughter makes me feel like it really will be okay. Something flickers in the corner of my eye and I turn, half expecting to see Grandpa there, arms folded in front of his chest as he wears his signature smile of success, happy that he’s taught me a valuable lesson. But it must have been a trick of the light because when I turn around, I see nothing but the bare wall.

  The only ob-gyn in the area doesn’t have any open appointments for the next two weeks. The nurse on the phone suggested that I take Miranda to a general physician for an exam if there is nothing medically wrong with her, but I don’t trust any old general physician. She needs the best. And she’ll just have to wait two weeks to get it.

  I hang up the phone and set it on the kitchen counter. Calling a doctor for Miranda was my only task on the yellow to-do list notepad I bought for a dollar and stuck on the refrigerator. I let out a long, embarrassingly loud, groaning sigh even though no one is around to hear it so it’s not really embarrassing. I’m at a total crossroads in my life right now and I haven’t the slightest idea what to do about it.

  Despite how relaxing it is just lounging around all day watching DVDs of my favorite television shows and painting my toenails a different color every day, I know it’ll get old sooner or later. No one can lounge around doing nothing forever.

  I have no job, no friends, no life, and no things on my to-do list to keep me distracted from thinking about it. Not since my freshman year of college when I got mono and had to drop all my classes have I ever been so stuck with nothing to do. It’s nice at first. Then it turns into a nightmare.

  While staring at my to-do list, I cross out call doctor - Miranda and add to it: job, friends, life. There. Now I have a to-do list.

  Chapter 4

  My cell phone rings at an ungodly hour in the morning. I roll over on my air mattress and grab the phone off the floor, yanking it from the charger. It’s a phone number I don’t recognize. Oh, and it’s six in the evening. Not such an ungodly hour after all.

  “Hello?” I ask, not knowing what to expect.

  “Hey there.” It’s way better than anything I could have expected. It’s Tyler.

  “Hey. My rent check’s not late, is it?” I say it in jest, but in reality I’m not even sure what day it is. Every day blurs into the next one when you’re jobless. Although I’m pretty sure we’ve only been here a week.

  “I didn’t call for business.” His voice has a playful tone to it that sends a shiver down my spine. I roll over in bed and close my eyes.

  “Then why did you call?”

  “You want to get a drink tonight? Pop-a-Top?”

  “What is Pop-a-Top?” I ask. I try to sound like I don’t care what it is or what he’s asking, but I can hardly breathe without hyperventilating. Is he asking me out? There’s no way he’s asking me out.

  “It’s the only bar in town that
’s decent enough to take a woman. I know I could use a drink and since you don’t know anyone in town, I thought maybe you could come along.”

  “Ah, okay,” I say with my eyes still closed. I’m trying to picture Tyler’s chiseled tan face but all I see is the back of my eyelids. It’s definitely not a date offer, though. Just a feeling-sorry-for-the-new-girl kind of thing. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes in an effort to wake up. I’m not a charity case. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  The other end of the phone is silent for a few seconds. My mouth opens, but I feel kind of stupid asking if he’s still there, so I don’t say anything. With the terrible reception in this town, maybe he isn’t there anymore.

  He clears this throat. “Well…okay then.”

  I swallow and try not to think about how his voice sounded a like a mixture between bitter and disappointed. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It’s not like I’m trying to impress him. I smile so it shows in my voice when I say, “Thanks anyway. I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “You don’t have to drink. You could come just for the scenic view.”

  “There’s scenic views in Salt Gap?” I ask. It sounds sarcastic but I’m being serious.

  He laughs. “Okay maybe that was a lie. Does seeing Big Large’s butt crack when he bends over to play pool count?”

  I know he’s just being friendly and it would probably help me to get out of the house, but I’m not dressed and I don’t know anyone besides Tyler. As much as the hairs on the back of my neck are tingling with the idea of going out with him tonight, I grip the phone tightly to my ear and say, “Thanks for the offer, seriously, but I can’t tonight.”

  “I’d like to know what’s so important that you can’t skip re-watching episodes of The Big Bang Theory to come have some fun on the town.”

  I roll my eyes and glance around my messy bedroom. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  Tyler’s voice turns coy. “I’m about to find out.”

  A bright beam of light appears in my bedroom window, scanning like a set of spotlights across my entire room as a car turns onto my street. No—I realize with a cold shock of terror—not onto my street, but into my driveway. I shoot out of bed and grab the first shirt I find, an old Texas A&M T-shirt that’s entirely too big, and throw it on over my sports bra.

  I take one look at my hair in the mirror above my dresser and realize there’s no reason to bother trying to rake my fingers through it—I’ve got one bad case of bed hair.

  Two seconds later the doorbell rings and I look down at my phone to find the screen has gone black because Tyler hung up on me. With my heart thudding in my chest, I tiptoe to the front door (as if that would stop a murderer) and peek through the tiny peephole. Tyler smirks at that exact instant, as if he knew I would be looking through the glass to see his little cocky expression. He lifts his hand and knocks loudly on the door, making me jump.

  With trembling fingers that are more embarrassed than nervous, I unlock the deadbolt and reluctantly pull open the door, allowing him to see me in my full sloth-mode glory.

  “Hey,” he says entirely too cheerfully as he steps inside my door, which is kind of his door since he owns it, and lets himself into my/his living room without asking permission. He shakes his head at the stack of DVDs on the floor next to the television and then turns to face me. He’s wearing dark jeans over boots and a black cotton t-shirt that hugs his chest as if it were woven on his body. God, I had no idea country boys could be this hot.

  I appreciate how he only looks into my eyes and not at my ratty hair, knobby knees and bare feet with chipped glitter toenail polish. “Let’s go.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to go. And I’m not dressed.”

  “I don’t care if you don’t want to go. I have been given explicit directions to make sure you don’t become a crazy old cat lady by staying cooped up in the house forever.”

  “What?” I slam my hands on my hips. “You told you that?”

  He cocks an eyebrow at the stupidity of my question. “Miranda,” I say. “Of course it was Miranda.”

  He nods. “She didn’t give me a choice in the matter, so I’m not giving you a choice either. I’m not sure what made you move from Houston to Salt Gap, but that girl made it very clear that I need to get you out of the house.”

  I turn my eyes to the ceiling and let out a long, dramatic sigh. It is right about now that I realize I will be going with him tonight, no matter how hard I wish I could stop it. My brain and my heart are battling and I have no idea which side I’m on, or even which side I want to be on. “Fine, I’ll go.”

  His face lights up and his crystal-blue eyes go all twinkly at the sides. I hold up my hand in defiance. “Not because of you. I’m doing this for my niece is who is one feisty beyotch when she doesn’t get her way.”

  “Fair enough. Get dressed.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. It takes a massive amount of effort for me to look away from his bulging forearms and that cute vein that starts on his bicep and disappears under the sleeve of his shirt.

  Tyler drives us to a metal warehouse a few miles off the main road, parking in the grass next to a row of trucks that are all similar to his own beat up Chevy. You’d think this place was some kind of manufacturing facility if not for the blaring music and tacky neon beer signs that lead the way to a raised garage door. A bouncer who looks no older than twenty-one himself nods at us as we walk inside and I’m a tiny bit offended that I don’t get carded. I always got carded in Houston.

  Pop-a-Top is different from the bars I’m used to back at home. Sure, we have our hole-in-the-wall shit holes in Houston, but most of the bars I go to are classy and upscale which is the total opposite of where I am tonight. The music is country, the smoke in the air is just from cigarettes and not weed, and the people are friendly. I’m definitely not in Houston anymore.

  Tyler leads us through rows of pool tables to the back of the building where the bartender, a hot woman covered in tattoos, takes my drink order and then pops off the cap of my Bud Light bottle with her thumb ring.

  Tyler holds up his beer and we clink them together although I’m not sure what it is that we’re toasting to.

  “To Robin getting out of the house!” he says, taking the thought straight out of my head. I roll my eyes and take a long sip of beer. It doesn’t escape my notice that he watches me the whole time. I find myself thinking really stupid things like, I wonder if I drank this beer sexy enough.

  “How about another toast?” I say after swallowing a deep bitter gulp.

  Tyler drinks from his beer and then lifts an eyebrow along with his drink. “Okay, what’ll it be?”

  “To new friends,” I say with a smirk. “To new, annoying, intruding, demanding friends.”

  “Aww, come on,” Tyler drawls, tilting his head to the left as his lips form into a pout. I’m not even drunk yet and the only thing that goes through my head is how badly I want to run my tongue across those gorgeous pouty lips.

  I poke him in the chest. “Don’t aww me,” I snap. “You took me out of my peaceful afternoon and forced me to come here. I think I’m allowed to complain about it just a little bit.”

  “Fair enough,” he says for the second time tonight. “But you’re only allowed two more complaints for the night and then I’m cutting you off.”

  “Only two, huh?” I hold up one finger. “You told me I was dressed appropriately for this stupid bar and you lied. All the girls here look like some kind of cowgirl slut and here I am in a freaking dress.”

  “That wasn’t a lie.” He takes another sip, dragging out my wait to hear his explanation. “That was me single-handedly ensuring that you’d be the hottest woman here. No one likes the cowgirl slut routine. Every damn guy in this place has been checking you out since you walked in so I’d say I did a good job picking out that dress.”

  “Oh my god no they aren’t.” I roll my eyes and do a pretty good job of faking like I’m not completely embarrassed and flattered at the
same time.

  The fast paced country song comes to an end and the sudden silence between songs makes Tyler’s gaze feel more intimate than it should. He’s sipping his beer, watching me squirm with this little smirk on his face. Ugh, I hate him.

  Another song starts up, a slow country ballad that I remember from my childhood. It’s a Travis Tritt song—I don’t even know how I know that. I think Mom loved him. And she loved this song, I had the Best of Intentions.

  “You okay?” Tyler asks, nudging me on the elbow.

  “Yeah.” I smile. “I just haven’t heard this song in a while.” I don’t tell him about the pang of nostalgia that rises up in my stomach, showing me memories of Grandpa dancing around the kitchen with Mom while they sang along to this song. She always popped in the Travis Tritt CD when she was on one of her heartbroken rampages. Then she’d badmouth my father for leaving us and tell me over and over again, “That’s why you’re a Carter not a Smith. You hear me? You’re a Carter! You’re my blood. Not his!”

  The strong scent of men’s cologne chokes me out of that daydream and brings me back into the real world. An older man who is dressed to the nines in his Wrangler jeans, an ironed plaid cowboy shirt and a fancy hat that probably cost a fortune stands in front of us. He shakes Tyler’s hand.

  “I ought to whoop your ass, boy,” he says.

  “Why’s that?” Tyler asks, seemingly unaffected by the man’s threat.

  “Because you ain’t asked this pretty girl to dance yet. What is wrong with you, boy?”

  Before Tyler can answer, the old man reaches out and takes my hand. “Would you have this dance with me, darling?” I glance at Tyler and find him watching me with a curious expression. I think he’s judging me, trying to guess if I’ll play it safe and refuse the old man or if I’m up for a little adventure. Not wanting to let him down, I stand up. “I would love to dance with you,” I tell the man.

  I don’t look back at Tyler as my partner walks me to the dance floor, but I’m pretty sure I know what expression is on that ridiculously cute face of his.