Joy and Tiers (19 page)

“So, what does your brain tell you on this one?” Ty asks, watching me carefully.

“That it’s a really bad idea to go back and be in front of a firing squad when they’re all really mad at me,” I respond before I have a chance to censor in my thoughts.

“So, why are we even discussing this? Why aren’t we finding a nice hotel with a hot tub somewhere?” Ty asks as he strokes my cheek.

“Well, they’re going to assume we’re doing it like bunnies and I don’t really want to face down their knowing looks when I go to grandma’s memorial service tomorrow,” I answer.

Tyler tilts my chin up so I’m looking at him and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “Sorry to tell you this, Gidget, but they’ll assume that anyway. We’ve already been gone for several hours, so they’ve already made the assumption whether we want them to or not. We might as well get ourselves a room and save ourselves all the aggravation.”

I flush bright red at his assertion that my family has already made the leap in their minds. But, I know what he’s saying is most likely true. My dad has been challenging Tyler as if he’s already been designated as the official guy in my life.

“Okay, let me text Madison. I think if anyone’s going to understand, it will probably be her,” I acquiesce.

“You’re saying yes?” Tyler clarifies. “Hot damn! At least something’s going right today. I promise to be a gentleman if that’s what you want, Gidget. I just want to get you out of that toxic environment. You’re going to have enough on your mind tomorrow at the service. You don’t need to put up with their remarks tonight.”

“I never did thank you for standing up for me earlier today. It means a lot to me.” I brush my lips across his in a light kiss of gratitude.

“That’s what I’m here for. That man needs to be taken down a couple notches. As we say in Oklahoma, he’s just a little too big for his britches.” Ty responds.

“Well, I’m not exactly in a position to argue with you.”

I glance over at the clock on the nightstand. It’s one of those oversized digital numbers you couldn’t miss from a block away. At the moment, it’s blinking 04:45 like some deranged heartbeat. At first, I wonder if the power went out. But, I’m able to check the time against my watch and it’s consistent. I’m trying not to move because I don’t want to disturb Heather. She is currently wrapped around my torso and left thigh like a python. 

It has taken many small gifts of trust for her to find herself in this position. At first, I was afraid maybe I had pushed her too far by suggesting we share a room together, but eventually we got here.

After a relatively brisk grilling from her sister, Madison, in which I had to swear on my life not to harm her in any way and give up the name and phone number of my commanding officer, we stopped by a local store and picked up some art supplies. Heather was really confused by this. It was fun to keep her in the dark. She was like a little kid trying to figure out where the Christmas presents were hidden. When we got to the hotel, I was able to get a large executive suite with plenty of room to spread out. So, while she took a bubble bath I set up our little project.

When she came out of the bathroom, all of my good intentions almost became derailed. She looked so adorably sexy in her Betty Boop nightshirt and oversized robe. I know it should have been impossible to look sensual wearing cartoon bunny slippers, but somehow Gidget managed to pull it off. Her curly blonde hair was laying in darker ringlets down her back with her face scrubbed free of makeup. It was a completely different look for her because her look usually consists of artfully placed and composed makeup, but I like this look just as much. It made her appear much more fragile and I wondered if the change could be simply attributed to the lack of makeup or if there was more to the transformation. Heather doesn’t strike me as the type of person who gets her self-esteem entirely from a bottle although she’s already told me her wild wardrobe choices are sometimes a defense mechanism.

Throughout the night, I was able to use my admittedly highly neglected skills as a former architecture major to bring her vision to life using pens and watercolors. Through a series of questions, we were able to rule out her soap making business— she decided to keep that as a hobby so she could make them only for her closest friends. The decision between opening a bakery and a restaurant was more difficult. The list of pros and cons was significantly longer and more complicated. But, in the end, she decided to start with the bakery and if it went well, to expand from there. To me, this seems like a really common sense approach. If her dad gives her any flack over this, he'll have to answer to this pissed off soldier. 

After that decision was made, then the fun part came. Heather was able to reach into her memory and pull up word pictures that I was able to visually represent on paper. I regretted my drawing and painting skills were so rusty, because I would’ve given anything to be able to capture her vision as perfectly as her words painted it. I did the best I could. Yet, by the time we were done, you could really get a sense of how Joy and Tiers would eventually come together. I thought her name for her shop was just perfect. Heather said she chose it because although she would always be happy her grandma gave her the opportunity to live her dream, she would always have a drop of sadness that her grandma would never see the outcome. She loved the play on words because only she would know how it represents a secret sadness.

Although Heather was ecstatic to see Joy and Tiers come to life, the process was draining. Remembering all of the stories involving her grandmother was a double-edged sword. In some ways, it was quite cathartic for her. On the other hand, it just underscored all the things she would be missing. Heather seemed to be coping well until it hit her that Lydia was not going to be able to be with Mindy and Becca to celebrate with them at Christmas time. As the enormity of all the Christmas, birthday and Easter celebrations without her beloved grandma loomed large, Heather fell apart in my arms.

Frankly, I expected this days ago. Gidget has been such a trooper. I don’t think I would’ve coped nearly as well as she has if I had been in her shoes. Despite the constant barrage of criticism from her family, she has remained positive and upbeat. We have been here for two and a half days, and she has helped make all the arrangements with the pastor and the ladies group at the church for the memorial service. She even managed to locate Lydia’s gardening and bridge group online and notified them about what was going on. One of them owns a local deli and coffee shop and she offered to let Heather use her commercial kitchen. So, very early yesterday morning before the coffee shop opened, Heather and I baked little pecan tarts and macaroons. As a thank you gift, Heather baked some extra for the owner of the shop and was offered a job on the spot. Heather laughed it off as a joke, but I don’t think the woman was joking. They were very good pastries. I don't think that Heather truly understands the quality of her work.

I’m not sure how Heather is supposed to have any sense of self-esteem. Every time I turned around, somebody was saying something snarky to her. The way her mother talks to her, you would think she weighs a thousand pounds. The other day, we were sorting through her grandmother’s belongings and trying to decide what was going to be kept and what would be given to charity. It was hard, physical work. Heather and I had sandwiches from the deli. Heather was eating roast chicken on whole wheat bread with tons of vegetables. On the side, she was eating some carrots with ranch dressing. She had a small container of homemade sweet tea. Her mom was all over her for excessive eating. I couldn’t believe it! If the meal had more than 600 calories, I’d eat my hat. Besides that, Heather is a grown woman if she wants to eat peanut butter, marshmallows and chocolate for lunch it’s her own business. I wanted to just let Mrs. LaBianca have it and tell her I would rather have Heather any day of the week rather than a scarecrow like her, but I held my tongue. I figured I didn’t need to be fighting with every single member of Heather’s family and she probably wasn’t going to listen to my opinion anyway. But, it’s still burns me to hear them talk to Heather that way. I can’t imagine what it does to her.

Eventually, it all came to a head. We were sitting in the hotel room exchanging stories about our hopes and dreams, when for a moment Heather slipped and said, “Won’t this be great? When I get Joy and Tiers all up and running, I’ll have to take a video of it so Grandma can post it to her blog.”

As soon as she said it, Heather gasped, “Oh my Gosh! I can’t believe I just said that. Even worse, I can’t believe she’s not going to be around to see my bakery when it’s all done.”

The pain on her face was so raw, I just instinctively reacted. I scooped her up and held her to my chest as I strode over to the bed. I toed off my boots and sat us both down in the center of the plush bed. I propped up some pillows behind my back and I just held her as she sobbed. At first the deep sobs consumed her whole body. I could feel each one travel the whole length of her body. As the time between sobs lengthened, she began to get the hiccups. At first, she was embarrassed, but then she started giggling every time it happened which made them worse.

She began to apologize for breaking down. I tried to explain to her that there were no apologies necessary. I would be far more concerned if she weren’t emotional about the situation.

I started to rub her back to soothe her frazzled mind and body. This is clearly an activity she enjoyed. She was like a kitten that’s had a full meal and is taking a nap in the sun. She began to get sleepy and soon she was completely relaxed in my arms. So, I gingerly worked the comforter out from under us and covered us with it after I edged us down in the bed. For propriety sake, I chose to leave my clothes on. We haven’t had any conversations about moving our relationship forward and I don’t want her to feel like I’ve taken advantage of the sad circumstance. I’ve slept in far less comfortable situations, so a pair of dressy Levi’s wouldn’t kill me.

When I wake up again my arm is tingling because it had fallen asleep from the weight of Heather’s head. I flex my hand to improve the blood flow. Heather must’ve felt the movement, because she woke up with a jerking motion and almost broke my nose with her elbow.

“Crap!” she exclaims. “Do you see what time it is? We’re supposed to have breakfast with my parents at nine o’clock. If we’re late, they’ll never let us live it down.”

“Gidget, it’s only 7:15. Relax. You’ve got plenty of time,” I reassure her, as she’s trying to comb her fingers through her hair.

“Argh! You’re such a guy,” she replies the frustration clear in her voice. “You really don’t have any idea how much it takes for us to be presentable, do you?”

“Obviously not,” I respond, taking in her wild, rumpled appearance. She looks sleepy, soft and ready to cuddle. I don’t see anything wrong with the way she looks. In fact, this might be my favorite of all of her chameleon-like choices. I know there is no way on God’s green earth she would ever agree with my assessment, but that’s the way I see it. She looks fresh and comfortable in her own skin. This is the real Heather after you peel all of the social armor away. I’m finding as much as I like the bright witty affable public Heather, I prefer the toned down version even better. “I think you look amazing just the way you are.”

“Then you need to get into the eye doctor right away because there is something seriously wrong with your vision. I am a mess this morning. My hair needs its own disaster declaration,” she says with a grimace as she once again tries to run her fingers through it.

I reach up and gently remove her hands from her hair. “One of these days when we know each other a whole lot better, I’ll explain to you why men look at messy hair like yours and see something entirely different, but for now I’ll go down and get you some coffee while you take a shower. Sound good?”

“That sounds amazing, thank you,” Heather replies with a grateful smile.

When I return to the room after I’ve located a coffee place, I’m stunned by the transformation. It looks almost as if Heather has put on armor. In a way I suppose she has. Gone is the soft, natural Heather, and in her place is a cool, sophisticated Jackie O inspired creature. She looks amazing, but completely different. She’s seems unreachable in a way. It’s disconcerting. It’s almost as if she’s two different people.