CHAPTER 12
Gabrielle
While Tyson gets my stuff out of the car, I walk into the house where I’ll be staying until further notice – Tyson’s place – a waterfront property on Roanoke Island.
His home was a good thirty-minute drive away from Southern Shores, which gave me a little comfort knowing I wasn’t close to Dilvan’s place.
I slide out of my sandals and feel the cool, dark brown wooden floors beneath my soles. The house smells like a bakery, and from where I stand, I can see the island in the kitchen that’s truly the focal point.
I marvel at how beautifully the living room is decorated with an old, rustic flair that tells me he likes vintage décor.
There’s a light blue accent wall and old paint-chipped white shutters propped up next to it.
A wrought-iron chair that had also been painted white, matched the white sofa set.
The diamond-shaped, gold-rimmed mirrors on the accent wall matched the gold vase on the wooden coffee table.
“Home, sweet home,” Tyson says, stepping in with bags in both hands. He lowers them by the door. “It’s not as fancy as what you were accustomed to at Dilvan’s place, but—”
“It’s perfect. I like it. It feels cozy…like the kind of place to unwind after a long day.”
“It is. It’s my sanctuary, and now, it’s yours.”
I look around again, thinking how nice it’s going to be to stay somewhere where I don’t feel threatened and under pressure. I can breathe.
Ah.
Finally, I can breathe.
“You do not have to take your shoes off. I’m not up on all that fancy stuff. A home is meant to be lived in, not on display.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t mind.”
He picks up my bags and says, “Your bedroom is upstairs. You’ll pretty much have all of the upstairs to yourself because I don’t go up there at all since my bedroom is down here.”
“Okay.”
“So, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your room, little lady.”
The stairs creak as we head up, and the banister is a bit wobbly.
Tyson warns me about it. He tells me to be careful going up and down the stairs, especially at night.
He said he hadn’t gotten around to fixing it since it wasn’t a priority, but he’ll fix it sometime over the course of the next few days.
He pushed the door open to the room where I would be sleeping, and my first impression was that it looked like something out of a magazine.
Beige carpeting covered the floor. The walls were painted a lighter blue than the accent wall in the living room.
White-framed pictures decorated the wall above the headboard.
Beige curtains dressed the windows and cohesively matched the covers and pillows on the queen-sized bed.
A sheer, white canopy hung from the ceiling and over the bed while mismatched, antique nightstands held matching lamps.
“Wow,” I say.
“Is that a good wow?”
“Yes. This is beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. I made a few changes to it when I knew you would be coming here. Um...the TV remote is on the nightstand.”
I look around, because before he mentioned a TV, I hadn’t seen one. When I looked to my left, I saw a flat screen TV mounted to the wall. It was positioned directly across from the bed.
“There’s a beautiful view of the Roanoke Sound out of those windows. Also, I would advise you to open the windows at night if you want to get the best breeze of your life.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“When you step out of the room, make a left and the bathroom is the next door on the left.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to let you get comfortable. Maybe we can grab some dinner in a few.”
I flash a quick smile, and after Tyson leaves the room, I sit on the bed for a moment, take a breath and try to settle my mind.
It’s been a long day of gathering up my things, basically ending one chapter of my life and starting another, hopefully a better one.
I haven’t had time to think about the fact that I left my husband today – left a beautiful home that held my ugly secrets.
Now, everything is different. I told Padma what he had done to me and she made a way out. Finally, my nightmare is over. When Dilvan returns from his trip on Sunday, I know he’ll be over the moon to see that the ugly girl he couldn’t stand to look at is no longer at his house.
And as for Tyson’s place – I’ve only been here for about thirty minutes and it already feels like home.
* * *
Tyson said he knew the perfect place we could have a nice dinner – a place he’d been to a thousand times – Ortegas Southwestern Grill and Wine Bar. We’re sitting at a table after the waitress has brought us appetizers – El Ranchero cheese fries and crab baked mac ‘n’ cheese.
“How is it?” Tyson asks, staring at my bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese.
“It’s good. You’ve never tried this?”
“As many times as I’ve been here, no.”
“Why not?”
“In my mind, macaroni and crab don’t go together, so even though I saw it on the menu, I never had the desire to order it.”
I push my bowl over to his side of the table. “Try it.”
He takes a stab at it with his fork and chews it deliberately as if he’s trying to get a good, solid taste so he can properly review it.
“What do you think?”
“It’s good.”
“Have some more?”
“Nah...you go ahead. I got these fries to tackle. You’re welcome to have some, by the way.”
I smile and go back to eating my appetizer.
The restaurant is busy. The patrons probably consist mostly of vacationers, seeking adventure by way of trying new restaurants.
In a way, I feel like one of them because I’m not familiar with this side of town, and I’m not used to being in public like this.
Dilvan has never taken me out to a restaurant. He’s never taken me anywhere.
“Would you like some wine?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked if you were old enough to drink.”
A partial smile warmed my face. “How old do you think I am?”
He shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. You just look young.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
“Oh,” he says, studying my face, my wild afro, and big lips. I always wanted to tame this hair, but never had the tools to do it with, nor the skills. Since my mom left us, we didn’t have anyone to teach us things as such. Dad tried, but a man can only do so much with three girls.
“Have you ever had a drink?”
“No. It’s not something I think I’d enjoy. Dilvan drinks, and it seems the more he drinks, the meaner he gets. If alcohol makes you do that, then I don’t want any.”
“Drink or no drink–Dilvan is a worthless piece of crap.”
I snort a laugh before I just outright belly laugh to the point that tears come to my eyes. I haven’t laughed this hard in a long time.
Tyson grins. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say while actively trying to stop myself from laughing. When I’m finally able to, I dab my eyes and look up at Tyson to find his eyes on me like lasers.
He says, “I like to see you smile. It brightens up your face. In fact, you look completely different from when I first met you.”
“Well, there was a reason for that.”
“Right.” Tyson takes a sip of water, then asks, “Do you know what you’re ordering for dinner?”
“Um...not quite. I’ve just been enjoying this appetizer.”
“Then may I recommend the shrimp and chorizo alfredo?”
“It’s your favorite?”
“It is.”
“Okay, then yes, that’s what I’ll get.”
The waitress comes by to get our appetizer dishes, then we order dinner. Well, Tyson ordered and it was easy to do so since I already confirmed I was getting the same thing he was. After she walks away, Tyson looks at me with an inquisitive smirk on his face.
“What?” I ask, breaking into a smile while nervously fiddling with my fingers, because this is so out of character for me to have an engaging conversation with a man.
The last in-depth conversation I had with a man was with Dilvan’s father.
He was telling me how he always wanted a daughter, but life didn’t work out like that.
He said he was glad he had me and, unlike his son, he welcomed me into the family with open arms.
“So, you’re twenty-one, huh?”
“Yep.”
“I remember those days.”
“What do you mean? You look pretty young yourself.”
He smirks. “You’re just being modest, my dear. Besides, you haven’t looked at me long enough to determine my age, like you’re afraid.”
I was afraid – well, not so much afraid as I was uncomfortable with the idea. I tried to glance up at him every now and then because he’d told me before to look at him, but it’s still difficult to do so. To hold eye contact. To be that confident.
So, again, I’m sitting here trying to force myself to do something that was ingrained in me not to do.
But I’m no quitter, so I look up at him, stare deep into his eyes for a moment before scanning his face – his eyes, his nose, his lips, his eyebrows – trying to determine his age.
I watch his lips form into a smile, his white teeth showing from behind them.
“If I had to guess, I’d say you were twenty-eight.”
“Close enough. I’m thirty-two.”
“Cool.”
The food arrives, and I waste no time taking a forkful to my mouth because the aroma of this shrimp alfredo is enticing. It’s a bunch of creamy goodness with the added flavor of seafood. My goodness! First bite and I’m in love.
“Good?” he asks as he watches me take a second, massive forkful of the stuff.
I nod and mumble, “Mmm hmm.”
We silently eat for the next five minutes or so. I glance up at him in this quiet period and he’s concentrating on his food like he’s been starving for days. He takes a napkin, wipes his mouth, then picks up his glass of water to take a sip.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping when you were talking to Padma at breakfast this morning, but I heard some of your conversation with her,” he says.
“It’s okay. I didn’t go in depth with you before about the things Dilvan had done to me because I was ashamed, and I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“You still feel that way?”
“Ashamed, or not knowing if I can trust you?”
“Both.”
“I feel like I can trust you now, and yes, I am ashamed. Has he always been so…?”
“Stupid?”
I smirk and say, “I was going to say mean.”
“Well, I said stupid because he has to be the dumbest man alive to not see what he had in you.”
His words give me pause. My self-esteem has taken such a massive blow after living with and being married to Dilvan that to hear someone speak good about me – to speak life into me – interferes with my nervous system functions. I don’t know how to move. How to behave. How to just be.
He says, “And to answer your question, no, Dilvan wasn’t always like he is now.
He used to be cool back in the day. I didn’t hang around him as much, only because of our age difference, but I’m good friends with his oldest brother, Heshan.
When Dilvan turned eighteen, something happened.
I don’t know if he got with the wrong crowd or what, but he did a complete three-sixty.
Now, he always had a sense of entitlement.
He grew up rich–had everything a kid could ever want.
Maybe that was his problem–nothing was ever out of reach for him.
He wanted to be a model–he became a model. ”
“I know. That’s why he didn’t like me so much.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s this millionaire model with the perfect body, and he said I was ugly.”
“Do you believe that?”
“That’s all I’ve heard for the last six months.”
“But do you believe it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say that because I really don’t know. When a person is told the same thing over and over again, even if they didn’t believe it before, eventually they start to feel like there’s some truth to it. And that’s the way I feel right now.
“I’m going to tell you what I think, and I’m telling you this, not so that you feel good about yourself because self-acceptance and esteem come from within. I’m telling you this because it’s my opinion. I think you are beautiful, Gabrielle.”
That brings a smile to my face. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he responds, finishing his water and not taking his eyes off me.
We finish our meals. I say, “I’m stuffed. I wanted dessert, but I’m going to have to pass on that.”
“No worries. I had planned on making us some dessert at home, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m a pastry chef. I know how to cook other things too, but I specialize in satisfying sweet tooths.”
“I thought you were Padma’s handyman.”
“No, you thought I was her clean-up guy,” he says, then laughs.
I laugh, too.
“Nah, I’m not her handyman. I step in and help her out from time to time, but I’m a chef by profession. I cook all the desserts for Padma’s Food House. Has she ever taken you there?”
“Yeah, once, but I didn’t eat. I was a volunteer waitress one weekend when Dilvan was away for a shoot, because otherwise, he wouldn’t let me go. But anyway, you being a pastry chef is playing with my head.”
“Why?”
“Because in my eyes I see you as this big, tall, strong, muscular man who rescued me from a bad situation. You’re like my personal superhero and yet, you know how to bake.”
“I do, and I’m going to make a dessert especially for you.”
A smile overtakes my features when I respond, “I can’t wait.”