CHAPTER 14
Gabrielle
“Have you ever tried tiramisu?” Tyson asks as he opens the fridge and takes out a container.
“No. Never heard of it.”
“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing toward one of the four white barstools that line the opposite side of the island he’s working from.
The kitchen has an eclectic, industrial type feel – the biggest room in the house – with stainless steel appliances, a double oven, and a French door refrigerator with ice and water dispensers.
The island countertop, as well as all the other countertops in the kitchen, is lime green quartz.
Charcoal-colored tiles cover the floor, which works well with the lime green, white and silver colors of the kitchen.
I sit down and watch him tie on a white apron.
“I made these ladyfingers a few days ago, but instead of making them like rolls, I made them in cupcake form. I like to serve tiramisu in little glass jars.”
“And how do you make ladyfingers? You know what...never mind. You must get tired of talking about food.”
“No, not at all. I’m surprised you’re curious. Most people don’t care about the process. They just want the finished product.”
“Well, I can cook, but I’m not good at making desserts, so I’m very intrigued by this.”
I’m very intrigued by you in general. Intrigued that a strong man can be so gentle. That you have a heart. A passion. That you are a decent human being. Why couldn’t Padma have set me up with a man like you?
“Gabrielle?”
My eyes widen when I look over at him, like he caught me thinking about him – as if he has access to my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Have you ever baked any dessert?”
“Me and my sisters tried to bake a cake for my dad once. Let’s just say it tasted like eggs.”
He grins. “Yeah, that’s a beginner rookie mistake.
Hang with me, and I’ll have you baking in no time.
” He winks. “To make the ladyfingers, all you do is mix eggs, white sugar, all-purpose flour, and powdered sugar. Of course, they would be measured out appropriately, depending on how much tiramisu you’re making. ”
“Right.”
“It bakes for eight minutes, and it’s done. I soaked the ladyfingers in espresso and rum, and now that they’re no longer soggy, I’m going to layer them between this cream that I made a few nights ago.”
He pops the lid off the container he took from the refrigerator and says, “Taste.”
“Huh?”
“Taste it. Dip your finger in it.”
“What is it?”
“Just taste it, my dear.”
I push the tip of my index finger into the mixture, and he watches as I cautiously slide my finger between my lips. “Mmm…this is good. What is it?”
“Mascarpone cream, made of mascarpone cheese, heavy cream, sugar, and egg yolk. So, what I’ll do with this is layer it between the ladyfingers.”
“I could just eat that cream. It tastes like pudding.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“Mmm hmm.”
I watch him work, and once he’s assembled the dessert, he sprinkles on cocoa and chocolate shavings.
“And voilà. This is Gabrielle’s tasty tiramisu.”
He brings a dessert dish around to me with a spoon. Straddling the barstool next to me, he says, “Dig in.”
“Where’s your spoon? I know you don’t expect me to eat all this by myself after you’ve done all the hard work?”
A smile grows on his handsome face. “Okay. I’ll get a spoon.”
Tyson stands, takes off his apron, and grabs a spoon. He’s back, sitting next to me, and we take a spoonful of dessert at precisely the same time.
“Oh, wow. This is very good, Tyson.”
“Glad you like it.”
As we continue eating, I give the kitchen another once over.
He has just about every kitchen appliance a chef would dream of.
I can tell this is the room where he spends most of his time, but I suppose that’s the case with all kitchens.
If I’d been a normal wife, I would’ve spent time in the kitchen, too.
“So, tell me a little more about yourself, Tyson.”
“You know plenty about me.”
“Like what?”
“You know I’m a chef. You know where I work. You know I’m your ex-husband’s first cousin.”
“You said, ex-husband.”
“I know exactly what I said. Surely you’re not going back to him.”
“But we’re not divorced, or annulled–or whatever people do when their marriage fails within a year. I haven’t even played that out in my mind.”
“In my mind, you’re divorced already. So, as I was saying, you know plenty about me.”
“I don’t know personal things. You pretty much know all about my personal business with Dilvan and all. I think it’s only fair that I know some of yours.”
“Okay, so ask me. I’m an open book.”
So he says…
Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.
I ask, “Is there someone special in your life?”
He gives me an inquisitive glare that almost transforms into a frown.
“What? You told me to ask.”
“The way you phrased your question makes it sound like Dilvan was special to you.”
“It did, because that’s not how I meant it? I–I was just trying to ask you if you were involved with anyone.”
“No, I’m not. Now you would like to know why, right?”
I don’t answer him. He takes it upon himself to answer his own question and says, “I was in a serious relationship about five years ago. We were engaged, but she got a job offer in Chicago and I owned my own restaurant in Atlanta. I wasn’t willing to pick up my entire life and move to Chicago.
She wasn’t willing to give up the opportunity of a lifetime, so we split up, and now she’s happily married with two small kids, still living in Chicago, and I’m here, making desserts for damsels in distress. ”
“Ah, so you make it a habit of rescuing women from their abusers?”
“No. Only you, my dear. Real talk–I don’t like people in my house.”
“Well, thank you for making an exception for me. I feel special.”
“You should.”
I look at him. He smiles again with his mouth, eyes, and whole face.
When he smiles, it’s like I’ve taken a literal breath of fresh air when all I’ve done is watch him transform.
That smile of his could make my worst days feel like heaven.
I bet he doesn’t know the power he holds with those lips of his.
“Why didn’t you go with her? I know you said you didn’t want to pick up your whole life and move, but I think it’s something deeper than that because obviously, you ended up moving from Atlanta anyway to the Outer Banks, so you could’ve just moved with her.”
“Nah. To be honest, it didn’t feel right. Things came to a head when she said I wasn’t supporting her dreams as much as she supported mine, and one day I came home from work and she was gone.”
“Just like that?”
He nodded. “Yep. Just like that.”
“How do you know she’s married with kids? Are y’all still cordial?”
“I hear things, you know–but I have no hard feelings. I know I did the right thing for me like I’m sure she knows she did the right thing for herself, too. Sometimes you have to listen to your mind and not your heart.”
“Trust me, I know that all too well.”
“Explain.”
“Well, I didn’t say anything before, because I didn’t want you or Padma to look at me like I was foolish, but I didn’t want to leave Dilvan’s house.
In my mind, I have this image of what Dilvan and I could’ve been if he was a sane individual,” I say with a chuckle.
“And even when I knew it was time to go, my heart still wanted him to love me.”
“I don’t think that’s foolish at all. My sister went through something similar with her ex. She could tell you some stories.”
“Maybe I’ll get a chance to meet her one day.”
“You will.”
I take another spoonful of tiramisu, savor it because it’s my last, and then lay the spoon on the table. “Tyson, do you have a home phone?”
“I don’t have a landline phone if that’s what you’re asking, but–” Tyson takes his cell phone from the countertop and says, “Here you go, dear. Use it whenever you want.”
He stands, stretches his muscular arms toward the ceiling, and says, “I’m going to go take a shower.”
“Okay. I’m going to call my dad. Hopefully, he’s still up. I’ll leave your phone on the counter when I’m done.”
“Okay, Bri,” he says, then walks toward his bedroom.
“What did you call me?”
He turns around and has a sly smile on his face. “Bri...I’ve decided to give you a nickname because Gabrielle is way too long.”
I laugh. “Seriously? It’s only three syllables.”
“Yeah, but still...”
“And nobody else calls me Bri. People call me Gabby for short.”
“I considered that, but Gabby sounds like a nickname for a person who talks entirely too much, and that’s not you. Bri fits you better.”
With that, he heads to his room.
I stay in the kitchen, dialing my father’s number into Tyson’s cell phone, listening to it ring. I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s 11:32 p.m. I’m wondering if he won’t answer because he doesn’t recognize this number.
Pick up, Dad.
“Hello,” he answers.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Gabby?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m calling from a different number. How are you?”
“I’m doing good. How are you? I was getting worried. I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“I’m okay,” I say. I decided not to tell him about my split with Dilvan. That’s for another time. Right now, I’m just glad to hear his voice. “How are Destiny and Carmen? I know they’re probably sleeping.”
“Yeah, they are. They’re both doing well. When do you think you’ll be back for a visit?”
“I’m going to try to make it there soon, Dad. I’m trying to get on my feet over here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, um...”
Crap! I cannot believe I let that slip. It always seems like every time I try to hide something, I inadvertently reveal it.
“It’s nothing, Dad. I just have a few items with work that’s been keeping me occupied.”
“Work? You have a job now?”
Ugh! I just can’t tell a good lie to save my life.
“No, well...yes. The–the charity work I help Padma with sometimes.”
“How’s Padma doing?”
“She’s good. She makes sure I have everything I need.”
“And how’s my son-in-law?”
My brain spasms just hearing him call Dilvan his son-in-law. “He’s fine,” I say.
“Good. Make sure you bring Dilvan with you when you come. I want to meet him face-to-face at least once.”
“Okay,” I responded. No one in my family has ever met Dilvan. After our arranged marriage was a done deal, I left my dad’s house with Padma. “Well, Dad, listen, I have to go, but give Destiny and Carmen a hug and kiss for me.”
“Okay. Love you, honey.”
“Love you too, Dad. Bye.”
I blow an agitated breath while placing Tyson’s cell phone back on the counter.
I cover my face with my hands, trying to determine when I would be able to visit the family again.
Anxiety floods my brain as I think about telling my dad about Dilvan.
If he knew everything I had to go through, it would destroy him.
I don’t want him to feel like any of this was his fault, but I know that’s exactly what he’ll feel if he finds out.
* * *
It’s a little after midnight when I’m finally lying down.
The bed is a peaceful oasis. From it, I get the sensation of how it must feel to sleep on a cloud.
The room is cozy, warm, and inviting. I leave the curtains open, allowing a little bit of light in to illuminate the space.
Then I close my eyes and know I can rest because Dilvan Alexander is not here to sneak into my room, snatch covers off the bed or do anything else to harass me.
Somehow, though, I don’t feel sleepy. Maybe it’s because I’m in a new environment, a new room with a different layout.
I’m not sure what it is. At any rate, I turn on the TV and find the Travel Channel just to pass the time.
It works, because after fifteen minutes of watching it, I begin to doze off, that is until I hear the stairs creaking.
My body tenses up. I have flashbacks of the floors creaking when Dilvan made late-night visits to my bedroom. And now, Tyson was coming up the stairs. What does he want this late at night?
After two taps on my door, he says, “Bri, you still up?”
After a long pause, I say, “Yes.”
“May I come in?”
I pause again. I don’t want him to come in. I feel comfortable with Tyson, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable in the same bedroom with him. And I have on my nightgown...
“Never mind,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you to have a good night...oh, and if you weren’t up, I was going to turn off your TV.”
“I’ll turn it off.”
“If you’re watching it, it’s fine. I was just–um–you know what...have a good night, Bri. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,” I tell him, then I hear his footsteps descend the stairs.