10. Tyler
TEN
TYLER
THEN
There are a few sounds that, the moment I hear them, bring a wide smile to my face.
The crack of a baseball as it makes contact with my bat.
The first strum my fingers make as they glide down the strings of an acoustic guitar.
And finally, the laugh my girlfriend lets out when I tell her a dumb joke.
The last one is my favorite. Rachel is a tall goddess with sleek brown hair that reaches the small of her back.
She’s out of my league entirely, and I don’t know why she chooses to stick around with me.
She could probably date anyone at our school.
Not that I’m not confident in myself, but she’s got all the popular girl accolades.
Cheerleader, prom queen, honor student, etc.
Last year, she starred in the annual play.
She’s not even in drama club. I’m a bit more reserved.
I enjoy playing on my varsity baseball team, getting decent grades, and having a small circle of friends.
Rachel and I have been dating for six months—the longest relationship I’ve ever had—and I desperately don’t want to screw it up.
I hold my breath every time I read a message from her because I fear it’s the one.
The one message where she’s going to end it all.
I worry that she’s going to wake up and realize who she’s dating, but she always seems to prove me wrong.
Last week, she told me she loved me, and I nearly asked her to marry me on the spot.
I know she’s too good for me, so I planned the most romantic six-month anniversary date.
My mom suggested I have it at the ranch and that she and my dad would go out on a date so we’d have it to ourselves.
My dad agreed reluctantly since he lives and breathes the ranch.
He always says, “Why go somewhere else when I have all my favorite things here at home?” But somehow, my mom convinced him to go out to dinner and a movie.
Before they left, my dad walked into my room and set down a box of condoms, then left without uttering a word.
My face felt like it was going to burn off.
Yes, that’s usually what happens when Rachel and I get together, which is why I bought my own box.
However, the fact that my parents are aware of it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
I pull a forest-green Henley over my head and slip on a pair of freshly ironed black slacks.
Rachel always compliments my hair when I wear this shirt around her.
I slip on my usual glasses and a pair of my leather boots before leaving to pick her up.
It feels a bit strange leaving my house only to bring her back, but I’ve decorated the back porch to be as romantic as possible for our anniversary.
I peeked at a collage she made for the front of her binder as inspiration.
My mom helped me hang twinkly lights around the porch posts, and I nearly bought out the roses at the flower shop so I could sprinkle petals around the area.
I even learned how to make filet mignon after watching countless cooking videos, as well as a crème br?lée, which Rachel had said she had always wanted to try. I thought tirelessly about every detail, and I was on pins and needles for her to see it all.
Her house is at the base of the hill across town, so it takes me a bit to get there, which only adds to the nervous pit in my stomach.
Rachel’s family lives in the only gated neighborhood in Auburn Hills.
By this point, the guy working the gate knows me and lets me through as soon as he sees my mom’s car.
I usually opt to borrow my dad’s work truck, but I figured my mom’s smaller sedan is more romantic.
Walking up to her massive house, a part of me wants to turn around and go back home without her.
I am unsure why the feeling overcomes me, but I manage to push through it.
I take a breath and knock on the door, which flies open. There stands my beautiful girlfriend. She’s wearing a knee-length maroon dress that skims her body like a breeze.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I say and hand her a single rose.
She takes it and gives it a sniff before looking up at me with a reserved smile.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yep, where are we heading?” she asks as I open the passenger door for her.
Once I slide onto my seat, I say, “Back to where I came from.” I laugh at my joke, but stop when I look at her.
“I don’t get it,” she says, raising her eyebrow and then pulling out her phone to scroll through some apps.
“I’m taking you back to my place.”
She puts her phone down dramatically. “Ugh, Tyler, I thought we were going somewhere special? We go to your house all the time.”
“Just trust me, it won’t be like all the other times,” I say, trying to reassure her, but I only get an eye roll in response. We drive the rest of the way to my house in silence, and the pit in my stomach hasn’t cleared completely.
I pull up, and from the front, you can’t see any of the romantic details I added to the back porch, and I’m immediately kicking myself. In my peripheral vision, I can see Rachel looking at me with an unamused expression.
“It looks the same to me,” she says, opening the door herself to get out. I unlock the front door for us and lead her inside.
“Just wait,” I say, taking her hand as I lead her around the corner of the foyer to the kitchen. The room is bathed in a soft, romantic glow from the several candles I lit before leaving. I smile at the work I’ve done and look over at Rachel. She honestly looks like she’s about to vomit.
“Are you okay? Do you want some water?” I ask.
“No, no. I’m fine. This is really nice, Tyler.” Rachel says, giving me a reassuring smile. I lead her out to the back porch, where soft acoustic covers of popular songs are playing from the speakers, and the lights are twinkling, with rose petals fluttering softly in the breeze.
“Surprise!” I say, turning toward her, expecting her face to light up. Rachel takes it all in and looks at me with a soft smile.
“Really great, Tyler. I love it. Maybe we can go somewhere after,” she says.
“After? I have a whole night planned here.”
“It’s just—it doesn’t really feel special to me. You didn’t even ask me what I wanted to do for our anniversary,” she exclaims and sits down in one of the patio chairs.
I open my mouth to retort, but close it, leaving her outside and going to grab the dinner I prepared. I suppose I didn’t ask her, but I told her I wanted to surprise her. She could have opposed if she had another idea. Hopefully she will relax, I think, and we can have a romantic evening.
I return, and she’s typing something on her phone. She puts it away as soon as I emerge. I place the plates down in front of each seat at the patio dining table and lay out the crème br?lée.
“Shouldn’t you keep that refrigerated?” she asks, pointing to the dessert.
“Yeah, I wanted to show you. I made crème br?lée.”
“I see that,” she says.
“What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, sitting back and crossing her arms.
“I go all out on this to try to make it romantic. I wanted to recreate something I’ve seen you dream about, yet you’ve been giving me short answers and texting the whole time. Who is more important than me right now?” There. I let it all out.
“Tyler, I don’t like the way you are talking to me,” she says, standing up. “Take me home.”
“No, I want to talk it out—talk to me, Rachel.”
“I have nothing to say. You are being rude and disrespectful.” She turns and walks inside, leaving me alone and confused about what just happened.
I pull up in front of her house, and she goes to get out, but I put my hand on her leg.
“Tyler, don’t touch me!” she shrieks.
“Hey, what is up? Did I upset you? I’m sorry. I should’ve double-checked you were okay with a surprise for our anniversary. I thought you’d like it. Can you just talk to me? What’s going on in your head right now?”
She sits back in the seat and exhales. “I-I am dating someone else,” she admits.
Now, I sit back in my chair and stare ahead at nothing in particular. “What do you mean, dating? Like currently? While we are together?”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like this”—she waves her hand between her and me— “is anything serious.”
I breathe in and out, trying to calm down and not show too much emotion. I suddenly can’t trust this person I’ve been so intimate with for so long. “Can you get out of my car?” I ask her.
“This is your mom’s car.”
“Get. Out,” I say, gripping the steering wheel with my hands. She looks over at me and gets out without saying another word.
A medley of emotions runs through me. I feel like screaming and crying.
I drive through town and decide to park near Main Street, hoping to run into someone I know.
I would rather be anywhere than go back to the house, to the cold plates of filet mignon and crumbled rose petals.
I walk toward the restaurant where my parents were having dinner, hoping to catch up with them before they went to the movie.
They see me before I do and shout my name. Their smiles fade as I approach them.
“It’s over,” I say, and my mom pulls me into a tight hug. I feel my dad’s firm grasp on my shoulder as he draws us both into his arms.
“Every roadblock is a stepping stone to something greater,” my mom says to me.
I don’t know how but she always knows what to say.
“It’s going to hurt like hell for a little while, though,” she continues, squeezing me tighter.
I wait for my dad to comment on how he's never liked Rachel or how she’s always been sour to them.
Warm and friendly were not among her best traits.
Our differences in upbringing led to how she was around my folks.
But my dad doesn’t say anything. Just pats me on the back before releasing his grasp.
“All right, you and your mom go see the movie. I’ll head home and clean up.” I pull away from my mom and look at my dad.
“Hey, you can’t weasel out!” my mom pokes his chest.
He raises his hands, “We already bought tickets. We can’t add another seat—it’s sold out, and the theater has changed to assigned seating. Things are changing around here. I can barely keep up!”
My mom squints at him, and despite their differences in height, my mom could take him down with one glance. But she smiles softly instead.
“All right, Ty, let’s go watch”—my mom looks at her tickets— “Transformers: The Sequel.”
“Did you watch the first one?” I ask, looking at them both, and they shake their heads in response. “Well, I’m sure we can figure out what’s happening,” I laugh.
“I wanted to watch a romance movie, but your dad wanted some action. All these superhero movies are basically romances with punching. So, we compromised,” my mom says, linking her arm around mine as we walk down the brick-lined street toward the theater.
I’m grateful my dad is cleaning up the house, although I feel a bit cowardly about it. Everything I did in this relationship didn’t really feel like me. I always felt like I was trying to change myself in a way that would make Rachel want to stay with me.
We pass a couple of storefronts closing up, and of course, my mom knows every person there, giving them a warm smile and a wave.
I can tell she’s refraining from stopping to talk to them, asking how their kids are, or if they’ve finished reading the book she told them about.
My mom remembers every little detail and always makes people feel heard.
But right now, she’s here for me, and it’s everything.
I am dreading finishing out the school year and being around Rachel and whoever she’s started dating—if he’s even in high school.
It makes me feel sick knowing she will move on so effortlessly, and that what we had was a joke to her.
Only hours ago, I was sad that I’d be starting college a few months from now, so far away from her, far away from home.
But now, I can’t wait to get out of this small town and start college in Eugene.
I look around, fearing that I will run into her or someone from school.
I’m ready for a change. I’m ready to see people I don’t recognize.
Ready for everyone to not know who I am.