Chapter Nine #2
like a spontaneous gesture, a sign that he was still comfortable with the idea of his body touching hers, and that incensed
her even as she felt herself wanting to sway into the touch, not away.
“You didn’t call me or text or anything. It’s been almost a week.” She felt her face burning now. “I realize I could have
called or texted you myself, except when you left my place on Friday morning, you said, and I quote, I’ll call you later today.”
Tyler removed his hand from her shoulder and stared at her for a long beat before he said, very slowly, “This is because I
didn’t call you or text you?” Helen looked away, then back again. He smiled faintly as he asked, “And you’re upset about that?”
It was his little smile that made her snap. “Fuck you—yes, I’m upset. I thought we had a great time.”
Tyler made a slight face in reaction to her swearing at him, almost as if it wounded him, and she wished she could take that part back—not because he didn’t deserve it, but because it seemed undignified on her part, swearing like a truck driver.
She didn’t care if he knew that he’d hurt her though.
He had indeed hurt her, and if he could do something like this to her, he was probably doing this to lots of women.
What was the point of acting indifferent when someone charmed you only to discard you? There was no shame in being hurt.
“You’re so mean.” Helen shook her head. “A woman tells you she’s upset, and you smile at her?”
Tyler’s entire expression changed then. “No, I’m sorry,” he said softly, bringing his hands to the outside of her arms. Gentle,
reassuring. “Don’t be upset. I just thought it was a little funny because I did call you. And I texted you. You didn’t reply to my texts or call me back, so I thought you were the one ignoring me.”
“What?”
As Tyler pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched in the passcode, Helen could already feel the heaviness lifting.
He opened his text app and scrolled down to find a thread. He held it up so she could read it. Her name was at the top and
the thread had two outgoing messages.
The first was date-stamped Friday at 6:10 p.m.:
Hey, I had a great time last night. Sorry I’m texting. I wanted to see you again this weekend, but my grandma had a heart
attack. She’s in the hospital in Portland and I just got down here. Looks like she’s going to be okay, but I’m staying with
my mom for a couple days. It’s a little crazy right now. I’ll call you when I get back to Seattle.
The second text was from Saturday morning at 11:44 a.m.:
How’s it going?
“And here’s my call log.” He turned the screen toward her again so she could see the list of phone calls. “Mom. Mom. My sister.
Mom and . . . Helen.”
The outgoing call to her was Saturday afternoon.
“I didn’t wait to call until I got back to Seattle,” Tyler said. “I called you from Portland . . .” He trailed off. He didn’t
need to explain why.
“That’s weird.” Helen felt hopeful but still very much on guard. She’d spent the last few days assuming the worst and couldn’t
fully shake that feeling. “Did you leave me a voicemail?”
“Yeah.” He looked at her, then back down at his phone.
“Is your grandma okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, they let her go home yesterday . . .” He was doing something on his phone again. “Do you have one of those generic
greetings?”
Helen shook her head. She had a personalized greeting on her voicemail.
After a moment, Tyler showed her his screen. It was her name and phone number in his address book.
She smiled. “You transposed the six and the three.”
He smiled too, his entire body suddenly so relaxed it made it starkly evident just how tense he’d been only moments prior.
Helen realized then she didn’t need to be on guard. There was nothing manipulative about this man.
Tyler shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Helen. I can’t believe I messed that up.” He edited her phone number in his address
book and showed her the screen again.
“That’s correct now,” Helen said, and Tyler started to laugh. “Why are you laughing?” She already knew the answer because
she felt the same way, but she wanted to hear him say it.
“Because I’m relieved.”
“So you like me?” she asked.
He tucked his phone back in his pocket and his hands moved to her waist and squeezed playfully. “Just a little bit.”
She put her arms around his neck. “I ran away when I saw you waiting at the elevator this morning.”
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I know. That’s why I was still standing there when you came back.”
She rose up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “I know.” Helen could feel Tyler’s chest tremble against hers as he tried to
hold in his laugh. “I felt so stupid though,” she said. “I didn’t know what to say. I was rambling about the weather.”
They both started to laugh at the shared memory, clutching each other’s arms as they recounted it.
“This morning was salt in my wounds,” Tyler said. “I said to myself, if she starts telling me how many miles per hour the
wind is, I’m skipping work. I’m done for the day.”
Helen protested, “You were the one telling me the exact forecast.”
“I just made up a forecast because the whole thing was so awkward. For something to be that awkward, I thought, either she really likes me, or she really hates me. I was afraid it was the second.”
“No,” she said. “It’s the first.”
Tyler kissed her softly, and everything felt sweet again.
After work, they went to happy hour. As they were sitting down at a round bar table with drinks and a basket of soft pretzels
with cheese dip, Tyler asked her if she wanted to go to a concert with him that weekend.
“Who is it?” Helen asked, and he said the name of a band she didn’t recognize.
“It’s British punk,” he explained.
“Oh, cool!” Helen tried to appear intrigued.
Tyler saw her expression and started laughing.
“I’m a bad liar!” She ducked her head and covered her face. “Sorry, but I find punk a little jarring.”
“Agreed.” Tyler raised his pint glass to toast, and she clinked hers into his.
“Then why do you like it?”
“I like the energy of it. Especially standing right at the stage.”
Maybe it made perfect sense that Tyler would like music that was so rousing and fast. He seemed so calm, so perhaps the aggressive
sounds didn’t irritate him, as they did her, but rather fueled him. She wanted to see it: this man with his patient and grounded
confidence, standing at the stage.
“I like most kinds of music though, not just punk,” he said. “I listen to film scores when I’m programming on my computer.”
“Okay, wow. That’s the other end of the spectrum,” she said. “Like instrumentals?”
“Right. Orchestral scores especially.”
“That’s interesting,” Helen said, picturing him in front of a computer, a symphony around him. She wanted to see all of these
different shades of him. “I’ll go to the punk concert with you.”
“Yeah?” Tyler straightened up a little.
“Yeah. But only if we stand at the stage.”
He grinned. “Deal.”
Helen and Tyler stayed at the bar that night talking about everything and nothing until two o’clock in the morning, when the
bartender tossed a damp rag on the counter and said, “Sorry, we’re closing.” Neither of them had noticed the entire place
had cleared out while the ice in their tumblers melted.
That weekend, they went to the punk concert and crowded by the stage. Helen confirmed that she didn’t like punk music, but
she learned that she loved watching Tyler sing along with it, his hands in the air. She raised hers next to his, every single
song.