CHAPTER 17
Tyson
Tyson wiped his hands with a kitchen rag when he heard the doorbell. Jogging to the front door, he opened it and said, “Hey.”
Gabrielle glanced at her watch. “See–told you I’d be here by six.”
Tyson looked out into the driveway and waved at Padma as she drove away. “Yeah, you made it,” he acknowledged, taking bags from her hand, placing them on the living room table. “I see you brought the entire mall home.”
“It’s not my fault. Padma wanted to go shopping. She bought me some pretty summer dresses and a few other things.”
“That’s nice.”
“It smells good in here.”
“It always does when I’m cooking. I hope you brought your appetite. The food has been prepared, my dear, and now that you’re here, we can eat.”
“Okay. Let me run these bags upstairs real quick. I’ll be right back.”
Tyson walked back to the kitchen, taking their plates to the dining room table where he’d already had the silverware laid out. He grabbed two wine glasses and a bottle of Chardonnay.
When he heard Gabrielle coming downstairs, he waited before sitting, allowing her to sit first, then he took a seat.
“So...” he said, looking at her while she eyed everything on her plate. “Dig in.”
“It all looks so good. I don’t know where to start.”
Tyson popped the cork on the wine bottle, poured them both a little and studied Gabrielle as she tried the fish. He watched her eyes light up the same way they did when she tried the breakfast pastry he cooked.
“Good?”
She nodded. “Excellent! Now I know why Padma wants some so badly.”
“You told her I was cooking this?” he asked, unable to remove the smile from his face.
“No. Around the same time you sent me the text asking which meal I wanted, she was telling me how she wanted some of your pecan-crusted trout. That’s the reason I chose this meal. She said you cooked some for Prasad’s anniversary or something.”
“Yeah, I did. He and his wife celebrated three years of marriage last February, so I cooked a private dinner for them.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I thought so.”
Tyson was quiet for a few moments as he watched her eat while eating his own food.
He took a sip of wine. She took a cautious sip, and he studied her since he knew this was her first time trying alcohol.
He primarily took notice of the way her lips made contact with the glass.
She was delicate in her movements, a true woman – not loud, boisterous, trying to display toughness. She was just – lovely.
And soft.
But perhaps that was due to her inexperience with the world. From everything he knew about her so far, she lived a very sheltered life. One that came with struggles and financial insecurity. The world she was thrust into came with wealth and status.
Tyson wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and asked, “What else did you and Padma talk about?”
“She wants me to work with a group of students for the community garden project, which I’m looking forward to. And, she said she was going to pay me a salary since I’m on my own, I have to support myself now.”
“That was nice of her, but she should know you don’t need it.”
“I kinda do. I’m solo now.”
“How? You don’t see the grown, very capable man sitting across from you?”
“Tyson, I–”
“I’m going to make sure you have everything you need.”
“But I’m–I’m not your responsibility. I’m still married.”
“For now.”
Gabrielle hesitated to say anything further on the subject. “Oh, and before I forget, I have to warn you...I made the mistake of telling Padma you made tiramisu.”
“Oh, no.” Tyson laughed. “She’s going to kill me for sure.”
“Why won’t you make some for her?”
“Because I only make it on special occasions.”
“When you made it for me, well, for us, it wasn’t a special occasion.”
“It was. We were celebrating your independence from your abuser.”
Tyson watched the downcast expression take over her face.
She said, “Speaking of Dilvan, I think you were right. I will have to face him, eventually.”
“You were unsure about it this morning.”
“I know, but after speaking with Padma about it, I realize I still may have feelings for him.”
“Oh,” Tyson said, trying to conceal the frown on his forehead. How could she have feelings for a man who’d treated her so badly? Who’d stripped her of her dignity?
“And it’s not the feeling of missing him and wanting to be with him again,” she continued.
“It’s the feeling of loss–of what we could’ve been.
I keep thinking about how our life would be if he was good to me.
We’d be happily married with two children.
Instead, I’m just a damaged, childless woman with no desire to be attached to a man again. ”
Tyson cleared his throat by washing his food down with a long swig of wine, thinking carefully about how he wanted to respond.
He’d already told her what he thought about her.
About how good of a woman she was and how she never should’ve been mixed up with Dilvan.
This time, he wanted to give her a different perspective.
A new outlook. He said, “You can’t keep dwelling on the past, Bri, or you’ll never see the present for what it is.
Right now, we’re sitting here sharing a meal, and you’re living in darkness.
Look around, my dear–this isn’t Dilvan Alexander’s fancy house with the four garages, maids, housekeepers and chefs–all the things people think they need to show the world how successful they are.
This is Tyson Alexander’s modest home–one filled with good memories, good vibes, and good food. Enjoy.”
Gabrielle smiled. “You’re right, Tyson. Let me enjoy this delicious food.”