A Life More Complete

---Chapter 14---

Melinda is one of the best friends I have and no matter what she doesn’t judge me, which makes it so easy to talk to her. She’s my Gia of the west coast. Shit, I really should call Gia and fill her in. I know she won’t be as accepting of Tyler as Melinda. Gia knew him back in the day when things were a mess. Although her and Tyler always got along, I sometimes think she only tolerated him because of me. She never said so, but I felt it. I decide to put off calling her until at least tomorrow maybe longer. I’m not sure I’m up for a possible tongue-lashing.

“Do you want to have dinner with my friend Melinda tonight. You met her yesterday, sort of. She was the blonde at my office.”

“The bitch?” he asks.

“She’s not a bitch. Okay, she was to you, but that’s because she loves me. She’s a good friend.”

“Sure. I really need to get some clothes though. I think I’m starting to smell.” I laugh, but in my mind he smells perfect.

“We’re going to meet her at a restaurant near her house. We can go by your hotel before that and get you some clean clothes. Do you feel like going to the beach today? I just want to lay in the sand in a bikini and forget about everything but you and me.”

“Sounds wonderful, except I’m wearing jeans,” he says glancing down at his pants. “I don’t think the unsuspecting public would like to see my naked ass.”

“I would,” I say, winking at him. “There’s a surf store down the street from my house. You can pick up a pair of shorts there.”

A few minutes later I am lying in the sand shielding my eyes from the sun as I glance over at Tyler. In my haste I forgot to grab a hat and sunglasses just aren’t cutting it. The sun beating down on me causes goose bumps to rise up on my skin or maybe it’s the proximity to Tyler and his incredible body. He’s still Chicago winter pale, but it doesn’t make a difference, the sun will tan his skin in a few short days. He’s one of those people. The kind the sun loves, the kind that tans instantly and lasts. He’d take two-week vacations to Barbados or Jamaica or Hawaii with his family over winter break and come back as tan as an island native.

His phone rings and he looks at me with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, I gotta take this,” he says pressing the phone to his ear. He wanders away from me and paces the beach. He runs his hand through his hair a few times and the exasperation is written all over his face. This is the first time in the many years I have spent with Tyler that I am not worried about who he is talking to or what he is planning.

He walks back to the beach towel with a smile on his face. He looks at me and the smile grows. I lick my lips and smile back. He flops down next to me and rolls onto his side facing me.

“You’re the only girl on this beach who could make a mismatched bikini look so good,” he says as he leans over and kisses me. In addition to forgetting my hat I grabbed the first two parts of a bikini from my drawer and threw them on. Turns out it was a pair of purple string bottoms and a green and white stripe halter top. It didn’t matter to me. To be happy, I just needed the beach and Tyler.

As he pulls away from me he says, “I have to go back to Chicago on Monday to finalize my divorce. I’ll fly out on Sunday night and I’ll be back Monday night. I’ll only be gone one day. That is, unless you want to come with me?” He smiles and it’s almost enough to make me say yes without a second thought.

“I wish I could, but I have to work. I have an event one of my clients is sponsoring on Sunday night. Rich women getting together and donating their used designer clothing to help homeless kids or Africa or something. I’m sure the population of a third world country is just dying to get their hands on a pair of used Jimmy Choos or a Marchesa cocktail dress. Believe me, I’d much rather be with you even with its location dangerously close to my mother.”

“I don’t think they actually give the clothes to the people. I am pretty sure, if I recall from all those benefits my mother threw, that they sell the clothes and give the money.”

“Thanks for the insight. I know that, Ty. I was being facetious.”

I immediately think of Ben and smile. Sweet, generous, Ben. These women and their over-priced clothes have nothing on him. Anytime one of my clients donates money or attends a fundraiser or does something honorable, it’s my job to make it news worthy. Play it up for the media, talk about them and discuss the amount of money that was given. It needs to be acknowledged, published, and swooned over. Not Ben. He wants no recognition for his philanthropic ways. He employs around two hundred people and pays them far more than they’d make anywhere else, including the illegal immigrants who work for him. Everyone has health insurance and 401Ks. They have the use of work trucks for their families. Not one of his employees takes advantage of him. He trusts them, even when no else will. But that’s not what makes him wonderful. He pays himself only what he feels he should earn. He’s not a frivolous spender, no expensive cars, huge house or obscenely expensive vacations. What leftover he does have he shares with a small village outside of Arusha in Tanzania. He’s not like the wealthy with whom he can so easily compete. He travels with the money and he even helped build a school where people educate the locals about HIV and AIDS and how it can be prevented. He spends weeks there maintaining the facility, teaching and providing the financial support it needs to continue to thrive. He once told me that the money he uses to help this village gives him the feeling you got as a child on Christmas. Ben can see the good in anyone—even me.

I feel a twinge of sadness rush through me. I still miss Ben and the hole is open again. It’s like pulling a scab off before it’s healed. I want it not to hurt, but it still does. Tyler has been the Band-Aid, but when I peel it back just a little, it’s still there.

“You okay?” Tyler asks.

“Yes. I’m fine,” I say trying to smile, but it’s forced. I wouldn’t dare bring up Ben with Tyler, at least not in this regard. Things are good and I want them to remain that way. “We should probably head back. I need to shower.”

“Okay. You sure nothing’s wrong?” He eyes me doubtfully.

“I’m fine. You ready?” He takes my hand and we walk back to the car.

“Really, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? Is this still about the house?”

“No. It’s not,” I smile a genuine smile at him. “Just a lot on my mind. Work, you know.” He grabs my hand and presses it to his lips and my thoughts slowly dissipate.

“Stop. I don’t like to see you stressed. I know something we can do that’s proven to eliminate stress,” he says. We try his stress-relieving method when we get home. He collapses on top of me breathing heavy and whispers, “Better?”

“Completely,” I answer.

I shower and change quickly into a pair of jeans and a low cut black top adding a pair of red ballet flats. I pull my hair back and put on a little makeup. Tyler is sitting on the couch waiting when I emerge from my bedroom. His hair is wet and beginning to curl the way it always does. When we met his hair had been longer, disheveled and messy. I loved it. It’s getting longer now, but not near what it was. His dirty blonde hair set his blue eyes off like they were backed against a light. And when he’s tan, the whole package is heart-stoppingly beautiful.

“I like your hair longer,” I say.

“So do I, but it doesn’t really say ‘professional’ when it falls in my face. The court frowns upon it being held back with a bandana, so I keep it short.”

“You ready?” I ask. He stands and heads toward the door with me. “I’m going to grab my mail. I’ll meet you in the car.”

I flip through the useless mailers and credit card application until I come across a large white envelope. I climb into the passenger seat and tear it open. It’s an invitation to my sister’s wedding that is happening next Saturday. So typical of Rachel, but still surprising. I knew she had been dating the sous chef at one of the restaurants in the hotel. I had no idea it was this serious, which tells me that our relationship is the same as it has always been. Although we are sisters, we don’t share that bond that people so warmly discuss. But I can’t expect much, we were raised to keep feelings to ourselves and to expect her to suddenly change would have been odd considering I share so little with her, too.

“My sister’s getting married,” I mutter.

“Seriously? Which one?”

“Rachel.”

“No f*cking way. Someone’s marrying Rachel?” he says sounding far more appalled than necessary.

“Be nice,” I scold. “They’ve been together for a long time now, but I never thought it was very serious. The wedding is next weekend in Carmel.”

“Nothing like wasting time,” he says sarcastically.

“Will you be my date?” I ask in a sweet voice.

“I wouldn’t dare let you attend it alone. I’ve seen what happens when the two of you drink and dance.”

I pull a small note from the envelope addressed with just my first name on it. Rachel had added a note to me that says our mother will not be there, but Maizey will. She booked rooms at the Carmel Lodge for us since it is such short notice. But it’s what the note says at the end that causes me to stop breathing. It says, “Can’t wait to see you and Ben. Miss you.” No matter what I do I can’t get rid of him. I quickly send her a text letting her know that I wouldn’t miss her wedding for the world, but that Ben won’t be coming with me. I’m vague with details of our breakup and I’m also ambiguous in my choice of date I’ll be bringing. I figure it’s too much work to explain my reconciliation with Tyler in a text. She replies immediately baiting me to tell her about Ben, but I blow her off. It needs to be simpler to forget him. It’s not, though.

We arrive at Tyler’s hotel room and he changes quickly into a gray t-shirt and pair of jeans.

“Ready?” he asks and I take his outstretched hand and follow him out of the room and down to the car.

He opens the car door for me and does the same when we arrive at the restaurant. He places his hand on the small of my back guiding me through the door. He clasps my hand in his while I scan the room for Melinda. I spot her at the bar laughing and talking to the bartender. She’s doing her best to impress him and it seems to be working. We come up behind her and she startles slightly when I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, Mel. Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Nope. Just catching up with an old friend.” She motions to the bartender. “This is Noah Crawley. We went to high school together. Small world, huh?” she says looking at him the way she looks when she wants something, or in this case someone. She introduces the two of us to Noah.

I smile at her and say, “Watch out for those high school boys, they’re trouble,” I wink at Tyler and he squeezes my hand slightly.

Melinda says good-bye to Noah and we make our way to the table following the hostess. After we sit, I reintroduce the two of them, this time with less hostility. Tyler is courteous. He runs his hand up and down my thigh and lets Melinda and I talk. Smiling and interjecting when he has something relevant to add, it’s the perfect evening. He tells Melinda how we met even though she has already heard the story. His version is better than mine. It’s during this time that I finally realize he must truly love me. Tyler excuses himself to the bathroom and Melinda nearly jumps across the table.

“Oh my God! He’s perfect!” she says grabbing my wrist. “I always wondered what your random tattoo meant. I never had the balls to ask, because it was bizarre, but it’s like a freaking love story permanently attached to you. You guys were such romantic little kids. It’s awesome.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. It’s all so hard to process. He’s totally different than he used to be. He’s making it really easy to fall in love with him all over again.”

“Shit, I’m in love with him,” she squeals and I laugh. “This time it’s right. I told you it would happen.”

“So, what about that bartender? Adorable, huh?” I quickly change the subject.

“Yeah he is, but um, he’s a bartender. Could you imagine my dad’s reaction? But he seems like he might be a good candidate for one night with me.” Melinda is a notorious one-night stand girl. She is perfectly content bedding random men and sneaking out of their houses before they can even realize she’s gone. Most would label her a slut, but not me. She’s a free spirit, someone who likes a good time and would never begrudge herself a little fun at the expense of a horny guy. Everyone needs to be more like Melinda. She loves sex and finds it where she can get it. No guilt, no strings, no love, just pleasure and back to normal life after it’s over. She once confessed to me while we were drunk that she wished she could find someone, that she was lonely, but in the morning light she was back to being carefree and bedding a guy she picked up while we were hiking Runyon Canyon.

“Do what you gotta do,” I tell her. “He seems nice enough.” Tyler returns to the table just as we finish up our conversation about how thankful Melinda is that she got a Brazilian two days ago.

“It’s usually out of commission for at least a day,” she says.

“What’s out of commission?” Tyler asks.

“You don’t wanna know,” I tell him and he looks at me with a little too much interest.

We finish our dinner and I’m on my fourth margarita. I have that slightly lightheaded feeling going on as I kiss Melinda good-bye. I whisper in her ear that she should consider more than just a one-night stand with the bartender. I giggle and she shakes her head at me, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she’s contemplating it. Tyler, being his polite self, leans in and kisses her on the cheek, too. He asks if we can give her a ride back to her house. She declines and he wishes her well and escorts me to the car. My arm linked in his; gripping it a little more tightly due to my drunkenness that seems to be taking control of my body. I’m giggly and smiling far too much. I can’t stop telling him I love him as my hands grope his body unnecessarily. I sound ridiculous, yet I have no control.

The words flow from me like water from a tap. “Move in with me,” I say slightly slurred. “Not in that big beautiful house. Just stay with me. Love me.”

He pauses and looks at me with wide eyes. He pulls into my driveway before he answers. “I think we should talk about this when you are not so well acquainted with tequila.”

“I think I just want to be well acquainted with you. Please,” I beg. “Sleep in my bed. Stay forever.” I can hear myself but for some reason this tequila-induced stupor has made me far bolder than I would have ever been sober. He grabs me from the car by my wrist and drags me up the stairs. I fumble for my keys as he grabs my purse and locates what I can’t find. Everything is a little blurry. He picks me up and carries me to my bedroom. He delicately puts me down on the bed and looms over me with those eyes, that smile, that beautiful face and messy hair. I look up at him with my drunken smile and half closed eyes.

“Please,” I request one last time.

“I’ll do anything for you,” he whispers as he kisses me. “But I need you to do one thing for me.” His voice has turned even quieter now.

“Anything,” I mumble.

“Marry me,” he says and my heart stops.