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Defeated and exhausted, I unlock the front door and walk into the house, thankful to find it empty. After the day I’ve had, the last thing I want to do is stand face to face with Elliott. I’m still pissed at him for not coming to save me today.
After leaving downtown, I got some actual food for a late breakfast. Then, I drove to the nearest tire shop and had my tire repaired. It was the last place I wanted to spend my Saturday, and of course I was stuck sitting in the waiting room for an hour and a half, but at least it’s done. If only the rest of my life was so easy to fix.
I round the hallway and make a beeline for a much needed shower when I hear the front door click open and Elliott slipping off his shoes onto the hardwood floor. Immediately, all the tension from the day returns to my body. I bite my lip and try to decide my next move. No part of me is ready for a confrontation and I’m too mad to pretend like everything is okay. I could quickly rush into the shower and put off seeing him for that much longer, or I could tackle this… whatever it is… head on. Just as I turn on my heel to make my way towards the bathroom, the sound of his voice stops me.
“Tyler! You in there?” He calls out as his footsteps pad across the living room towards the hall. I take a deep breath and plaster on my best attempt at a smile before turning to meet him. “There you are.” He smiles. “How was your day?”
Those words were enough to make me lose my pleasant facade. “Terrible, remember?” His blank expression tells me he’s already forgotten about my call this morning. I sigh in frustration. “I went to hot yoga with Caroline and Mandy and I almost passed out during class. My pants ripped wide open, and I got a flat tire.” I listed back to him.
“Oh yeah. I forgot I talked to you earlier.” He runs a hand through his hair and leans against the wall in the hallway. “I guess you got the tire straightened out then.”
I grimace. “Yep, I changed it myself and then went to the tire shop to get my old one repaired.” I let that sink in for a moment and place my hands on my hips. “Good as new now.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to change a tire.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t. I called my dad, and he walked me through it. He didn’t want me to be stranded in downtown Oklahoma City for hours waiting on Triple A to show up.” I snarl.
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, Tyler. Sorry, I can’t just run out of work to save the day after you’ve been out with your friends at workout class and drinking mimosas.” He mutters.
I scoff. “Nope. I was out with YOUR friends, trying to make them like me so that I can make you happy, just like you asked me to.” I shake my head, remembering my morning. “And for the record, it was terrible. Every single second of it.”
He smirks and starts to respond, but then closes his mouth and just shakes his head. “I’m sorry you had a bad day.” He offers and opens his arms towards me.
I close the space between us and let him envelop me in a hug. “I’m sorry for being snippy. It’s been a really long day and I have a lot on my mind.” I say into his chest.
He squeezes me tighter and kisses the top of my head. “Why don’t you get cleaned up and we will go get something to eat for dinner? Tacos fix pretty much everything, right?”
I hug him tighter and feel relief wash over my body, thankful for a chance to reconnect with him. “It’s a date.” I say, into his chest, before wiping the stray tear rolling down my face. Maybe I am letting my emotions control me a little too much. Maybe my life isn’t so bad after all.
* * *
“Another margarita?” the server asks as he approaches our table. Naturally, I had just taken a huge bite of my street tacos.
I shake my head quickly while trying to chew and swallow my mouthful of food. My last margarita was a little too strong and I’m sure if I have a second one, I’ll have to be carried to the car after our meal.
Elliott smiles and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. I squeeze his hand back. This is exactly what we needed; an uninterrupted date night for the two of us. Everything I’ve been worried about just seems silly now. Just as I lean down to take another bite of my dinner, I notice a commotion out of the corner of my eye.
It all happens rather quickly. A server approaches our booth with a plate of sopapillas, complete with a lit candle sticking out of the top of the stack, and gently sets it down in front of me. Confused, I look down and read the words “Will you marry me?” written across the bottom of the plate in chocolate syrup.
My eyes move to Elliott’s and my heart hitches. I’m waiting for him to make a move, but his face has turned pale, and he is frozen in place. He shakes his head quickly at the server and says, “Wrong table.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry! My mistake!” the server exclaims, before quickly snatching the plate from in front of me and placing it down on the booth behind Elliott.
I watch painfully as a man that can’t be over the age of twenty years old moves from his seat to kneel in front of an already crying young blonde woman. She says ‘yes’. They kiss and I fly from my seat towards the bathroom. I barely make it inside the stall and close the door before I begin to cry. I sit down in the stall and bury my head in my hands as I let the tears puddle into my lap. In a course of mere seconds, I went from excited and eager to completely heartbroken and let down. And all he can say is, “Wrong table.” I can’t do this anymore. I move from the stall and stand in front of the sink to blot my face with a wet paper towel. After fanning myself for a few seconds, I look at my reflection and determine that’s as good as I’m going to get. Time to face Elliott and the rest of the restaurant that I just ran from while fighting back tears.
As soon as I round the corner to our table, his eyes meet mine. I try to read his expression, but there’s nothing there. He throws some cash down on the table and stands as I approach him.
“Ready to go?” He asks, just above a whisper, obviously embarrassed by my reaction.
I nod and turn towards the door, leading him through the building, past the rows of yellow and turquoise booths and out the front door into the quiet evening air. I settle into the car and put on my seat belt, not removing my eyes from the passenger side window. We drive in silence for several blocks before he speaks.
“Tyler.” He says just above a whisper, not moving his glance from the windshield.
“Elliott.” I respond quietly, willing myself to not start crying again.
“What the hell happened back there? Why are you upset?”
I bite my lip and close my eyes, begging my brain for the right words to say to him. Willing myself to not turn into a sobbing mess.
