It feels so incredibly intimate and right to have dinner together in our post sex bliss. I face Tyler, sitting on the floor in his discarded Nirvana Tee and woolly, stripy green and orange socks up to my knees. Tyler is in boxers, his bare body a feast to my eyes. I sip on Tom Yam from a mug with my legs bent, toes dug under Tyler’s thigh, while he feeds me Pad Thai with chopsticks in-between his own mouthfuls.
Tyler swallows and tips his chin at the mug in my hands. With a soft smile, I tilt forward to bring the mug to his lips. He rewards me with a thin grin of gratitude. “I need to be in New York on Monday, wanna join me? We can stay for a couple of nights, make a short getaway out of it.”
“Umm, I can’t, I’ll need to be in Vegas on Monday.” I lower my gaze, taking great interest in the mug in my hands.
Tyler’s brows wrinkle. “Vegas?” He brings another load of noodles to his mouth.
“Yes, there’s this thing I’ve been meaning to tell you about right when you came back but got a little side-tracked.” I lift my stare to his.
“Really?” Tyler’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “What is it, Kiis?”
I set the mug on the low table and hug my knees. “I spoke to Chris last night.” Tyler splits his attention between the steaming bowl in his hand and me. “He mentioned that a job he thought I’d be interested in became available and asked me to fly out to Vegas for interviews with the YWOP management.”
Tyler mounts another load on the chopsticks. “What position are they talking about?”
“A project coordinator,” I say and then swiftly add in a lower tone, “Based out of Texas —what do you say, exciting, ah?”
Tyler’s eyes lift to me, the chopsticks suspended in mid-air. “It’s in Texas?”
“Yes, that’s where the offices are based. So, what do you say?” I opt to maintain a light tone.
Tyler stabs the sticks in the diminishing pile of noodles. “Will you be traveling there often?” He wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Is it something you can do remotely?”
I shake my head.
Tyler places the bowl of food and the crumbled napkin on the table, a little too aggressively. A strange feeling winds up in my chest, like we’re going to fight. Like I’m going to get hurt and disappointed. “What do I say?” He says to the bowl with an incredulous chuckle. He turns to me. “It’s a couple thousand miles away.” He cocks his head, studying me, his jaw tight. “And you want to take it?”
I nod again, finding it hard to hold a neutral expression.
“I don’t get it,” he says seeming utterly startled. “Wasn’t the point of you coming back for us to be together?” He slightly shakes his head in bewilderment. “I don’t get it.” His eyes hard on mine. “Did we come so far just for you to go away?”
I tighten my embrace on my bent legs. “Tyler, it’s a bit unfair and sort of selfish for you to say that. I have a shot at a career and, you know — it’s my life.”
“And what, Ivi?” His frown deepens. “I’m being selfish for wanting my girlfriend next to me? For us to be together? When will we see each other exactly, with my traveling and you three states away?” He scratches his scruff absently.
“We can make long distance work,” I say determined.
He retorts, “Can we?” Tyler’s mouth twists. “Selfish,” he repeats to the room on a sigh. Turning to look at me again, he adds, “You know what? I am selfish when it comes to you. I want you, all the time. I want you near me. I’m not going to apologize for that.” He pauses. “Ivi, do you understand that we’ll hardly see each other, that’s what you want?”
I take a deep breath, my next words coming out harsher and quicker. “My life basically revolves around you. I have nothing for myself here. If I want to make roots here, they should be mine. God, Tyler, I’m the very definition of a kept woman.” I want to retch at the thought. “I live in your house. Eat your food. Hang out with your friends. It’s as if nothing is really mine in this relationship.”
“I’m yours,” Tyler’s stare locks on mine. “I thought that was enough,” he adds under his breath. He takes my hand in his. “You want me to call my lawyer and sign the house over to you? I can arrange it immediately.”
My eyes grow in surprise. “What? No!” Comes out as a shocked exhalation. “You don’t get it, do you?” I drop my hand from his. Looking at him in dismayed irritation I say, “Tyler, you’re so off track here. It’s not about property or anything materialistic. It’s about me wanting to fulfil my desires and us being equal which to me seems like it’s almost impossible. You are who you are, you can’t change that. I don’t want you to change but in the same breath I want to do something for me, to grow as an individual.” I hold his stare. “A name on a deed won’t do that.”
Tyler is quiet for some stretched moments. He leans to rest his arms on his thighs, his fingers steepled together. He looks ahead as he talks, “I don’t have my hand anywhere near the emergency brake when it comes to us. I try to embrace whatever comes our way because I’m in for the long haul.” He cranes his neck to give me a sidelong look. “Is this really your dream job? Is it worth putting us on the backburner?” His stare at me deepens. “To me it sounds a bit like an escape plan because things are getting serious.”
Escape plan. Is it some sort of an escape plan? I bite on my lips because suddenly they start to tremble. “Tyler, don’t do that. That’s unfair. I’m not choosing anything over you and you know that. I’m just — ”
Tyler rises to stand, folding his arms across his chest, looking frustrated. “You know what? Do whatever you want. You’re not going to listen to me anyway. From where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve made up your mind long before talking to me.” He spreads his arms in defeated frustration. “With that said,” he stares me down. “You know what, Ivi? When you find someone you see a future with, you try to learn how to make your rhythms synch. Try to see how you can incorporate your wills, so you stay true to yourself, but not at the cost of being together. I’d do anything to make you happy, Ivi. And above all, I want us to work. You living in a different state and me traveling most of the time, not to mention I have a kid in LA — I can’t follow you.” He shakes his head somewhat exasperated. “I want Jeremy to be a constant in my life, just as I want you to be one. People adjust and make it work when they really want it to work.” He shrugs in defeat. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m not that person for you, but just to make it clear, sure as hell you’re that person for me.”
“Tyler.” I stand up.
“What, Ivi, what?” he raises his voice. When I don’t reply, as I’m too confused to even form an intelligent response, Tyler says, “I’m gonna — ” He tips his head in the direction of the recording studio.
With a bitter forlorn smile, I ask, “You need some space?”
Tyler blinks swiftly, asserting that, yes, he needs some space. . . away from me.
And I’m left alone. Completely bare and shivering underneath his shirt, I note that I still smell of him. It makes the moment that much harder to bear.
After an hour that seem like an eternity, I go up to the bedroom, not surprised yet disappointed, that he doesn’t come up to seek me. I toss and turn till the wee hours of the night by myself in bed and fall asleep alone.
“I wish someone would talk about me the way Tyler Lee talks about Ivi. That last interview for the @rollingstone, sisters! I died all dies!
A tweet by @TherealMrsAdams tagging @TylerLeeAdams and @IviK
9:00 a.m.
The day begins like any other day, any other day with a stomach laden with unease and minus one boyfriend. Tyler is nowhere to be seen when I finally manage to peel myself out of bed. I feel like I have a hangover even though not a drop of alcohol touched my lips last night. I shower quickly and shrug on a pair of boyfriend jeans and a large, black off the shoulder shirt. I don’t bother with makeup, puffy eyes or not. I’m definitely not in the mood for fussing over my looks.
9:25 a.m.
I futilely look for Tyler
around the house and contemplate for a long moment whether to call him or not. Disturbed and disappointed by the fact that this is the way he chose to handle our disagreement, or whatever it was, I decide to not call him. Two can play this dumb power game. Instead, I bring up the Uber app and order a ride to a little coffee shop I frequent regularly, less than inclined to stay at home and stew over this.. A change of scenery is not a bad idea. Especially if said change of scenery involves people gazing and a tea.
10:00 a.m.
A steaming chai latte is cradled between my hands as I gaze out the window, taking in the busy world outside. People going about their day, pleased with an agenda, with a purpose. It’s hard to wrap my head around what I’m feeling right now. It’s a cauldron of opposing emotions. There’s anger, sadness, frustration, compassion and understanding, all boiling in me. Tyler’s justifications toward the end of our argument were legitimate and made lots of sense. He can’t follow me. His entire life is based in L.A. with Jeremy as the crux of his reluctance to even consider the idea of moving away. That’s something I’d never want him to change for me. Not to mention, we both know full-well that this isn’t about a dream job. Not even close. With that said, right from the start he was too vocal about his displeasure of the idea of me moving away. He didn’t really listen to what I was saying or try to come up with a solution together. To him, my moving away is a death sentence to our relationship. Is it? He didn’t even offer to try it out for a while, try to make long-distance work. Thinking about it, out of all the emotions, anger seems to lead the race at this point. That fuels and nurtures my thoughts to grow with irritation. A small voice peeps through the resentment, it was all about him not wanting to lose you. The downside to this comforting notion is that the way he delivered it was immensely selfish and inconsiderate.
10:15 a.m.
I haven’t touched my chai. Yes, my mind is spinning. Yes, I am mad. Yes, it’s absurdly ridicules not to talk things out. Yes, this wedge between us is tearing me at the seams. I don’t believe in wars, I believe in peace, negotiations and a happier world. Maybe it’s time to offer an olive branch. I pull out my phone and set it on the table in front of me, mentally preparing to make the call.
10:20 a.m.
Five minutes of staring at an inanimate device is enough to make it a touch ludicrous. That’s it, I’m not sure what I’m going to say, all I know is that I need to say something, and it has to be said right now. I pick up the phone, my heart is banging in my chest and . . . it startles me with a chime. I jerk back a little, surprised by the unexpected development. The phone rings again with Tyler’s name at the bottom of the image of his beautiful face flashing at me. My emotions are all over the place when I answer with a subdued, “Hey.”
“Ivi,” Tyler’s voice alone makes me stiffen in my seat. A pause. “Jeremy and Melena are in the hospital.”
My hand flies to my mouth, all the prior bedlam erased by one short sentence. “What? Are they okay, what happened?”
“No.” Another pause, a chilling one. “There was an accident, we’re at Cedars–Sinai.”
“I’m coming.”
10:29 a.m.
My head is throbbing; my lips are about to bleed from the assault of my teeth. I look out the window, but I see nothing. Typical L.A. is trafficy and the Uber slowly crawls. Too slow. The navigation system shows a twenty minute estimated time of arrival. I’m a tight spring of apprehension as I inwardly urge the cars in fronts of us to move faster. The song on the radio is followed by a news feed. Only fragments of information really sink in, congressman, assault, shooting, Brexit across the pond. Abruptly, my ears perk up. “What did they just say?” I ask the driver.
He glances at me via the rear-view mirror. “That singer’s Tyler Lee Adams, his son was in a car accident. They said he’s in critical condition.” He shakes his head. “Crazy world we’re living in, ah?”
10:35 a.m.
I feel like a massive quake just hit me, leaving me with my feet at either side of the crack where I’m not sure which side to take but know full-well that not taking a side isn’t an option. My heart stops for a breath and when it beats again, it hurts. Critical condition. The Uber app shows about half a mile to go which seems like it’ll take forever in this heavy traffic. “Can you pull over?”
“Ma’am, were not there yet.”
“Please pull over.” It’s a plea.
10:36 a.m.
The car doesn’t even come to a complete stop as I jump out. I’m still able to hear the reprimanding “miss” the driver calls out as I start running toward the hospital like my life depended on it, all the while holding back tears of panic that are threatening to break free any minute.
10:46 a.m.
Jogging through the sliding doors to the ER, my eyes run everywhere, searching, not sure for what. Spotting the information desk, I dash over, my words stumble on one another at the nurse behind the counter, “Jeremy Adams, he’s here. I mean, Jeremy Nathan Brown. He’s supposed to be here.”
The nurse doesn’t even look Jeremy up in the records before muttering, “You’ll have to go through that guy.” She tips her head at a tall guy in a dark suit. I briskly walk over to the guy in subject which I quickly realise must be a security personal. Word already got out, people know that Tyler is here. For a moment I feel sorry for Tyler, even his most private moments are public, and there’s nothing he can do about it. “I’m Ivi — Tyler’s . . . ” I stammer, pleading at the guy in the suit.
He nods at me mid-sentence. “Room number five, down that hall.” A meaty finger points behind his shoulder.
10:51 a.m.
“Ben.” Ben, who’s standing by door number five gives me a consolation smile, tipping his chin in greeting. He takes a step forward to open the door to allow me in. I step in to a bland waiting room with a sofa and a low table, whitewashed walls and Tyler sitting on a plastic chair. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his face ashen. I stand by the door, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. Tylor’s shattered eyes capture mine. I take a few steps to stand before him, my expression mirroring his. His Adam apple descends as he swallows, perhaps pushing down his own fears. Wordlessly, he sends his hand to grab a fistful of my shirt. Tyler pulls me closer to him and buries his face in my stomach. I’m choked up on emotions and worries as I wrap my hands around his head, leaning down to put my lips to the crown of his head.
We stay still for some stretched, silent moments, holding on to each other, too staggered to form words. We break apart only when Eli enters the room, moments later, stone-faced, carrying a travel tray with hot beverages.
I turn to bring a chair to sit next to Tyler, but he halts me by pulling at my hand. I turn back to him in question. Tyler wraps his arm around my waist and gently sits me on his lap. An act of dependence, of needing me, to hold on to. His arm stays around my waist as he accepts a hot drink from Eli.
“Ivi?” Eli offers me one too.
I shake my head. “Thanks, I’m good.”
“Any update?” Eli asks, pulling out a stick of gum from a pack in his pocket.
“Nothing,” Tyler says on an exhale.
Eli nods, chewing on the gum. “I’m going to see if I can get anything.” He walks out of the room.
“What happened?” I finally ask Tyler in a quiet voice. “Where’s Jeremy?”
Tyler’s features harden in agony. “Some paparazzi followed their car. Melena got distracted and they say she lost control of the car and hit a tree.”
I gasp.
“The airbags were deployed but Melena has a fractured forearm and a concussion. She’s pretty bruised up.” Tyler swallows, seeming to have a hard time letting out his next words. “Jeremy,” he says and clears his throat. “They’re still checking him, they suspect a head injury. Question is how serious it is.”
I watch Tyler with a hand over my mouth. A knock on the door has us turn our attention to the front of the room. Two doctors in white coats enter the room, the older one wit
h wire-framed glasses and a clipboard, says, “Mr. Adams.” The other, a younger man with his mask hanging at his neck follows his senior colleague.
Tyler stands, and so do I. The older surgeon extends his hand for a shake, “I’m Dr. Soames, and this is Dr. Nicholas.” We shake both men’s hands.
The younger Dr. Nicholas, says, “We’d like to give you an update,” squinting my way.
Tyler follows his gaze. “Go ahead, Ivi’s family.”
I take Tyler’s hand in mine, to support him. To support myself.
Dr. Soames leafs through the clipboard and straightens his stare. “Your son was moved to intensive care. He suffered a trauma to the head from the airbag. There was some swelling and localized bleeding in the surrounding tissues.” Pause. “We induced a coma to give time for the swelling to go down.”
Tyler’s hand weakens in mine and I squeeze gently, wordlessly reminding him that I’m here for him.
“Coma?” Tyler clears his throat, his voice still comes out gravelly as he asks, “For how long? What’s next? Is there any damage?”
Unplugged II: Unplugged, #2 Page 12