So Different

by Robinson, Ruthie

  She picked up another container, this one was marked “enchiladas.”

  “I love enchiladas,” she said, handing that bowl to him as well. “Is this from the Taco Post?”

  “Nope.”

  “I can’t believe you kept this all to yourself. You’ve never thought to feed me before? And I’ll take one of these,” she said, plucking a small juice bottle off the shelf. It was one of those brands that offered a thicker style juice. The label read “mango.”

  “You want anything?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll eat what you have,” he said and watched as she ducked back underneath his arm. He placed the two containers on the counter.

  “Want a plate?” she asked. “Do you even have plates?”

  “Yes, but then I’d have to clean them. We can eat from these, it’s just me,” he said, and moved around her. He opened the microwave, put the containers in there and set the timer.

  He opened a drawer, took out two forks, and tore a few paper towels from the holder. He grabbed a bottle of salsa and a juice for himself from the refrigerator.

  “Can’t forget that,” she said. He smiled.

  “I think Mexican food is my favorite food. It’s hard to grow up in Texas and not like Tex Mex,” she said.

  “True,” he added and pulled out the containers as the bell chimed.

  “Where do you want to sit?” he asked.

  “How about the dining table? Oh, you don’t have one,” she said, laughing at her humor. “Sofa it will have to be.” She grabbed the two juices, silverware, napkins, and salsa, while he grabbed the containers of food. She followed him over to the couch.

  “Wait,” she said, after setting their food items on the small table in front of the sofa. She walked back to the bedroom, grabbed her underwear, her t-shirt, and his shorts, throwing them to him.

  She sat next to him, opened the rice, grabbed her fork, and starting eating, groaning in pleasure a few minutes later. “This is great,” she said, once she’d stopped chewing. “Did you cook this?”

  “No,” he said, taking a forkful of enchiladas.

  “Who? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “A friend,” he said. And he did consider Elsa a friend.

  “A friend,” she repeated.

  He nodded, and switched his container for hers.

  “What kind of friend?” she asked.

  “Just a friend,” he replied.

  “Like me?”

  “If you’re asking if I have sex with her, the answer is no,” he said.

  “Do you have sex with anyone other than me?” she asked.

  “Fine time to ask,” he said, chuckling.

  “Well do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “So this friend just cooks for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  “It is a her and yes, it is nice,” he said, smiling, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. She let it go and just enjoyed the food.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “For?”

  “For feeding me.”

  “Anytime,” he said and smiled at her again.

  “So how long were you engaged?”

  “Why?” he replied. She heard caution enter into his voice, a first.

  “Just curious,” she said.

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” she said, surprised. “That was short.” She waited a minute before she asked, “What happened?”

  “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I wasn’t the one for her and she wasn’t the one for me. And what’s with the twenty questions?” he asked, a serious tone in his voice now, one she wasn’t familiar with.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why the questions about my engagement?” he asked, looking at her.

  “Just curious,” she said.

  “You were never curious before. Why now?”

  “Dude, it was just a question. Answer it or don’t. Either way works for me.”

  “Okay then. I prefer not to answer.”

  “Whatever,” she said and shrugged.

  He looked over at her. She ate, pretending she wasn’t bothered. “Look, it’s been great here with you. Seriously. I like hanging out with you. I like watching you skate. Like that what we have is not serious. I like that there are no strings, no nothing, right, just kicking it, enjoying each other’s company. So when you ask about my ex, I wonder if things are changing. I really don’t want things to change,” he said.

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  “You sure you’re not looking for more with your questions?” he asked, still serious.

  “Yes, I’m sure. No big deal, really. Sorry I asked,” she said, trying to hide her irritation. “I like you, too. I also like what we do here, didn’t mean to get your panties all twisted.”

  “They’re not. Your panties might be, though,” he said, still serious, caution in his eyes.

  “They’re not,” she said.

  “You sure?” he asked a few minutes later. He noticed that she’d gotten quiet.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Good,” he said, clicked on the TV. Some late night something or other was on. They sat and ate and watched TV in silence.

  * * *

  Fourth week in June – Thursday

  He smiled. “So what’s the problem?” Adam asked, looking up from his computer. He’d finally gotten his dad’s patients’ records and other administrative records onto the computer.

  “There is a Mr. Sanchez here. He wants to see you. He knows Elsa, your cook and cleaning lady. I didn’t know you had a cook and cleaning lady, Mr. High-on-the-Hog,” she added.

  He laughed. “Send him in.”

  “He only speaks Spanish.”

  “Okay… send him in.”

  “You speak Spanish?” she asked, shocked for the first time. He’d actually surprised her, and she hadn’t thought that was possible.

  “I do,” he said, smiling.

  “When did you learn? Does your father know?

  He shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said.

  “Okay, then,” she said, closing the door behind her. He cleared off his desk, or at least tried putting things into one manageable pile. He’d learned Spanish on his own. They hadn’t spoken it in his home growing up. He didn’t know why he’d chosen to learn it, but it came in handy living in Texas. And he used it more than he thought he would, working at the free dental clinics in and around Texas.

  His pops had married his mother for a reason, although he wasn’t as vocal as she. Adam had known they were both pullers for the underdog, the working man, and it must have snuck underneath his pores when he wasn’t looking because he pulled for them too, in his own way.

  He looked up as the door opened. A small Latino man stood in the doorway, dressed for work. His white clothes were covered by different colored spots of paint splatter.

  “Senor Sanchez, cómo gustaria sentarse?” Adam said, standing up and pointing to one of the chairs that sat in front of his desk. “¿Cómo podria ayudarle?”

  Mr. Sanchez smiled at Adam’s use of Spanish, showing he was missing two of his front teeth. “Gracias, Senor Barnett, buenas tardes.”

  They talked for about thirty minutes, working out an agreement. He was a painter and a handyman, of which Adam did not have a use for now, but who knew, maybe later. Mr. Sanchez wanted his teeth fixed before his eldest graduated from college. It really didn’t matter, as long as the help was given. He learned from his dad and mother that the good you did came back to you. He just preferred to keep his advocacy quiet.

  So, work was done for the day and on to Mariah of the fun and entertaining Tuesday and Thursday nights. He looked forward to them, to having her at his apartment, even though he was a little bothered, even annoyed, at her questioning the other night.

  * * *

  Mariah glanced at the door. No sign of Adam. What would she do if he didn’t show up? She’d gotten used to him being around, and the
thought of his absence from her life scared her for a second.

  She was aware of him now in a way she hadn’t been before, in that you-are-starting-to-mean-something-to-me-I’m-feeling-weird-about-it way. She once again wondered why he was comfortable with just getting together two days a week. It had been the reason behind her questions the other night, even though she’d told him different.

  She was falling for Junior D.D.S. She sighed, choosing to think about something else for a while, put her mind back on skating, which was the reason she was at practice. Remember practice, she told herself, moving her mind away from him.

  * * *

  He was late. He had had to go by his pop’s before coming here, ended up staying for dinner, so he had to haul ass in order to get to Mariah’s practice in time. He guessed he could have skipped it, would have called, except he didn’t have her number and he wasn’t going to ask for it. He didn’t know where she lived. Shouldn’t he feel badly about that?

  The problem with women, he knew, was that they always wanted more, regardless of what they said. He should have expected this. He’d thought she was okay with them, she hadn’t passed on any vital information about herself and he thought that meant she was content. He should have known better. Since when were women happy with anything other than a relationship; even an oddly dressed, roller derby woman.

  What had started out as simple sex between two consenting adults was going where? It didn’t have to go anywhere, as far as he was concerned. It was meeting its intended goal, satisfying the needs of two people attracted to each other in that way. No more, no less, yet he'd sped up to make it. He didn’t want her to think he’d stood her up, because he did like her. She was funny, tough, entertaining. He looked forward to being with her two nights a week for a number of reasons; sex, of course, but it was her, too. Yet if he could continue to keep it simple, he would.

  They wanted two different things in life, right? Not that he had any idea of what she wanted. She’d never mentioned it, and he’d avoided asking.

  She was so far from his norm, and that had been the initial beauty of this arrangement; she was never a real threat to him. He pulled into a spot next to her car, hopped out, and made his way in.

  They were as regular as clockwork. The girls smiled and glanced his way, some even waved. He found her and met her eyes as she looked up on her way around the rink, giving him a smile—her sly one—which foretold all kinds of things for the night. So here he stood as he’d stood every Tuesday and Thursday for the last month, waiting for her and what the half night with her meant to him.

  Five minutes later practice was over and she started toward him. He walked the remaining distance to meet her; that was also a part of their routine.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “Sorry I was late. How was practice?” he asked, surprised that he’d apologized. He opened the door for her and followed her out into the night, like they were some old married couple.

  “See you in a few?” he asked once they reached her car.

  “Yep,” she said, closing her door and driving away. She seemed different to him, a little distant. He watched her leave, then got into his car and drove home to wait.

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  Last Saturday in May

  Brass Knuckles vs. Divas

  Adam stood taking in the activity surrounding him. He was at the derby with Michael tonight. It was the Brass Knuckles vs. the Divas. Adam’s dad had handed over the tickets to him, telling him to represent the practice. Sure, he’d said, not disclosing the fact that he’d become a season ticket holder, too. He’d invited Michael, hoping he’d come alone. He was not in the mood for new company tonight.

  Adam took a sip of his beer as he re-examined the Divas’ line up. They, like Team Thunderstorm, were heavy with strong blockers. That combined with the addition of their new speedier jammers, was the reason they’d beaten Thunderstorm. The blockers for the Divas were circling the track now, warming up. He was a little worried for Mariah.

  “I saw Tiff the other day,” Michael shouted, trying to be heard over the noise.

  “You saw who?” Adam shouted back, his eyes glued to the track. The ref had just blown the whistle to get the pack moving. Mariah and Kick Butt, the jammer for the Divas, stood at the back of the pack waiting for the second whistle.

  “Tiff. Remember? She was with us the first night here; Allison’s cousin,” Michael said.

  Adam was quiet, staring at the track as the whistle blew and Mariah sprinted ahead.

  “Allison is your girl, right?” Adam replied over his shoulder.

  “Yes, and her cousin, Tiff, would like to see you again.”

  “Would she?” Adam replied, focused on Mariah now as she ducked under the arm of the lead blocker. His body jerked to the side as if it were the one taking the hit.

  “She’s tough,” Michael said, watching as Mariah was knocked down onto her right hip. She hopped back up and was now working to get past that blocker again.

  “Yes, she is,” Adam said, more to himself.

  “I gave her the address to the shop. So don’t be surprised if she gets in contact with you.”

  “Who?” Adam asked, standing up and cheering now that Mariah had made it to the front, the referee pointing to her. She was the lead jammer now, and Kick Butt was not far behind. She’d cleared the pack, too. Mariah was now catching up to the back of the pack, pushing against one of the Divas blockers.

  “Yes!” Adam said underneath his breath, his arm moving upward in a silent cheer as Mariah cleared one of the weaker blockers. He followed her as she passed another one and grabbed Reagan’s arm. She whipped Mariah around, and Mariah ducked under the arm of another blocker and was now coming up on the pivot.

  “She’s good,” Michael said.

  “Yep. Her hip has been giving her trouble lately, though,” Adam said.

  “Oh, it has, has it?” Michael said, his remark lost on Adam, who was intently observing Mariah as she was hit again, knocking her off her feet. Michael fought against laughing outright as he watched Adam flinch and stand motionless until Mariah stood up. He relaxed when Mariah had the presence to call off the jam, and he trailed her with his eyes as she made her way to her seat.

  “She’s favoring her hip again,” he said more to himself than to Michael. Michael looked over and found her sitting in one of the chairs located in the middle of the rink, joining her other teammates.

  Adam turned to face him. “Who did you say you ran into?”

  “Tiff,” Michael said and laughed, repeating his story about her wanting to get in touch with him.

  “Oh,” Adam said, after he’d heard the whole of it.

  “So she may make an appointment to see you. Said she was looking for a new dentist,” Michael added.

  Adam had turned his attention back to the skaters. The last jam had ended, and the next one was about to start.

  “Sure,” he said, taking a sip of his beer, his eyes on the game again.

  * * *

  “Don’t forget Tiff will be giving you a call,” Michael said, not sure he’d had Adam’s attention this whole time.

  “Sure, I’ll remember,” Adam said as they made their way over to the skaters. The Divas were circling the track, passing out high fives to the crowd. They’d won. He found Mariah skating slowly to the section to meet fans. Her hip is bothering her again, he thought, taking in her small limp. This sport was tough on its participants. He’d been personally privy to the bruising, sore ankles, sore wrists, and other injuries that came from derby.

  “You okay?” he asked when he caught up to her.

  She groaned, but smiled. “My hip again. I landed on it wrong,” she said, grimacing as he lightly rubbed the injured spot.

  Michael cleared his throat, and he and Mariah turned to him.

  “You remember my buddy Michael from the first bout?” Adam said, catching himself, remembering where he was.

  “Yes. Hi,
” she said.

  “Hey. I liked watching you skate. Sorry you lost,” he said.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Hey, I’m going to run and get a drink for the road. You’re driving,” Michael said to Adam as he walked away.

  “Hanging out with Michael?” she asked when they were alone.

  “No. What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “The usual. Drinking with the girls.”

  “Want to skip it? Meet me at my place?”

  “I don’t know. My body aches. It’s a Saturday, you know,” she said.

  “I know what day it is. Don’t worry. Stop by,” he said, moving close, for her ears only. “I’ll make it better.”

  She smiled. “Home first and then I’ll meet you,” she said, and watched as he turned and walked away in search of his buddy.

  * * *

  She pulled her bike into the parking lot, locked it to a nearby pole, and made her way to his door. She took a breath when he opened it, his face catching her off guard. He was a picture of health, fitness, and intellect, and he would probably make someone a nice husband. He was sexily attired in a worn t-shirt and sweats tonight. She was starting to feel regularly unbalanced by his presence, and it was frightening.

  She walked in. She bet he’d been on the couch; the TV was on, same as always when he waited for her. There wasn’t much to look at in this apartment, just your basic furniture, no added touches that made a house a home. He probably would leave after his dad returned to work.

  She sat her helmet on the floor and removed her bag while he stood there and watched her. He walked over to the TV, hit the remote, walked back, hit the lights, and reached for her hand. He backed out of the living room, walking backwards, his eyes on her the whole while, communicating what? She couldn’t read him, just followed as he led the way to his bedroom.

  Once inside his bedroom, he let go of her hand long enough to removed his clothing, while she did the same. He reached for her again, moving until his legs hit the back of his bed. He sat, her hands still in his. She took control, pushing him back, and bent down between his legs. He took in a huge breath, surprised again, and heard her wince.