So Different

by Robinson, Ruthie

  “Yes, you did. But you didn’t tell me that he should not be allowed near anything that rolls for the safety of the American public,” she said and they shared a laugh.

  “He seems to have worked out well for you,” Casper said, following Adam as he moved to another table to clear it. “Helping out your brother huh?” She waved to Adam as he made his way to the back, headed to the kitchen, a tub of dirty dishes in his hands.

  “He must really like you,” Casper said. Mariah was silent to that. What should she say, God, I hope so, because I love him? This Adam, this helpful Adam, looking after her was creating havoc with her sanity, and she didn’t know what if anything to do about it.

  She should tell him to stop, to make sure he meant this, this helping her, this taking care of her, this sticking around. She’d always been the caretaker, and she was content to be the recipient of Adams’ care, finding out that it was nice to be taken care of, having someone around to help. She was getting used to it, and that had her worried. What would come from this?

  * * *

  An hour later, Yvette stood up to leave. She’d been sitting alone for a while. Mariah had followed Adam down the hall to the kitchen. It was almost closing time. She grabbed her ticket, left a tip, and headed over to Joshua, who stood at the counter where he was engrossed in conversation with some guy. Yvette had seen Joshua often, chatting up what she assumed were single ladies that sat by the bar. She’d also seen his short sometimes sharp comments to the waitresses.

  He was a very handsome man with beautiful auburn hair that matched Mariah’s. Joshua wore his hair braided neatly into some interesting and intricate designs.

  “I’m ready to pay,” she said, interrupting their conversation.

  “How was your dinner?”

  “Fine. I’ve got a twenty, the dinner came to ten dollars, fifty three cents,” Yvette said, handing her money and the ticket over to Joshua. She knew he took you at your word when it came to money, but she noticed the cameras tuned on the register. She knew most didn’t take advantage, but the camera caught those that tried.

  “You would think that a man of your situation would be more thoughtful to his workers,” she said, and her comment startled him.

  “And who are you?” Joshua said, closing his hand around the money and the ticket she’d placed in his hand.

  “Yvette, Adam’s sister,” she replied.

  “I don’t believe I asked your opinion, Yvette, Adam’s sister,” he said.

  “You know the old saying, one can catch more bees with honey?”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Here is your change,” he said placing it in her hand. “Thanks for coming by.” He smiled at her but dismissed her and her comments and quickly turned away and resumed his conversation with the man standing next to him.

  * * *

  Fourth week in September

  Thursday Mariah left work. It was lunchtime and she was headed home. She wanted to pick up some pain medicine because her arm was starting to bother her a little. She didn’t have a 1-3 p.m. appointment today, so she could grab a bite to eat without rushing.

  Her mind returned to Adam. He had been around all month full time, even more so with her arm in the sling. He stayed over, helped her shower, taken over her care and feeding.

  She opened her door and stopped in surprise. Someone was sitting on her sofa, a woman, with her feet propped up, watching TV.

  She popped up like a top and scooted over to Mariah, her face one big smile. “I’m Elsa, the cleaning lady,” she said, walking over to take Mariah’s good hand in hers.

  “Oh.”

  “You must be Mariah, Adam’s girlfriend,” she said and stood back and looked over Mariah, just like her grandmother had done when she was alive, with more than a little pride. “Not much to clean here, you’re neat like Adam,” she said.

  “Oh,” she said, again at a loss for words.

  “He works on my daughter’s teeth. I pay him back, I insist, I work for him, at his home, too tiny that apartment, not much to clean, so I cook. You like my food, he tells me, he call me yesterday. I come clean for you today. You hurt your arm, you’re his girlfriend and he wants to help you, like he helps me, just like my Carlos, good man. I’m done cleaning, but I don’t like to miss my soaps, Jesus is left his wife for her mother, Carlotta, yesterday,” she said.

  “I see,” Mariah said.

  “You’re hungry? Of course,” she said, not waiting for an answer. “There is some tamales and rice and beans in the refrigerator, I make the best tamales in town, you sit, I’ll fix you a plate.” She headed to the kitchen before Mariah could tell her no. Mariah heard the cabinets opening, followed by the silverware hitting the counter.

  “You’re a pretty girl,” Elsa said, sticking her head around the doorway. “All the girls now wear the rings in their noses, tattoos everywhere,” she said, before moving back into the kitchen. She poked her head out again. “Sit, sit,” she said, coming out of the kitchen and pushing Mariah toward the couch. “You can eat here while we watch TV, don’t want to miss, today is the big day, Christina, that’s the daughter, confronts Jesus.” She turned and bustled back into the kitchen.

  Mariah sat, turning as Elsa stuck her head out of the kitchen again. “Good you sit, you need to rest,” she said, her hand gesturing. She was shorter than Mariah, compact and sturdy.

  “Adam’s girlfriend?” she said again, a smile on her face, her head sticking out the kitchen again. Mariah could hear the microwave going.

  “We’re friends,” Mariah said.

  “You’re the one that does the derby, si?”

  “Si.”

  “Then you’re the girlfriend,” she said, like that had been settled. “Here you go.” She handed over a glass filled with some dark soda. “Coke. Your food almost ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure, sure,” she said and turned and headed back to the kitchen, a whirlwind. A few minutes later she came out with a plate filled to bursting. Mariah’s eyes grew wide; she couldn’t eat all of that! She watched as Elsa put the food before her and placed a napkin in her lap. She sat next to Mariah on the couch, picked up the remote, and increased the volume on the TV, the sounds of Telenovela, filling the room.

  “I’ll be back,” she said, quickly moving to the kitchen and then back, lickity split, with her own glass of coke. Mariah was forgotten, as Elsa was now lost in the world of the novela.

  Mariah ate, watching but not understanding any of it. It was all in Spanish. She caught Elsa’s eye, and she started to fill her in on what happened.

  There were two people, male and female, on the screen, and they were talking intensely to each other in Spanish. The woman started crying and the man said something that made the woman gasp. Elsa gasped, too.

  “I gave you my heart,” Elsa translated, her eyes glued to the TV.

  Elsa gasped again, two seconds later, her hand moving to her heart. “He says he no want her heart, it’s her mother he loves.” Elsa then said something in Spanish that she translated for Mariah as the dirty dog. An appropriate response in any language, Mariah thought.

  Elsa spent the remainder of the half hour translating for Mariah while she finished her lunch.

  At the end Mariah stood up, stuffed. She thought she probably wouldn’t need to eat for another two or three days. “Thank you, Elsa, but I’d better go. I’ve got to get back to work.”

  “Sure, sure,” she said, reaching for Mariah’s plate and heading to the kitchen some kind of fast.

  “You come back, anytime, we have lunch, yes. I’ll be here every Thursday,” she said, smiling at Mariah, reaching out and pulling Mariah into a hug, which Mariah tried to return with her one arm.

  “I need to get something from my room first,” Mariah said, remembering her pain medicine.

  “Sure, sure,” Elsa said, smiling, watching as Mariah left the room and a few seconds later returned.

  “Nice meeting you, take care,” Mariah said, as she walked over to th
e door. “Thanks again for lunch.”

  “Sure, sure, come back anytime,” she said, like it was her home and Mariah the guest, walking to the door and holding it open for Mariah. Mariah smiled one final time and left.

  * * *

  Last Saturday in August

  Championship bout – Demented Divas vs. Team Thunderstorm

  He still put his money on Team Thunderstorm. Casper and Greybolt were one formidable pair, and everyone had a bad day, or at least that was his explanation for their first loss to the Divas. If he thought it had been crowded before, it was twice that now. People everywhere. He’d lost Mariah somewhere in the crowd.

  The beginning enthusiasm of the crowd lasted throughout the bout as he and his fellow fans were treated to one of the hardest-fought matches he’d ever seen. The Divas and Team Thunderstorm went after each other with a vengeance, determined to prove something; the Divas to prove that their last win hadn’t been a fluke, and the Thunderstorm struggled to prove that it had been exactly that.

  Two hours later Team Thunderstorm was declared the winners. They’d pushed, shoved, hit, and knocked the Divas sideways. They were now on their way to regionals. Adam watched them roll around the rink, celebrating their win, the crowd still on its feet, screaming. He shook his head, laughing, caught up in the excitement of the crowd. He’d come to love this sport.

  * * *

  September – first week

  Adam sat next to Mariah on the back porch, his laptop open, surfing the web. She had a book in her hand, but was looking out over the yard. It was getting dark.

  “A Mr. Sanchez stopped by today. He said you’d sent him to finish out my front room,” she said, looking at him. He didn’t look up from his laptop. “It’s not necessary, Adam. You’ve gone above and beyond friendship.” She watched his face for signs of…what? “It’s enough to have Elsa help, which I love, by the way. You don’t have to do anything else, Adam, I mean it.” She kicked his leg to make him look at her. “It’s not your fault I fell. It could have happened somewhere else. I’ve been hurt before.”

  “It’s what you do for friends,” he said.

  “Don’t do it because you feel guilty. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all you’ve done for me since I’ve been hurt, coming by, helping me, feeding me, helping my brother at the restaurant. You don’t have to do any more,” she said.

  “I needed to find a way to put Mr. Sanchez to work. He’s been having some dental work done for a while and I was in need of a way for him to repay me, to hold up his end of our agreement. It’s important to him. I only had the apartment. So you’re doing me a favor. And I’ve found that I like taking care of you. Not because I think you’re helpless and I’m some kind of white knight, but just as a friend, one I care for a great deal. No guilt anywhere in there. I promise,” he said, eyes clear and sincere.

  “So you care for me a great deal?”

  “Heard that part, did you?” He reached for her hand. He moved his laptop aside and pulled her into his lap, careful of her arm, and touched his lips to hers.

  “Like in a very good friend type of way?” she asked.

  He chuckled and kissed her again. “That’s one way to explain it,” he said, looking at her hair. “Is this your natural hair color?” he asked, running his hand over her head, looking to change the subject.

  “Yes. I haven’t been able to change the color since the accident.”

  “I miss the color.”

  “No way,” she said, surprised. Here she’d been trying out normal for him, debating with herself the whole while. Which parts of herself were she willing to give up to have him permanently? The answer was foreign to the woman who hadn’t considered changing for anyone, who liked her crazy hair color. She was unsettled by the ease in which she was willing to trade some of herself so easily for him. Was that bad? Was her hair color that important? Weren’t you supposed to lose some of yourself to become a couple?

  “Why is that surprising?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I don’t know, thought you would have preferred my natural color. It doesn’t stand out so much. I don’t stand out so much.”

  “It’s you. What’s wrong with standing out? I like the surprise of it, not knowing who’ll show up, the redhead or the blonde filled with aggression. I like aggression. When you were really energetic, it was the dark blue,” he said.

  “Right,” she said, surprised. He’d noticed that her hair colors reflected her mood.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Did your ex-fiancée dye her hair? ” she asked instead of answering his question.

  “No, she didn’t. But she didn’t like Mexicans, either, so maybe dying her hair would have been a better option.”

  “She was just one woman. I’m sure you dated others—some nice ones that you didn’t ask to marry you. Did you ever date anyone like me before?”

  “What? Nice, kind, funny, giving, entertaining in bed?” he said.

  “No,” she said, “different.”

  “No. I usually went for this one type.”

  “That’s changed?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Did you love her a lot?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who,” she said, punching him. He grabbed her fist, held on to it.

  He was quiet for a second or two. “I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure that it was love anymore.”

  “Still want to get married?” she asked.

  “To someone in particular, or in general?” he asked.

  “General,” she said.

  “I think so, but back to your hair. I could help you color it,” he said.

  “You would help me color my hair?”

  “Yep, or I could do it for you. It can’t be that hard.”

  “Okay. I ought to let you try, see if it’s as easy as you think. What color would you like?” she asked.

  “I am partial to blondes, but I’ll let you surprise me.”

  “Okay, I will then,” she said, leaning back into his body, quiet, staring out into the yard, hand still in his, mind still on that conversation and what to make of it. Here she’d been worried about being too different now, a first for her. She’d always been aware of other’s reactions to her, but it had not affected her enough to change. One male and she was changing; she was not sure if she liked that about herself. It was a first, for sure. Hair color she could change, and she could get rid of her tattoos, but inside she was still the same outsider questioning the status quo. As long as she kept that she would be okay. Or she thought so, anyway.

  * * *

  The last week of September

  “So you think you want to try to get married again?” Adam Sr. asked his son over lunch at the Taco Post down the street from his office.

  “I do. I love her, and it’s different from before, with Jamie,” Adam Jr. said.

  “And you want to take over the shop,” Adam Sr. said, confirming his son’s other request.

  “I do. We can work together or I can go it alone,” he said.

  “Go it alone. I’ll be around if you need me, but I like being retired. I’ve been wanting to golf, to see the world, and having you come back and take over the family business has been a dream of mine. Your mother and I want to see you happy and settled.”

  “I think I will be. I’m going down to Houston Saturday, meeting a real estate agent to put the house up for sale. Mariah’s going to let me store some stuff in her garage out back.”

  “What about your apartment?”

  “Don’t know yet, I’m never there, but I don’t want Mariah to feel like I’m moving in, in case it’s not what she wants,” he said.

  “Got to talk to her soon.”

  “I know, although I’m pretty confident that she loves me,” he said, smiling at his dad.

  “What’s not to love?” he said, smiling at his son, happy with his decision to live in Austin and, most importantly, proud of his choice in his potential wif
e, so much better for him than before. Sometimes differences worked. What Adam hadn’t realized, or maybe he had, since he was considering marriage to Mariah, was they were alike in the ways that mattered, the wanting someone to share your life with, the commitment to helping their families, to helping out a friend in need, helping those who had less, to loving people. They were two peas in a pod in that regard. Mariah’s choice of hair color and her tattoos had nothing to do with anything important. All that was superficial; what was important was underneath, and luckily his son had learned that in time.

  He was over the moon that he’d get the chance to watch his grandchildren grow up around him, and looked forward to the day when he and Gloria could spoil them.

  * * *

  Adam entered Joshua’s Place later on that evening. He wanted to pass on his future plans regarding Mariah. Not that he needed Joshua’s approval. He didn’t. He wanted it anyway. Joshua was an important component of Mariah’s life, the most important part so far.

  The past month spent with Mariah had been perfect, her dislocated arm notwithstanding. Being with her at her home was the closest he’d come to being married, and it felt like permanence. Whatever he’d thought he felt for Jamie, it hadn’t been anywhere near this.

  He scanned the room, no sign of Joshua. He headed to the back; Joshua was likely there. Adam greeted Jacob as he passed by the kitchen.

  Joshua was sitting at his desk. Adam knocked. “You got a moment?”

  “Yeah, come on in,” Joshua said, and then waited until Adam was seated.

  “What’s up?”

  “I would like to marry your sister.”

  “Huh,” Joshua said, sitting back in his chair, listening to Adam lay out his plans to live in Austin, his plans to leave Houston, to put his home on the market, and finally his plans for Mariah.

  It was quiet for a while.

  “So you want to marry Mariah.”

  “Yes,” Adam said.

  “Mariah’s something special, and means the world to me. I’ve always wanted to see her happy, and wasn’t sure she would put me aside enough to find that for herself. It seems she was just waiting for the right man to come along,” Joshua said. He stood up and extended his hand to Adam. “Welcome to the family.”