22. Clarissa

“Clarissa,I’m about to head out,” Tyree says, kissing my forehead. I took off work today because I need to get my parents to the airport for their trip, and fighting traffic isn’t on my agenda.

“Okay.” I nod but roll over, pulling the blanket to my chin.

“Tell your parents I said hello. I bet they’re excited. Paris is going to be nice.” Tyree is walking around the bedroom, and his voice shifts from the closet to the bathroom.

“I will.” I snuggle in bed.

“Alright, tomorrow night, August is coming over to hang out. Can you make those salmon bites again? I’ve been craving those.” There’s a squeeze on my thigh, and I turn my head to Tyree. He’s smiling with an expectant focus.

“I could tell you how to make them?”

“Come on, mine never taste as good as yours,” he says, leaning down to nudge my side.

I groan, and he gives me a puppy dog face. His eyebrows are slanted, and his bottom lip is hanging out.

“Okay,” I murmur, and before I finish, Tyree’s face erupts into a ray of sunshine. He pumps his fist in the air and does a little dance.

“I better get going so I’m not late.” He kisses my cheek and is out the door in a flash, still radiating joy at the prospect of my salmon bites. I don’t mind cooking, but entertaining is not really my favorite thing to do.

I poke out my lips and turn my head to the side. The silence punctuates my mood. I’m not sure what it is, but I feel unsettled as if something is wrong, but without cause. Everybody is healthy, the wedding of my dreams is on schedule, and my parents are now fully retired and taking a three-week trip to Paris. This is great news. This is exciting, but it’s not filtering to my brain. I feel like a lump of coal, staining everything around me.

After ten minutes of staring at the dresser, I roll over and stand. There’s plenty of time to get my parents and drop them off, but I decide I need something to do. Going through the motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face does very little to settle my mood. Even after a shower, nothing changes. I didn’t even bother turning on my normal playlist. The mood I’m in is not conducive to singing in the shower.

I get dressed and eat a small breakfast of fresh fruit and a protein shake. During the ride to their house, I turn the radio on, but I don’t sing along. Once I arrive, I try to shake off this melancholy fog, but it’s not moving.

I told my parents I would be here at nine-fifteen, and it’s almost that time on the dot. I don’t get a chance to get out because they’re skipping down the small stairs and smiling from ear to ear with their luggage in hand. I smile, but I don’t feel it in my bones.

“Hey, pumpkin,” my dad says, and my mom joins. I hop out to give them hugs and help put the luggage in the back.

“Hey.” My parents’ excitement is so potent for a second, I smile for real this time. “Are those matching shirts?” I whisper to myself when I notice the outfit choice.

They have on white shirts with bold red lettering and shorts. The shirts look like nonsense, but if they stand side by side, you can read them as a cohesive sentence. Nothing makes sense when we’re apart. It’s cute, and I sink back into my seat as they have a moment outside the car. I roll my head along the headrest and adjust my sunglasses before the door is opened.

“What’s the first thing you have planned?”

My mom shuffles her papers and jumps right in. “Let’s see, our guide is meeting us at the airport, then we have a car taking us to the hotel. We’ll freshen up, and then we’ll have a tour of the cafés and shops along this famous street.” Her smile is in every word.

“That sounds nice.”

“Yep, we have them holding up a sign when they get us from the airport. I don’t know why I love the idea so much, but when they said they’d do it, I jumped on it. He was going to dress in a suit, but I thought that was a little bit too much.”

She squeals, and I laugh. I’ve never seen her so giddy.

“I wish we would have traveled more over the years, but better late than never,” Dad says. I nod, and we continue down the highway.

This is the final show before the curtains fall.

Tyson’s statement rings in my head as I pull up to drop them off. It rings as I hug my parents and tell them to have a great trip. It rings as they disappear into a sea of people walking in all directions.

It rings as I stare at my reflection in the rearview mirror as a car honks at me. “Alright, alright,” I mutter, putting my car in drive and joining the traffic.

Rissa has a gala she’s dressing a few people for, and I know how swamped her days get. I normally might stop by the shop just to hang out, but I know how brutal those final fittings can be. As I drive, I lean my head back. I’m sitting at a light, and I pick up my phone and type a message.

Me: What are you up to?

Tyson: I just finished a meeting. What’s up?

Me: Nothing, never mind. Have a good day.

I blow out my breath and rub my hands down my face. My phone rings, and I answer from handsfree.

“Hello.”

“What’s wrong?” Tyson’s voice is strong as he speaks.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Issa. Guess how many years I’ve been alive? Spoiler alert, thirty-two. In my experience, when a woman says she’s fine, nothing could be further from the truth.” I’ve gotten used to the way his accent pops up on certain words, but I still shake my head. It’s demanding but sweet, sort of a strange combination.

“Ugh. I don’t know. I’m just—feeling blah.”

“Blah, okay. Blah I can work with.”

I laugh and ask. “What work is that?”

“You forget I grew up with two sisters. I’m used to blah. Where are you right now?”

I look around and give him the street I’m driving on.

“Okay, that’s actually perfect. I’m going to send you an address. I should be there in twenty minutes,” he says and hangs up.

What?I’m smiling but still confused as my phone alerts me to the address.

When I plugged in the address, it listed the Botanical Gardens. It only took twenty minutes or so, but I’m smiling as I exit the car. I’ve seen this place in passing, but I’ve never been. Just as I’m closing my door, Tyson waves while heading my way.

“Hey.” I wave, and he walks up, stopping just short of me.

He doesn’t speak, but he’s staring like he’s inspecting something. His eyes are dancing around my face, and he’s twisting to see all possible angles.

Finally, he opens his arms, and I laugh. “I’m fine, really. Everything is fine.”

He opens and closes his hands with his arms still stretched out, a universal move I’ve mostly seen with toddlers that says gimme. I hesitate for a second but roll my eyes as I wrap my arms around him.

My breath catches, and I swallow hard. It feels like I’ve been here before. A rush of my dream from a few months ago comes back to me like déjà vu.

“See, that’s better. Sometimes it doesn’t take much. Right now, your cortisol levels are dropping slowly. Can you feel the vibration from my chest as I speak?” he asks, and I nod with my cheek pressed against him. He laughs while rubbing my back and swaying us from side to side, not big, sweeping motions but a subtle rock.

“Good. Your breathing has relaxed, and your shoulders are loose. Just listen to my voice. Don’t think about anything else.”

I do as he says, and I relax. Releasing a breath, I sink deeper into his chest. His scent is fresh, and I inhale deeply. We stay like this, standing in the parking lot of a botanical garden with the sounds of traffic muted behind us. The chill of late February seeps into my jeans and t-shirt with the soft vibration of his voice as my ear presses against his chest.

“I know you love tulips, and this place happens to have a solid collection. Come on, let’s get out of the cold,” he says, still swaying us. I nod and pull away.

“Those are the eyes I was looking for.”

“What?”

“It’s how I knew something was wrong. My sparkles were missing.”

I narrow my eyes and crease my brows. “Your sparkles?”

“It’s funny how you’ll never see from my eyes, how your view will never match mine. It’s a travesty, really.” He says it like he can’t believe how terrible it is. I look down at myself in plain jeans and an oversized t-shirt. My hair is in a big puffball, and my makeup is nonexistent.

“Not sure what you see,” I say, looking down.

“The sun,” he whispers, and I barely manage to catch it.

“Come on. I can see the questions, and those answers will not get us any closer to tulips.”

He pulls me along, and I giggle. The heaviness of the morning is no longer drowning me, and I release a breath, grateful for Tyson at this moment.

When we step inside, the place is an oasis, rows and rows of colorful blooms scattered around the room.

“Wow, this is nice, Tyson. It’s like my floral shop on steroids.” The plants sprout in thick rows. All the colors are vibrant. The green is the perfect green, and the red is the boldest red. I do a little dance, and he laughs at my side.

“I’m so glad to see that smile.”

“What smile?” I ask, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets. He shrugs, but I bump his shoulder. “What?”

He stops us from walking, and we have a seat on a ledge off to the side.

“So, I’ve counted…” He pauses and visibly counts on his fingers. “Five different smiles you have.”

I’ve been told my smile is infectious, but no one has ever broken them down into types, so when I turn to Tyson and grab his hand, pleading for him to tell me what they are, I see the moment he gives in. His shoulders relax, and his hand tightens in mine. He smiles, and I know it’s coming.

“Okay, relax, or I won’t say it.”

I hold my hands up, trying my best to hold back a grin, dying to let go because I need to know how I have multiple smiles.

“The first one is polite. It’s closed most times, and you give that when you’re tired or saying a quick hello. The second is your baseline smile—subtle teeth and genuine joy. The third one is your pageant smile. It’s professional and poised, when your excitement is muted, or you’re guarded. The fourth is where your face starts to get into it. Your eyes are a little brighter, and your cheeks pitch up high, right here”—he points to my upper cheek—“and here. The fifth one, now that’s my favorite. You turn into art or something. I don’t know; it’s like your being is seeping out of your pores. I can’t explain it, but you throw all caution to the wind.”

He pauses like he’s really stuck trying to explain it, and my eyebrows dip as he speaks.

“Your head usually goes back, which leaves your throat open. Your collarbone shimmers, the way the light hits it. Do you use a special lotion? I always wonder how your skin glows like that in winter. Anyway…” He pauses, moving one hand to the back of his neck, and clears his throat. “It’s just your most happy smile. The one where you seem the most free.”

I stare at him, and he stares back before he shifts his focus.

“Come on. I’ve got a job to do, and I take my job seriously. Let’s check out those tulips,” he says, standing and holding out his hand to help me off the short ledge. I swallow and nod as he guides us all around. The subtle, sweet scents are enough to take my blues away—for a little while at least.

Later that night…

I plop down on the couch, sitting on one leg, and lay my head back. My apartment is quiet, and I didn’t bother turning on the TV. A small smile spreads across my lips at being alone.

A few minutes later, Tyree comes through the door in a rush. “I made it home before eight,” he sings while locking the door and kicking his shoes off. I could say something about him putting them in the closet where they belong, but I don’t bother. The energy it would require is not there.

He sniffs the air while tracking his way to the kitchen. Remaining in place, I only turn my head to follow his movements before he disappears out of sight.

“How was your day?” he yells.

“I don’t know.”

He scoffs, and I hear the fridge, then the microwave opening.

“What do you mean? How do you not have an answer for that? It was either a good day or a bad one.”

I shrug, although he can’t see me from this position on the couch. “Little bit column A and a little bit column B.”

The buzz of the microwave being turned on sounds, and I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the couch. My mind drifts to the tulips and lush green ivy from earlier as I bite my lip.

A few minutes later, the couch dips beside me, and herb chicken wafts under my nose.

“So I was thinking we stick with ‘T’ initials. My brothers aren’t really at that stage yet, but we always said we’d maintain the tradition.”

I peek one eye open as I turn to my side. Tyree takes a huge bite as he continues to speak between mouthfuls.

“I’ve got an uncle named Todd. That could be good for a boy. Or maybe Tyler; I think that’s a gender-neutral name.” He wipes his fingers on his napkin before turning to me. “We really have so many options. There are a ton of names that begin with a T.”

I blow out a breath, opening the other eye as I sit up.

“What about traveling? We’ve never done much of it. I don’t know, wouldn’t it be fun to explore new cities, nightlife, food?—”

“With my job, that’s really not an option right now, but we can definitely make it happen later. Maybe in five or six years once the baby is older. I’ve been on enough flights with infants, and it’s not happening with us.”

I buck my eyes open and lean forward. “Baby?”

“I figure that after we’re married, we can chill for six months and then move forward with the plan. That’s fifteen months later, give or take, which I think works well. Oh, did you talk to my mom? She called earlier about preschools near her. And you would be proud of me. She tried to get more seats at the wedding, and I told her you already said no.” He laughs.

“Tyree, you don’t think this is a lot?”

He takes another bite of chicken while shaking his head. “Not at all. You want to watch a movie?” He picks up the remote and turns on the TV as he talks about work.

His voice gets drowned out by my thoughts, and I close my eyes and take tiny breaths. Maybe a good night’s sleep is all I need.