A Little Like Destiny (Robin and Tyler 3)

I smile, thinking of the redneck with an anger problem who broke Miranda’s nose on our first night in town. Didn’t he just propose to her? Isn’t Tyler all pissed off about that? I wonder how Elizabeth’s fiancé factors into her assessment of this being a girl’s only duplex. “That’s great,” I say with fake enthusiasm. “I had no idea you were moving in.” But obviously Miranda knew, I think. What the hell else does she know and keep from me?

Elizabeth leans in and speaks in a lower voice so her movers can’t overhear. “I didn’t know I was moving in either. Not until a few hours ago.” She tucks the stray bits of hair behind her ear and I notice that her eyelids are puffy. “My fiancé and I broke up.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, feeling the air whoosh out of my lungs. I’ve been in her place before. Engaged. And then not engaged. That guy was a complete asshat but she doesn’t need me to tell her that. I’m sure she knows. “You’re better off without him.”

She wipes away a tear moments before it falls down her face, the left over eyeliner smudging a bit. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

I resist the urge to laugh. “Because any guy would be stupid to end things with you.”

She smiles a little and then turns when a mover calls her name. “Yes, Daddy?”

“There’s no fridge inside,” he says. “Do you have money for a fridge?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll be fine for now.”

The man’s forehead wrinkles as he lumbers across the porch and back down the driveway. “You need a fridge. I’m getting you a fridge.”

When she turns back to me, I pretend I’m not annoyed by how pretty she is, even in baggy clothes and worn off makeup. Once again my brain tells me to hate hate hate, but I can’t. She’s just too nice to hate. She looks like she wants to say something but she hesitates so long it gets awkward. I hitch my pu

rse onto my shoulder and dig for my house key. “I was in the same situation once,” I say, not knowing why I’m being so honest about the past I like to forget about. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

“Thank you, Robin.” Elizabeth wipes at her eyes again. She probably wants to give me another hug and hell, she probably needs one, but I just can’t. The image of a dark haired tan southern boy burns into the forefront of my mind, always there. Always annoyingly there. And I’m pretty sure he maybe likes Elizabeth as much as he maybe likes me. So I’m not going to hug her.

“You call me if you need anything,” I say as I unlock my door push it open. I guess being surrounded by Southern Hospitality has actually worn off on me. Because even though I just said a phrase that I would normally toss around just to be nice, I actually mean it this time.

I sink into the couch, a brand new black suede thing that smells like chemicals and new car smell. The cardboard foot covers are still on the bottom and a paper tag advertising Scotchgard and listing all the qualities of the couch still dangles from the arm rest. I’ve been meaning to cut it off, but the one pair of kitchen scissors I’d had at my old apartment has gone missing. The couch wasn’t my first choice because it’s big and plushy and suede and just too damn inviting. But the black color looks good on our rustic hearty pine flooring and Miranda wanted it, so I caved. Plus that furniture store’s employees were the first who didn’t laugh in my face when I asked for delivery all the way to Salt Gap.

The shuffling sounds of people moving boxes into Elizabeth’s apartment create a constant distraction from the television. What will happen to Elizabeth now that she’s single? Or will she even stay single? Will Tyler jump to asking her on fake dates now that she’s available? Ugh. I shake my head at the thought and wish I had a massive bucket of ice cream to dig into, eating until my sadness went away.

Who knows, maybe Tyler doesn’t like Elizabeth. Maybe Elizabeth will join me in my mission to live life without a boyfriend because she would have figured out the same thing I did—that boyfriends are just too hard to deal with and we’re better off alone. We could become grouchy old women together and live out our days sitting on our porches, telling warning tales of jilted women and mean cheating men to any young girl who would listen.

After exhausting all of the Big Bang Theory DVDs for the millionth time in the last few days, I drop to my knees in front of the television, next to our ever-growing stack of films and shows piled in a jagged stack against the wall. It isn’t quite time for lunch yet, but I guess I could head back to the diner…

Ugh, no! No, Robin! Stop making excuses to set up shop at the diner like some kind of homeless bum. I throw in a DVD of one of Miranda’s favorite movies and head to my room to change clothes. I slip into cropped yoga pants, a sports bra and a tank top. Then I grab some socks and shoes and complete the look of a girl who is about to work out. Because I’m totally going to work out, dammit.

I’ll sit in front of the television and crunch and push up and squat until I’m drenched in sweat. Until the endorphins have given me some level of self-respect again. Until I’m finally over the desire to run into Tyler and pretend it was an accident. He hasn’t even called.

An hour and several muscle cramps later, the moving van is gone and all the shuffling sounds have died down. I guess Elizabeth is unpacking by herself now. I lie on the living room floor, staring at my freshly-painted ceiling, relishing the endorphin rush of a good workout. Only, I’m not enjoying it. I’m pissed off that Tyler hasn’t called me yet. I know I shouldn’t get upset because Tyler has no obligation to text the girl who went on a fake date with him and confirmed that she had no interest in being his girlfriend. I know that not getting upset about it is the logical response. But nothing about me is logical.

Sometimes I can be a complete idiot. I grab Grandpa’s watch, pull it up from my elbow and twist it around to view the time. I had hoped that wearing this piece of my grandfather’s past would make his good qualities somehow rub off on me and make me a better person. But so far, all the watch has done is weigh down my arm and catch on things, reminding me that I suck at life.

Maybe I should call him. Or send him a text. That’s not needy or clingy. Just a simple, no nonsense text. I could say something about the Halloween festival and helping Sherry. I could ask if he wants to help, too. Just a friendly text. There’s no harm in that.

I climb into a standing position, using the couch to hold onto since my legs and abs are jelly from my stress induced workout. My cell phone rests on the bay window where it gets signal. I hear another truck pull into the neighboring driveway. Maybe they’re back to unload more stuff. The sounds of other cars in the driveway, other doors opening and closing next door, will take some getting used to since it’s been just Miranda and me for the last few weeks. And Marcus, I admit a little annoyingly. That boy visits her more than I visit the diner.

With a few deep breaths, my heartbeat slowly returns to normal after my workout. But then grabbing my phone and opening a new text to Tyler sends my pulse skyrocketing again. Maybe I don’t need to work out at all—maybe I can just pretend to call Tyler an hour a day. The adrenaline rush would get my heart pounding just as much as real exercise would. I type out something quick and casual and I absolutely don’t think twice about it. It’s just a friend texting a friend. I don’t need to think twice about it.

Laughter startles me enough to spin around on the kitchen floor, almost dropping my phone. Miranda is still at work so the laughter didn’t come from inside. A man’s voice sounds through the walls, and I hear Elizabeth’s front door slam closed and then the shrill squeal of excitement from the usually cheerful hostess. Curiosity gets to me and I sneak to the front window, peering out of it and hoping to God that I won’t find her shitty ex-boyfriend’s truck in her driveway. The last thing I need is to have to call the cops for a neighborly domestic dispute. I’m still not even sure if 9-1-1 works out here.

It isn’t her ex. But that doesn’t make my anxiety go away. It’s Tyler. Probably setting up some kind of landlord agreement with her or fixing something that wasn’t finished in the remodel. Something businesslike, I’m sure.

I hate that my palms go sweaty at the sight of his beat up Chevy.

I hate it even more that my first thoughts are to find some reason to go outside and casually run into him. Ugh. Why does this man bring out the most pathetic side of me?

My forehead presses against the windowsill as I lose myself in thoughts that drift from one uncomfortable subject to another one. Grandpa and his whirlwind romance with my grandmother and the fact that I should find that romantic and inspiring but I only find it sad and pathetic because it’ll never happen to me. Tyler and his gorgeous smile, sexy muscular arms and tanned skin. My ex-fiancé, the man I thought I’d spend my forever with, sleeping with my best friend behind my back. Love is complicated and love is hard. I do not need to care about Tyler.

I don’t need to go outside and pretend to look in my car for something on the small chance that he’ll see me and stop to chat. I am better than that. At least I can pretend to be better than that.