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Tyler’s eyes narrow, and he stands up, the plate balanced precariously in his hand. "A light dinner? Sarah, I went to the diner to pick up chicken and dumplings to ensure you ate a full meal. I waited about an hour for the order because it's packed tonight."
I sigh, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. But Tyler's sincere effort tugs at my heartstrings. "I appreciate it, really, but I walked over to Johnny’s because I needed a break. The day’s been rough. Plus, again, I told you I was getting my dinner."
"Rough?" Tyler's voice rose. "You're always talking about managing stress, but all you do is add more to your plate. It’s like you’re trying to break yourself. And yet when I do it, you jump into therapist mode with your lectures and suggestions on how self-care is important."
I step closer, the aroma of my sandwich mixing with the scents from the wrapped meal in Tyler's hands. "Look, I get it. And I’m grateful. But sometimes, I need to do things my way. I needed that walk, fresh air, and it helped relax me after a long day."
Tyler shakes his head, still holding firmly onto the plate. "And you don’t think I know that? That’s why I brought you dinner, so you wouldn't have to stress about one more thing. But seeing you here with that bag... annoys me for some reason. Like I can't do something nice for you or be there for you, like you push to be there for me."
Tyler's eyes blaze, and I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a summer sun. "Sarah, you don't get how much this means to me," he says, his voice soft but steely. "I wanted to show you I care, and you just brush it off like it’s nothing."
Exasperated, I run a hand through my hair, trying to articulate my thoughts without adding fuel to this rising storm. "Tyler, it's not that I don't appreciate it," I say, my voice tinged with fatigue and sincerity. "I just needed to reclaim a bit of my own space and routine. It was a rough day, and sometimes I must handle things on my terms."
He stands there, silent momentarily, the plate in his hand looking like a fragile peace offering. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine, Sarah. You win," he mutters, leaning over and placing the wrapped plate and fountain drink on the steps by my feet. "Have a good night."
He turns sharply, striding towards his truck with an air of finality, his boots clattering against the pavement. "Tyler, wait—" I start, but he’s already opening the door.
"Just... forget it, alright? I’ll see you around," he calls over his shoulder, before climbing into his vehicle and slamming the door. The engine roars to life, and with a squeal of tires, he pulls away, leaving me standing there, the cool evening air doing little to soothe my roiling emotions.
I let out a heavy sigh, the sound echoing slightly in the deserted street. I don’t understand why he's acting like this and can’t see that sometimes, space and solitude are the only things that help me breathe.
Unlocking the office door, I bend down to pick up the wrapped plate and fountain drink, balancing them carefully with my bag, holding the half-eaten sandwich and iced tea. I head inside, the familiar smells of paper and ink wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
Setting everything down on my cluttered desk, I take a moment to steady myself, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. The work ahead feels like a mountain, but I must push through.
I need to finish up, head home, and get some sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow will bring some clarity, and maybe Tyler and I can find a way to understand each other better.
Chapter 17
Tyler
Cracked Relationships
I can still feel the anger bubbling under my skin as I sit at the kitchen table, absently poking at the scrambled eggs on my plate.
Mrs. Carolyn moves around the kitchen with practiced ease, preparing a second batch of breakfast, but my mind's trapped in the events of last night.
I don’t get it. I don’t. She knew I was planning on bringing her dinner. I felt that I made it clear when I texted her about dinner. It’s not like the diner is vacant or dead at that time of night, either. I sat there, waiting patiently for them to finish her order, all while imagining her smile when she saw me taking care of her after what I know was an exhausting day.
But no. Sarah just had to walk into town, get herself a sub sandwich, and head back to the office like I didn’t even exist. Like my efforts didn’t matter at all. It's maddening. She says she needs breathing space and solitude—but where does that leave me? Balancing on some invisible edge between caring too much and not enough?
And how in the heck does she need space and solitude when she's not only a pivotal part of my life as a significant other, pretty much, but she also has a dual role as my therapist?!
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in my head. Growing up, I was always taught that showing you care means doing things: providing, protecting, and making sure your loved ones are taken care of. It’s ingrained in me, part of who I am. I want to be the man who makes her life more accessible, even in small ways, like bringing her dinner after a long day.
But every move I make seems to push her further away. I can respect her independence—I really can. It’s one of the things I admire most about Sarah. She’s strong, capable, and fiercely self-sufficient. But where does that leave me? Does she not see how much I want to be there for her; how much I care?
I let out a frustrated sigh and took a bite of my toast, the buttery crunch doing little to ease the tension knotting my stomach.
“Tyler, is Sarah still coming over to take Timmy to that new movie all the kids in town are talking about?” Mrs. Carolyn’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I almost forgot I need to get ready for rehab.
“Yeah,” I mutter, scraping the crust of my toast with a wary finger, my eyes fixed on a speck of dust on the table.
Mrs. Carolyn lingers, her motherly radar picking up far more than I wish it would. “Is everything okay, love? How’d it go, bringing Sarah dinner last night?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “How’d it go? Mrs. Carolyn, it was a disaster. She didn’t seem grateful. If anything, she seemed standoffish. She felt she didn't see where I was coming from about wanting to bring her dinner. I even brought her favorite meal, which still didn't seem good enough.”
She settles into the seat across from me, knitting her brows in that look of concern only someone like her can pull off. “Sarah strikes me as an independent woman, Tyler. Experience tells me she’s probably not used to folks doing things for her. Might be she’s accustomed to handling everything on her own.”
