by Mia Kerick
Or rather, on Savannah. When the young man spotted Savannah, he dropped his head and dragged his fingers almost coyly through his shaggy brown hair, winked at her once, and then broke into a smile so disarming that I swear I’d lost my breath again. Savannah and I both gaped at this poster boy for angelic perfection as he breezed his way over to our table. And Savannah, clearly overjoyed by his arrival, smiled more brightly at him than she ever had at me, and then slid right over in the booth so he could sit down beside her.
I was pretty much dumbfounded at this point. First, my reaction to this dude’s eyes and smile was something close to inexplicable. Second, my date was beaming up at him with what I took to be unconcealed love in her eyes. Yes, “dumbfounded” worked fairly well as a descriptive term for Robby Dalton at that particular moment.
“Robby, this is my roommate, Tristan Chartrand. Tristan, meet Robby Dalton.”
The strangest expression I’d ever seen on a man passed over Tristan’s face as he gazed down and our eyes met. One word simply couldn’t describe it. I saw complete vulnerability in the shape of fear, insecurity, hopefulness, and maybe even neediness, all competing for position on his fine-boned face. Before my analysis was complete, he smiled sweetly, extended a slender hand to me, and said, “I’m so pleased to meet you, Robby. Mind if I join you guys?”
For some reason, peering into those now clouded but still stunning dark eyes felt awkwardly intimate in this public place. I mumbled something about how glad I was to make his acquaintance, and by all means he should sit down, hoping like hell that I sounded more sincere than I felt. Because I was still thunderstruck. I couldn’t seem to get control of my rapidly beating heart and my skittish breathing. I was sweating; I was freezing. Okay… I was losing it.
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the hell was happening to my sanity. I somehow managed to mentally regurgitate and then practically choke on Mikey’s “love at first sight is nothing but hogwash” speech. I took a deep yet ineffective breath for steadiness, and reflected once more on the significance of first impressions.
And if my mouth hadn’t been hanging open from the initial shock of my own physical reaction to this perfect specimen of manhood, then I’m pretty certain what happened next took care of that. I mean, even before the words “my roommate” had a chance to fully sink into my muddled brain, I could actually feel the slight swinging of my jaw as it dangled limply in its socket when I witnessed what followed: Tristan wrapped both arms around Savannah and pressed his lips to hers. He even closed his fucking eyes as he did it! No tongue, but it was a mouth-kiss, nonetheless…. And Savannah, well, I couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t pushed him away in angry indignation. No, she’d closed her own fucking eyes and kissed him right the hell back. And then she squeezed his fucking hand. I had no choice but to look on during this entire interaction, kind of the way you were compelled to look at a car accident on the side of the highway. You didn’t want to see it, but you just had to look.
I remained pretty much tongue-tied, which was probably a good thing given the circumstances. Wasn’t kissing one man while on a date with another a major dating faux pas? I sat staring in bewilderment at the literally breathtaking man who had just moved in on my date as well as on my mind.
But Savannah was now smiling so much more genuinely than I was used to, and Tristan also seemed so happy to meet me that he was ready to pee his pants. “I’m super glad I didn’t miss you guys—I would’ve been very disappointed.” The hypnotic stare of those deep brown eyes pulled at mine insistently.
“Lil, Lil!” Savannah flagged down the perma-frowning waitress. She proceeded to order for Tristan a tuna melt on rye (“very light on the butter, and we’ll take it to go”), a Caesar salad (“dressing on the side, if you don’t mind, Lil”), and a tall glass of water (“don’t hold back on the ice”), and then she went so far as to tuck her own napkin into the collar of his starched white dress shirt.
Okay, so maybe the napkin part didn’t happen, but you get the picture, right?
I wasn’t out of this game yet. Hadn’t I always been the one my teammates could count on under pressure? To stand at the foul line and score the game-winning basket, to toss the long pass into the right set of hands, to hit the walk-off home run right the hell out of the park?
Yes, I had always been The Man…. I swallowed back my shock and decided that right now I’d be the better man; I’d make polite conversation with this date-wrecking, brain-scrambling loser. Maybe if I kept Tristan’s mouth busy with idle chat I could prevent Savannah from locking lips with him over his Caesar salad (with dressing on the side). And hopefully, in the process, he’d let something megastupid fall out of his mouth that would break me out of my unwelcome enchantment with him.
“So, Tristan, who the fuck are you and how did you manage to become my future girlfriend’s frigging roommate, huh?” That is what I wanted to say, not what actually came out from between my trembling lips. Instead, I stuck to the safe zone for all male-on-male interrogation, or rather, discussion: our jobs. “So, Tristan, are you just getting off from work? You certainly pulled a late one, huh?” In a futile attempt to appear casual, I glanced down at my watch. Sure, the asshole’d worked well beyond business hours, especially for a Friday, but he wasn’t nearly late enough, if you asked me.
Looking vastly relieved that I’d initiated small talk with him, he replied, “As a matter of fact, Robby, I just left work at Michael’s on the Waterfront. And often times I work much later than this.”
“Uh, that’s a great restaurant; my sister and I took our parents there for their thirtieth anniversary. Are you in management there?”
Glancing at Savannah, who’d folded her hands beneath her chin and appeared to be observing our little dog and pony show with not an inconsiderable measure of trepidation, Tristan cleared his throat. “Oh, no…. I’m not a businessman. I’m a waiter.”
A waiter? Okay, so this dude was a fucking waiter. I was now absolutely certain I had nothing in common with him except for the fact that we both wore dress shirts to work. Oh, yes… and Savannah. We had Savannah in common, didn’t we?
“How… how was business tonight?” I was stalling for time, trying to put my finger on how he and Savannah fit together. And then it hit me: Tristan was Savannah’s gay roommate! The man was pretty (alright, he was frigging beautiful), he was a waiter, he had a female roommate… and he was wearing skinny jeans. It all added up. This dude was no threat to my relationship with Savannah; he was just her queer roomie! I almost felt fully comforted by my newly gained realization about Tristan’s sexuality, but somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind there remained a niggling but nameless concern about that very same issue.
In his quiet, controlled voice, the man replied to my question. “Not so good. I would’ve expected it to be a bit busier on a Friday night in September, but I did all right with tips, considering I only had four parties.” He tilted his flawless face to the side, as if in deep thought, and added, “Thank you for asking, Robby.”
This dude may be too pretty for his own good, but he was certainly no asshole. I actually felt a measure of guilt at my mental accusation from a few minutes earlier. I mean, how many guys did I know that were this fucking sweet?
Ah, let’s see…. Zero.
“So… uh, where’s your apartment?” A fair enough question. Extremely civil.
Tristan leaned across the table toward me, a serene smile on those perfectly sculpted lips, evidently pleased with my continued interest. “Savi and I live about seven blocks east, right here in Somerville Square. It’s not a fancy place, but we like it.”
Savi? How quaint. For some reason, I had begun to feel irritated again. So I hastily turned to the conversational topic that I always kept in my back pocket, ready and waiting for desperate moments: sports. “How ’bout those Red Sox, man? They’re having one hell of a season!” I directed that question to the back of the booth midway between their heads. That way, either of them co
uld answer. And it was well past time that Savannah rejoined the conversation anyways, wasn’t it?
After a boyish shake of his shaggy hair, and possibly a slight pinkening of his cheeks, Tristan answered. “I don’t really follow the Red Sox too closely…. I mean, I try to watch the games, but there are so many rules…. I just get lost.”
Nope. Tristan Chartrand, the pretty waiter, and Robby Dalton, the athletic builder, had absolutely nothing in common. It was clearly time to call it a night. “Well, I have an early job meeting tomorrow morning, so… can I give you guys a lift home?”
At that moment, Tristan was chomping on his final mouthful of Caesar salad (is there a market for lettuce-eating male models to work in salad-dressing commercials?), so Savannah had no choice but to chime in. “Oh, no. We’re fine. We’re used to taking the bus.”
So much for a goodnight kiss, I surmised. Robby Dalton was not going to be “getting some” in any sense of the words, tonight. I reached into my jeans to pull out my wallet, but before I had a chance to lay down some cash, Tristan had swept up the check and was hurrying like a man on a mission toward the cash register. Glancing back, he shouted with a grin, “I’ve got this one, Robby!”
My head was spinning. What the fuck is going on here? I asked myself. I knew this wasn’t an expensive dinner date or anything, but wasn’t I the guy who should be forking out the cash for Savannah’s six-dollar dinner?
And since wonders never cease, apparently now it was Savannah’s turn to lean in over the table to get a little bit closer to me. “I was about to thank you for dinner, but… well, Tristan seems to be taking care of that.” She gazed at me across the table, her ocean eyes shining, her narrow lips parted. I had to admit that she was every bit as pretty as her roommate. “I had a great time getting to know you.”
Yes, tonight had ended on a rather strange note, but what the hell? With my next question, my caution and the wind became closely acquainted. “Um… maybe I could get your number and I could call you sometime?”
Savannah glanced over her shoulder to where Mr. Perfecto stood at the cash register, head tossed back in laughter at something Gus the fry cook had said to him. When she faced me again, I must confess, she appeared almost taken aback, like she hadn’t expected my interest in contacting her. “That sounds great, Robby.”
I pulled out my cell phone and plugged in the numbers she’d quickly scribbled on a napkin. As I did so, Savannah slipped out of her booth and moved across the table to sit next to me. Again I noticed that fresh scent of wildflowers. I turned to her and before I knew it, she had placed her tiny hands on either side of my scruffy face, and right there under the watchful eyes of matronly Lil, burly Gus, and the devastatingly gorgeous stare of Tristan Chartrand, she pressed her lips chastely to mine, as if it had been a real dinner date at a real restaurant, not macaroni and cheese at a diner.
And then she was gone. The soft hands, the floral scent, the lingering warmth…. I glanced over to where she had joined Tristan at the cash register and watched as the two of them made their way to the door. And strange, just after Tristan hooked his arm affectionately through hers and pulled her tiny body against his lanky one, he raised his hand to wave to me. Not in the “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah—I’ve got the girl” way, but in the “I really enjoyed meeting you” way. His doe eyes shone at me with unrestrained warmth, drawing forth further physical and emotional discomfort.
Stranger still, before the two passed through the door onto the street, Savannah looked over at me and chirped, “We can’t wait to see you again!”
Looking back…. Savannah
TRISTAN hadn’t screamed or cried out. Not even once. In fact, he hadn’t uttered so much as a single sound during the entire ordeal, which had lasted no more than fifteen minutes. I did, however, recall very clearly the noises his attackers had made, ranging from guttural grunts to sighs of satisfaction. Sounds that had been forever burned in my mind. Sounds that no child should ever have to endure.
Strange how fifteen minutes can change the entire direction of your life.
Until that night, I’d been in a daze, but I’d never been truly afraid. Tristan had always taken care of things for me. From the moment I’d left my mother’s house, he’d been there. He’d found me—scared and crying by the subway stop—and he’d more or less scooped me up and swept me off. Not exactly to safety—the streets could never be considered safe. But Tristan had never let me discover the ugliness of my own desperation. I’d never had to figure things out for myself.
But I couldn’t go back. Not after that night. Not even for him.
Chapter 5
Tristan
“NOT her too!” I shot right up in our bed, still screaming. “Just me! Don’t you all go fucking with her! Just me!” There was no hiding it from your bedmate when you basically screamed bloody murder in the middle of the night into the pitch blackness of a tiny bedroom.
And she didn’t startle even slightly at my outburst. But I had to face it: this was pretty much par for the course with us. Not a nightly routine, or weekly, or lately, even monthly, thank God. But I’d had my share of sleep-disturbing nightmares, and since Savannah had slept right beside me every night for the past four years, her sleep had often been interrupted as well.
“Now stop that, Tristan.” Yawning, she pulled me back down and snuggled right up to me so that her breasts pressed against my back. “You don’t need to go through that again, now, do you?” Her breathy crooning soothed me; it always did. Her nearness kept most of my fears away. “Once was enough, hmm?”
“Savannah… honey, you’re okay… you’re right here….” I reached back to touch the toasty skin of her side, just needing to be sure.
“Of course I’m here—where else would I be?” I felt her lips on the back of my neck, kissing me in between words. “Want to tell me about it?”
“We were… w-we were back at that party… they were gonna hurt you… b-but I know it’s all over. It’s all over now.”
“Yeah, Tris, it’s all over and nobody hurt me, thanks to you.” I got a big wet shoulder-kiss for emphasis.
“I could’ve fought them.”
“You could’ve fought, but you couldn’t have won. You were just sixteen and a rack of bones—you’d missed more than a few meals, if you think back on it. They were grown men.” I squirmed at the painful memory. A few more tiny kisses were deposited onto that sensitive place between my shoulder and my neck.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I did do the best I could have under those impossible circumstances.
“And there were four of them….” Her words trailed away into silence. Then Savannah’s probing fingers slipped into my hair and I knew what was coming, and I knew it was going to feel so good. The little circles that she drew on my scalp soothed me like nothing else. They brought me back to the present, to our bedroom, to the person who’d saved me.
I accepted the silence between us and momentarily embraced it because it was just so peaceful. But before a full minute had passed us by, I broke it. “They changed me that night, Savi. They ruined me…. It’s like I…. I c-can’t be with a guy, and you, of all people, know I’m not what you’d call straight—I’m not any kind of man anymore!” This particular conversation had become as routine as my bad dreams.
“Nobody changed you—and you are a man, Tristan. You just aren’t ready for the physical part of love, that’s all. Things haven’t… it just hasn’t been exactly right for you yet.”
I seriously considered what she’d just said and what I wanted to tell her next. I liked to think a lot about what I was going to say before I let any words out of my mouth, especially when it was this important. “Robby’s really nice.” Buried in my hair, her fingers froze; I knew her ears had perked up. “And you have a chance to be normal with him.”
Savannah sat up, leaned across me toward the nightstand, and switched on the lamp. When I looked up at her she was staring at me, speechless.
“All I’m saying is, I think you
could be happy with him. He seems crazy about you.”
Her expression remained unchanged; I’d classify it as shocked and horrified.
“I think I’m gonna back off… let you two see what happens with each other, okay?” I exhaled sharply, having said my piece.
“No, it’s not okay.” She’d managed to speak, but she was still gawking at me, her expression now a cross between angry and bewildered. “And who ever said I wanted normal?”
I sat up and gaped back at her, racking my brain for an argument that she’d consider, or even listen to.
“I’m not gonna see him again.” Savannah was shaking a bit now so I reached out with both hands to steady her fragile shoulders. “Not unless it’s the three of us.”
Shaking my head, I replied, “He’s not gonna go for it, Savi; no normal guy would. He’s gonna ditch you, can’t you see that?”
“Why are you so stuck on ‘normal’? Nothing about either of our lives has ever been anything remotely close to ‘normal.’” She did this air-quote thing with her fingers. Savannah could be so stubborn sometimes. Her chin was already set in this certain position that I’d seen on plenty of other occasions in the past, occasions when she was bound and determined to get her own way. “Anyways, I thought we had a deal.”
A lengthy and exasperated breath puffed out of my lungs. Savannah was living in some kind of a dream world if she thought she could make her crazy plan work. But the only way that she’d agree to go on dates with other men had been if I went along with it—if I went along with them. She knew fully well that I wasn’t… how to phrase this delicately… I wasn’t able to participate in any relationship—not with her, certainly, or anyone else—in an intimate way. And she’d never push me like that. I comforted myself with the assurance that all I really had to do was pretend to be of one mind with her in this bizarre little plot she’d concocted. I’d just hang out with Robby and Savannah, staying on the outer edges of their relationship until they became a couple.
