by R. S. Medina
"Well, that's good, right?" Tristan asks, trying to be helpful.
"Yeah," I say shrugging. "I don't want that either. But I also don't want Olivia to grow up in a house where her parents fight all the time and hate each other. It's not healthy." I lean against the truck next to Tristan.
"That's true too. Life is messy sometimes."
"Yeah. I just wish it wasn't so hard...We've been through a lot in the last year," I say, making excuses for Tristan and his behavior. "He got medically discharged from the Marines. And we had a baby, which changes everything...it's been a rough year," I say, sighing and folding my arms across my chest.
"Still," Tristan says as if this is still inexcusable. "You're still beautiful even though you've had a baby. What did he get discharged for?"
"He got medically discharged for severe PTSD after a few deployments in the Middle East," I tell Tristan. "I don't know what to do. I've been trying to hold it all together for a year now, but I don't know what else to do. I'm at my breaking point," I confide.
"That sucks," Tristan says, and I'm disappointed that "that sucks" is all he has to offer. I wish someone had answers, but of course, I'm in this alone. No one can help me.
"And I definitely know a thing or two about breaking points," Tristan says.
I tilt my head to look at him. "Yeah?"
Tristan looks down at the ground and kicks the toe of his shoe into the pavement lightly. "My girlfriend of two years and I broke up—Stephanie. We all went to school together. You knew her," he tries to jog my memory. I nod. I remember her.
"She went and slept with Sam. He was my best friend, and he got her pregnant," he confesses.
Sam, Tristan, and I were all friends growing up. Sam and I were close in elementary school. Our moms were in the same book club, and we were forced together more times than I can count. We would play in the back yard when our moms got together and drank wine and talked about the book of the month.
As we grew up, Sam and I had a parting of ways. I wanted to hang out with other people, and he was perpetually in trouble for something. Trouble always used to find him.
Sam, though, was the reason Tristan and I ever even met. In fact, Sam was the only reason Tristan and I started talking. Sam went with us on our first "date" to the movies because I was too nervous to go by myself. Sam and Tristan grew up together and remained friends all throughout high school.
"What the fuck?" I gasp. I had no clue. How did I miss something like that? That would be the gossip of the town.
"Yeah," Tristan says, continuing to kick at the ground, this time with a little more force.
I turn to look at him. "Ok, you win. I don't feel so bad now. That's way worse," I say, touching his shoulder. Tristan doesn't look at me. "How the fuck could Sam do that to you? You guys grew up together. Sam should have known better," I say, outraged.
"Want to hear something even more fucked up?" Tristan asks, looking down at me, his eyes rimmed with thick, dark eyelashes.
"Always," I say with a nod.
"I still love her," Tristan whispers as if he's afraid to admit it out loud. "I think she was 'The One.'"
I remain silent as I let that sink in. I don't even know what to say to that? I can't imagine still loving someone after they betray you like that.
"Have you tried talking to her?" I ask, gawking at him. He won't look back at me.
"Yeah," Tristan says with a shrug.
"And?" I prompt, expecting more information.
"And what?" Tristan asks, looking up like there is nothing more to add. I want to shake him.
"You're killing me," I say, throwing my hands up again in frustration. "She doesn't want to make it work?" I ask. I can't believe she would be the one who doesn't want to make it work.
"No, I don't want to make it work," he says, kind of condescendingly, like it's obvious. "I love her, but one day I'm hoping I won't. I don't need someone like that in my life. Her or him." He sounds a bit uncertain, though.
"But if you're still in love with her, isn't it worth it to try and make it work?" I ask. The summer sun is starting to beat down on me, and I'm starting to sweat a little bit. "Like, if she's the one? Like you said, life is messy. People make mistakes," I remind him of his words with a nod.
Tristan does the typical guy shrug again. "I just don't need that in my life," he says, matter of factly. I can't argue with that logic. I wouldn't want those people in my life if the role was reversed.
"So, did you say anything to Sam?" I ask. I'm still blown away by the fact that Sam of all people would do that to Tristan. Sam and Tristan were basically inseparable.
"I found out about everything when I was away on a business trip for work. When I got home, the first thing I did was go to his house and beat his ass," he admits.
"Did he fight back?" I ask, curious. Sam wasn't the kind to take a beating lying down. He's got a temper and has been known to fight.
"No," Tristan admits again. He sounds kind of ashamed. I can't imagine the emotional toll this whole event had on him. I'm speechless. I can't believe that Sam would do that. Or that Stephanie would. I can't imagine the hurt or betrayal. He didn't just lose a girlfriend, he lost his best friend. Not just one, but two losses, the two people closest to him.
"I'm so sorry that happened to you," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his torso. He looks a little uncomfortable, but I just want to hug him, take away his pain and make him feel better.
"Yeah, me too," Tristan says, closing his eyes. I release him and change the subject.
"So today is Thursday..." I hint, leaning back up against the truck. Tristan gives me a puzzled look, and then recognition touches his face, and he smiles.
"Oh, my God. You don't still do that, do you?" he asks, and I can't help grinning.
"Absolutely," I say with a smile and a nod.
"Well, then, happy Thursday, Blair," he says nudging me with his elbow.
"I need a compliment," I demand. "Thursday is Treat-Yourself-Thursday! So I get to do something nice for myself, and you have to be nice to me too," I remind him. He has to follow the rules of my personal Treat-Yourself-Thursday.
Tristan shakes his head. "You'll get a big head," he protests. "I have to keep you humble."
"No, I won't," I say, contradicting him. I want a compliment. I wonder what kind of dick-ish, sarcastic compliment he will come up with. He's the king of backhanded compliments. I smile, expectantly.
Tristan sighs. "You get one compliment, and then I get to be mean to you for the rest of the day," he says, resigning. "So you don't get a big head," he adds. I smile widely and clap my hands together excitedly, bouncing on my heels.
"Ugh. Whatever," I say rolling my eyes, still smiling.
Tristan hesitates and then looks at me, staring into my eyes. I can see a small line of green around his iris that I've never noticed before. His eyes are so beautiful that I can't look away.
"You have the prettiest blue eyes I have ever seen," he says, paying me a real compliment, taking me a little bit off guard. I stare at him for a moment, collecting myself, partially waiting for the backhanded part to come. But he doesn't add anything else.
"You're the only person who has ever said that to me," I say, a small smile playing across my lips. My heart flitters. "Thank you," I say, touching his arm. He looks surprised.
"You're shitting me, right?" he asks, perplexed. "They're my favorite thing about you," he admits, looking back down at the ground. And that makes me insanely happy. It reminds me of a quote I read somewhere on the internet. The quote was about how you should fall in love with someone's eyes because they're the only thing that never changes. I love the idea that he loves my eyes.
"No," I tell him. "Only you." Tristan smiles at me.
"Well don't get a big head about it. You're kind of a goober," Tristan says. I laugh. There's the backhanded part I was expecting, even though it wasn't that mean.
"You like it, though," I flirt, bumping him with my shoulder. He's so broad that
he doesn't even budge.
"Yeah," he says, smiling down at me. "Goofy girls are the best."
I smile. His silly comment shouldn't make me this happy. I feel a little guilty, but it feels good to be told I'm pretty. It gives me a little more confidence.
Present
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. Blair has been out here for more than a minute with me. I don't want her to get in trouble, but I don't want her to go back into work just yet.
"You should probably go back inside," I tell her. I see her face fall a little bit. She must not want to go back into work, either. She nods.
"Can you take your lunch break?" I ask her, hoping I can spend just a little bit longer with her. Her eyes light up, and she nods.
"Yeah, let me go clock out, and I'll meet you out here in a minute," she says, already walking away.
I hop into my car and crank up the air conditioning, so it will start cooling off. It's hot as fuck outside today.
I'm a little shocked at the way today is going. I hadn't planned on seeing Blair today. It's crazy that she's here and I just happen to walk into the law firm where she works. I wanted to see if I had any legal ground to stand on when it comes to making Stephanie get a paternity test, but the lawyer wanted a retainer to even talk to me about the case, and I don't have that kind of money right now. Fucking greedy bastards.
I see Blair come out of the building with her purse, and she has a little bit of a bounce in her step. She's seriously so cute. I know she used to hate being called cute, but she is. That's all there is to it. I feel my heart beat harder at the thought, and I take a deep breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
Blair opens the passenger door and hops in. I have to say, I like the way she looks in my passenger seat. It's like she belongs there. It should be her spot.
"Oh, thank God," she says, feeling the air conditioning blasting her. I see goose bumps pop up on her arms and chest from the sudden chilly blast compared to the heat outside. I try to see if her nipples are hard underneath her shirt, but can't tell because of her bra. Disappointing. She adjusts the vents like she owns them.
"Where to, pretty girl?" I ask, looking her over. I hope she can't tell I was looking at her tits.
"I'm not really hungry," she admits with a sheepish grin. "I had a big breakfast and have been snacking all day."
I laugh. "So what's the point of lunch?" I ask her. She shrugs. I pull out of the parking lot, not driving anywhere in particular. She doesn't ask where we are going, and I'm not that hungry either. I just wanted to spend time with her.
"How about we just drive around like old times?" I ask.
"Okay," she says smiling and nodding in agreement, "but I get radio control," she says, laughing. I missed her laugh. It reminds me of better times. She has a different laugh. It's not cute or like tinkling bells or anything gay like that, but when she laughs, it makes me happy, and I wish I could make her laugh all the time.
I sigh. "Fine," I say, rolling my eyes at her. We used to fight for radio control all the time. I maintain that the driver should get to pick since they're driving. Her argument is that the passenger should pick so the driver can concentrate on driving. The argument always ended in an impasse, but somehow she always ended up with radio control. Sneaky little girl. I swear, it's the power of the tits.
She adjusts the radio control and finds a station she likes and starts humming along for a minute. I enjoy listening to her. After a minute she goes silent, and I look at her, wondering why. She's staring at me.
"So," she says. "Let's get down to the hard stuff. I have to ask."
I gulp. Fuck.
"What do you mean? Ask what?" I try to sound nonchalant. I want to enjoy our time together, not fight.
"Why did you break up with me in high school? Was it really because I wouldn't sleep with you?" she demands. She would bring up old shit. I shake my head. Just like a girl to bring up old fights.
"No," I say. "It's because I was listening to my stupid friends," I tell her. Which is technically the truth, but they said I should date someone who would get me laid. So yes and no.
"Oh, okay," she says. It doesn't sound very confident. I don't think she believes me.
"I cared too much about what they thought and what they said," I tell her. That's true too.
She shrugs. What the fuck does that mean? "Did your friends not like me? Was I not pretty enough for you?" she asks. I can see the wheels turning. I'm fucking up. I'm digging myself a grave.
"I'm sorry," I say, apologizing. "I was a stupid boy. If I could go back and kick teenage Tristan's ass, I totally would. Breaking up with you was a mistake," I admit.
"Whatever," she says, shrugging. I can see the hurt in her eyes. It's obvious her self-confidence has taken a hit lately, and I hate that for her. Someone as beautiful as her should never feel that low. "Everything happens for a reason," she adds. It catches me off guard.
"I used to think that, too," I confide, driving aimlessly. "Now I think that shit just happens," I say, sounding a little bit bitter.
"But you learn from it," Blair argues.
"Maybe," I shrug.
"Everything works out. Really, it does," she continues to argue. "And if it doesn't, it isn't over yet. It's not the end."
I side eye her. "Are you religious?" I ask. I don't remember her being that religious when we dated. Is that why she wouldn't have sex with me?
"No, not really..." she says with uncertainty. "I don't know. I'd like to believe in something, I just don't know. And I think that's ok. It's ok not to know. I'd love to believe there is a Heaven and God, but I'm just not sure. But I don't think we are going to hell for not knowing. I think that as long as you are a good person who does as much as possible to make the lives around you better, you're going to heaven," she says, folding her hands in her lap.
She took the words right out of my mouth. "I feel the same way," I tell Blair. She nods.
"So do you believe in Hell and the Devil then?" she asks. I tilt my head at her question, but answer.
"Yeah, I think there is some evil shit out there."
"Why is it so much easier to believe in the bad, but so much harder to believe in the good," she asks, fiddling with the chain of her necklace. She has a point.
"I don't know," I reply quietly. How can I believe in the devil and not believe in God? Before I can finish the thought, she's already asking another question. She's always liked talking.
"So since we are on the topic of Heaven, Hell, God and the Devil, how would you want to spend your last day if you knew you were going to die?" Her question catches me off guard. I have to think about it.
"I'd want to talk to Stephanie and tell her I still love her," I admit. "And that I was sorry. And then I'd lay and just snuggle with Zoe. She's a good dog." The idea of leaving Zoe alone breaks my heart. She's a good dog. She wouldn't understand that I wasn't ever coming back.
Blair nods, thinking. "That sounds like an awesome day," she says.
"What about you," I ask, nodding at her, as I wait at a stoplight. I've just been driving mindlessly, not going anywhere in particular, like when we were teenagers. Blair thinks about it.
"I'd spend the whole day with Olivia," she says with a quiet determination. "I'd love on her and give her a lifetime's worth of kisses. And I'd want to write her letters to read as she grew up so that she always knew I loved her," she says. It reminds me of some corny movie I watched one time, but can't remember the name. I wonder if she's watched the same movie and if that's where she got the idea. "Oh my God," Blair whispers, "I can't even think about that." I see her wipe away a tear falling down her cheek. I pretend not to see. I didn't mean for her to cry.
"So have you ever thought about suicide?" she asks. God, her mind is in a dark place today. I look at her, puzzled, but answer.
"Yes, I think everyone has."
"Probably," she says, nodding. "How would you do it?" she asks. But she doesn'
t give me an answer to think about it.
"I've thought about it," she admits, staring down at her hands. "I'd either take pills, or I'd slit my wrists in a warm bath. Or both. Just to be safe. I'd play my favorite music and just go to sleep peacefully, and that would be it." The peacefulness in her voice at the idea sets off loud warning bells in my mind. It's a huge red flag.
"You've really thought it through," I observe. I watch Blair's face carefully.
"Yeah," she admits, whispering, eyes downcast. "Twice."
"What the FUCK, Blair?" I ask, outraged. I smack my hand on the steering wheel, making Blair jump.
"I went through a hard time," she stammers. "Once before Olivia was born, and once after Olivia was born. I had bad postpartum depression, I was crying a lot, and struggling. And my marriage was in a difficult place. And Finn told me that he didn't find me attractive anymore. And then I thought maybe Finn and Olivia would be better off without me..." she's backtracking and stammering all over the place.
"Why the fuck am I telling you this?" she wonders out loud, second guessing herself. She's tugging at her hair nervously, and it's kind of cute.
"I've never told anyone this. Not Finn, not my doctor, not even Chazz, and I tell Chazz everything," she continues. I don't know who Chazz is, but obviously, Chazz needs to know this shit. "I mean, she's the first person I tell everything to. When I got pregnant, and when I got engaged. She knows everything about me," she says, trailing off. I guess Chazz is a she, so I don't have anything to be worried about. I should be thankful she's confiding to me.
"You better not ever do it, Blair," I growl. I try to lighten up. I shouldn't be mad at her for confiding in me. "I'd miss you too much," I admit, softer. "And if you ever need me, I'm here. I'll pick you up and drive around or whatever you need me to do, Blair. I pinky promise."
She goes quiet and looks up at me with those beautiful ocean blue eyes under her dark lashes, and I don't ever want her to look away.
"I couldn't do it to Olivia," she says, thoughtfully. "I couldn't leave her without a mother. And you pinky promise, too?" she giggles.
