Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
“I came home when she was leaving.” He focuses on his beer glass. “It was super random that day. I was supposed to go to your house after school, but Flip hadn’t been feeling well. He’d caught the flu, so I went home instead and found her throwing her suitcases into the car. She was just gonna disappear. I mean, she did just disappear on Brody and Nathan. They came home an hour later, and she was gone. I had to tell them. And my dad.”
This time I do reach across the table and cover his hand with mine. No wonder he never talks about his mom. No wonder relationships are hard for him. “I’m so sorry, Tristan. That must have been awful for you.”
“I thought maybe she would come back, but she never did.” He shakes his head. “Why the hell am I talking about this? You don’t want to hear this shit. I gotta use the bathroom.” He pulls his hand away and pushes his chair back. He strides across the room and disappears down the hall.
I want to chase after him. To hug him. To tell him she never should have made him shoulder that responsibility. That his mother is a horrible coward and he deserved so much better. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Tristan over the past few months, it’s that when he feels anything uncomfortable, making him confront it causes him to shut down.
And this explains his anger when I told him I was moving, and I only gave him an hour. I left him. Without warning. Just like his mom. Of course his reaction was to lash out and shut down.
Our appetizers arrive while he’s gone, and I half expect him not to come back. But two minutes later he returns, sliding into his seat like nothing happened.
This little glimpse into the fall of his family makes me see him differently. I wasn’t wrong about him still being that hurt little boy hiding inside a closed-off man.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, sorry I left you on your own like that. I don’t really talk about that stuff. It’s too hard.” He sets his napkin in his lap. “Which one do you want to start with? You eat half and I’ll eat half and then we can trade?”
I let it be for now. “I’ll start with the crab cakes, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, for sure.” He sets the plate in front of me, then moves the burrata salad in front of him.
We’re both quiet for the first couple of bites. The crab cakes are decadent and delicious. The flavors burst on my tongue.
“You need to try this.” I slide my fork through the tender meat and lean in so I can offer it to Tristan. “It’s literally the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
“Really? The best?” He gives me a cocky grin as his fingers wrap around my wrist. His plush lips close around the tines, pulling the bite free. He chews thoughtfully. “It’s good. But you taste infinitely better.”
“You’re not getting in my panties tonight,” I warn him.
“I know.” He peeks up at me. “Doesn’t mean I can’t think about it. Or fantasize aloud.”
“Is that your attempt to wear me down?”
He lifts a shoulder and lets it fall. “Mostly I’m grateful you said yes to seeing me.” He cuts a small piece of tomato, fresh basil, and burrata, and drags his fork through the oil-balsamic reduction. He lifts it to my mouth.
His eyes spark as he watches the fork disappear into my mouth.
I let my eyes flutter closed and moan as I chew. On purpose, of course.
“It’s gonna be a while before I get to hear that sound for the right reasons, isn’t it?” Tristan asks softly.
“You weren’t very nice last time, so yeah.” No point in pretending I’m over how that ended.
“I’m sorry I was such a dick.” He cuts another bite but doesn’t make a move to eat it.
“Do you want to explain why you were?”
“I knew you would move out eventually. I just didn’t expect it to happen like it did. I thought maybe you needed space after Flip found out. I didn’t want to make things worse, and then you were packing and I couldn’t stop you from leaving me,” he admits.
His phrasing is everything, I realize. “To be fair, you had an entire week to talk to me about Flip finding out and how you wanted to deal with it.” If we’re ever going to move past this, he has to own how awful he was, and I need him to understand that I can’t allow that to happen, not ever again.
He sips his beer, then takes a hefty gulp. “I did try.”
“To get me into bed. Not to talk,” I point out.
“That night Flip brought those two women home, I said you could sleep in my room, though.” His knee is bouncing again.