“So when did you arrive here?” I set the china carefully on the coffee table in front of the woman dressed in blood red sitting haughtily on the crimson sofa.
She crinkled her nose slightly – slightly because I was guessing she had only had her botox done quite recently – and looked at the contents of the cup.
“What is this?” Grand’Mere stared at me with her hawk-like blue eyes.
My heart started palpitating unevenly as I diverted my eyes away from hers nervously, unable to meet her gaze – partly because she had never failed to make anyone feel incompetent and worthless with her stare, but also because I could never seem to take my eyes off of her horrible tattooed eyebrows.
I squirmed in my seat. “Erm… Erm…,” I stuttered. “It’s… uhh… It’s – It’s tea?”
Grand’Mere sniffed the cup suspiciously. “It doesn’t smell like tea,” she criticized before taking a small sip like the stuck up little – I mean, like the completely well mannered and elegant lady that she was.
She made a face.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure why I even bothered being hopeful that she would finally acknowledge me as somewhat worthy of something. Nobody was good enough for her.
“You really need to learn how to make better tea with Angelique.”
Well, except for perfect little Angelique.
Ugh.
Hunter and I simultaneously rolled our eyes.
Ugh.
Angelique was our cousin. For me, she was my cousin from both sides of the family. That is weird, yes. But it gets even weirder. Our fathers were brothers and our mothers were twins. It wasn’t really incest but somehow, someway, it just felt… wrong.
“This is too minty,” she chided, placing the barely drank cup of tea onto the table like it was garbage.
I didn’t even know how to reply to that. It was Earl Grey tea with two spoons of sugar. Where – or how – she got that minty taste from, I didn’t know. So wisely, I just kept quiet.
But being wise was not Hunter’s forte.
“Well, get “Angelique”,” he made air quotes, “to make it for you then,” he scoffed from the corner, a distance too far for her to tazer him but near enough for him to insult her.
Grand’Mere didn’t even deign to look at him when she replied. “I would but unlike you who live off my money while wasting oxygen, she’s busy looking for a cure for cancer. For humanity’s sake, I’d rather not prevent her from saving the world. But of course you wouldn’t know anything about being humane, would you?”
The jab slapped Hunter like a bitch but Grand’Mere didn’t stop there. She may be on Forke’s 100 Most Influential People but damn did she break men’s balls like bubbles.
“Can’t you be useless somewhere away from here? I am allergic to idiocy,” she said with a blasé tone while inspecting her equally blood red nails, as if they worth more to her than the grandson who had set her pet vulture on fire.
I wouldn’t actually be surprised if they were. Off the record, I had heard whispers saying she tried to trade Hunter for a Channel No. 21 perfume when her credit card got rejected in Florence once upon a time.
I surreptitiously glanced at Hunter from the corner of my eyes. From the fuming look he was sporting, I knew what Hunter and I were doing tonight. Angelique-bashing was something we would do every time Grand’Mere came over. It was bad because she was possibly the sweetest person on the earth. But it was worse that there really was nothing to badmouth about except for how perfect, pretty, smart and friggin’ nice she was.
Honestly, this was all Grand’Mere’s fault. Her blatant display of favouritism had destroyed our family foundation.
“So why the sudden visit?” I asked, eager to shift the mood and to make small talk with the eccentric woman. “I mean, not that I don’t appreciate you being here, of course,” I corrected quickly. “I do, I really do.” I smiled widely. Too widely.
I didn’t know who I was trying to convince more – her or me.
She nodded in agreement, as if having her around is akin to being graced by the presence of angels. “Of course.” She picked out the fattest chocolate bonbon on the tray and took a small bite out of it. “I came over because I had figured that you would want to thank me yourself for talking some sense into that idiotic father of yours.”
I was confused.
I mean, obviously I was appalled by Grand’Mere’s dose of self-righteousness but what was new.
“I don’t really follow you, Grand’Mere,” I said perplexedly. What did I have to thank her for? Besides the fact that I was lucky to have her as my grandmother, as she would always say.
Grand’Mere sighed. “Morgana has not told you yet?”
Morgana was my Mother.
She had not told me anything.
I didn’t know if I wanted to be grateful to my grandmother.
I shook my head. Grand’Mere sighed even louder. “Must I do everything around here?” she gently rested her hand on her chest as if lamenting all the hardships she has had to endure for me.
Hunter and I snorted inwardly. Because her life was really difficult.
“You’re staying.”
I blinked.
Hunter blinked across the room.
Time just stood still for a while as I digested what Grand’Mere had said.
“You mean…” I dared not hope.
“Yes, you are not going to that Mufasa place,” she confirmed.
And that was all I needed.
I. Couldn’t. Breathe.
I screamed and ran to the Channel no. 21 doused human being in front of me and hugged her. Hunter would have probably joined me hugging Grand’Mere if it wasn’t for the fact that it was Grand’Mere.
“Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God,” I jumped and bounced around the room excitedly.
“Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, Oh, my God, oh my – wait!”
As fast as the excitement rushed in, it dissipated into the air like a drop of water in the Sahara. Dark clouds started to gather above my head as I went into depression.
“It still doesn’t resolve the Tristan issue,” I walked zombie-ly to the couch to throw myself head first into the red sponginess. Dad had always been a bit of a scaredy cat when it came to Grand’Mere. People in general would fall into that category, myself included. So while she may have terrorized him to let me stay, I’d still probably end up in Burkina Faso in the weeks to come if I didn’t end up dead before that.
Oh, life, why art thou so cruel?
“Tristan?” Grand’Mere said, astonished. “Who is this Tristan boy you speak of?”
Oh, wow.
Just…
Just wow.
“Grand’Mere,” I said, frowning to the old lady in front of me, “when you decided to talk to my father about letting me stay – which I really am grateful of, don’t misunderstand me – but when you did talk to him, did you even know what was going on that made him want to send me to Burkina Faso in the first place?” That was as beating-around-the-bush as it could get.
“Well,” she sat up straight, a habit she had when she wanted to remember something better, “I’m pretty sure Morgana told me about it,” she tried to frown in concentration but the Botox prevented her skin from being normal.
Had this been some other person’s story, I would have laughed.
I sighed.
“Grand’Mere,” I whined. “There was someone who was trying to break into my loft! The whole point of going away was to not get caught and-”
I did not notice how Grand’Mere was sitting straighter than a rod. I also did not realize how unfurrowed her eyebrows had become and the sweat that had formed from her skin’s desperation to be a normal kind of skin that did not look like somebody had painted layers of glue over them. And I most certainly did not realize the look of comprehension slowly setting into her eyes.
“- until this is resolved I’m not sure if it’s a goo–”
“Oh! You mean Caffarelli’s boy?” Grand’Mere clapped her hand loudly all of a sudden and grinned. “Is that his name? Tristan?” She laughed shrilly, her original, scary laugh. “Oh, mon Dieu! I have been calling him ‘it’ all this while!”
This whole monologue thing that went on stunned Hunter and I to the point of us not being able to react.
“Grand’Mere,” Hunter’s clipped tone broke the stunned silence that enveloped us for a solid five minutes. “What did you just say?”
Grand’Mere shifted her gaze to Hunter and gave him her death glare.
“I was not talking to you, you ca- ” She started cussing at him in French.
Hunter, who could not for the life of him understand said language despite having lived in Paris until he was ten, cussed at her back in Mandarin with the vocabulary that he had learned from his very short scene in a Chinese movie he acted in two years ago.
“Grand’Mere,” I said, trying to get her attention. She was very animated when she cussed, her hands flailing everywhere. “Hunter,” I tried again, louder.
“You guys!”
Nothing.
There was still a lot of “Vas-t'en caliss” and “Ben dan” flying around.
I could feel a vein throbbing and nearing the point of bursting.
“Tu es nul!”
And that was the last straw.
“SHUT. UP!” I screamed. “SHUT. UP. SHUT. UP. SHUT. UP!”
Finally, both of them snapped their mouths shut.
I was breathing heavily after the voice-cord-destroying shout I had let out. A little tired and somewhat frustrated, I plopped myself down on the sofa ungracefully. I could see Grand’Mere’s fake eyebrow twitching from disgust at the way I was sitting. I rubbed my temple tiredly.
“Both of you, sit,” I was surprised at the amount of guts I had to order the dark haired woman in front of me. I was even more surprised when she actually complied.
“Now, Grand’Mere, what did you mean when you talked about Tristan just now?”
“I don’t understand,” Her French accent was suddenly prominent in her speech, probably from the cussing-in-French-high she was experiencing. “What about Tristan?”
I could have gone and thrown myself out of the window from frustration. I took a few deep breaths before conversing with her again.
“You said you…” I was not sure how to put it, “… knew him…?”
“Oui,” she shrugged, “he is right – oh, merde!”
She rushed out of her seat and briskly walked to the door as if she forgot something important.
“I didn’t forget!” Grand’Mere shouted to the air as she walked towards the exit.
Not-shouting-Grand’Mere was loud enough as it was.
I stared at her for two seconds before trailing behind her to the door. She yanked the wooden slabs roughly and inertia took affect. The moment it swung hard towards the wall, I watched in horror as it made a loud banging noise, the plaster chipping apart.
“Grand’Me- ”
I turned disbelievingly to the woman I called my Grandmother.
Except, what my eyes saw past the gaping door was not the woman standing akimbo near the wooden partition but rather, the tall, dark haired boy leaning disinterestedly on the wall right across me. His head hung low as his eyes were trained on his phone, his hands typing away on his device.
My heart pounded in my chest.
“Who are you?” I squaked in surprise, suddenly scared.
Suddenly, it was as if it was just the two of us present. Hunter, who was behind me, seemed so faraway; Grand’Mere, who was right beside me, seemed to be nonexistent; whereas the two armed bodyguards patrolling the area on both sides of the hallway just appeared insignificant in the picture.
Said boy stopped typing mid-way. His hand froze as he lifted his eyes lazily from his phone.
He stared at me with his surprisingly familiar eyes.
I felt uncomfortable as I stood in his line of sight.
He smiled a lopsided smile that was as fathomless as anything in the world and pressed a button on his cellphone.
The phone in my pocket buzzed.
Ding
I probably lost ten years of my life from the fright I got. It took a lot to still be standing there. I was sweating like a pig. My hands were moist, my body was hot and I was most definitely bothered.
I ignored the message that came in. It just did not feel right to check my phone in a situation like this. This was intense business.
“I said,” I cleared my throat and gathered my voice again, “who are you?”
Beside me Grand’Mere rolled her eyes.
“Oh, enough with the dramatics, Arianna. He is perfectly harmless. This is Caffarelli’s son – you remember Caffarelli, right?”
I had been gawking at the boy in front of me so hard that I had to literally tear my gaze away from him.
“What?” I asked semi-dazedly.
“Lorenzo Caffarelli. My friend. This is his son,” she stated tersely.
Lorenzo Caffarelli was the rumoured lover of my Grand’Mere. The one with the supposed connection with the Mafia.
The one who may or may not be one of the big guys in the mob.
And according to Grand’Mere, this was supposedly his son standing in front of me.
What.
The.
Hell.
Grand’Mere.
Why would my own grandmother bring a possible member of an organized criminal group to my home? Normal grandmothers were supposed to steer their cute, cuddly grandchildren away from danger but mine? Oh, no. Of course I would get the chain-smoking, commitment phobic, aneroxia-advocating woman.
“Why?” I asked incredulously. “Just why?”
“Why?” She had the the gall to look offended. “He has been the one to look out for you every time Hunter would run off to God knows where!”
“What?” I turned to Hunter.
A look of understanding washed across the blonde’s face. Until his name was mentioned again, I almost forgot he was still around.
“Oh,” he drawled. “This is the guy you’ve been sending in every time I’d go away?” he pointed at Tristan but his gaze was on Grand’Mere.
Grand’Mere nodded once in affirmation.
I turned to the two of them.
“I don’t get it.” I looked at both supposed members of my family. “Somebody please explain.”
The two people in question shared a look, deciding who should do the talking.
Finally, Hunter shrugged. “Well,” he began. “You didn’t really think I would just leave you to fend for yourself every time I went away, did you?”
‘Erm,’ I thought in my head. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’
“This idiot here will call me before he would leave to ask for somebody to fly in and take his place,” Grand’Mere said simply. “For the past year, he had been coming back and forth from Italy for you.”
Two words: Dain. Bramage.
I clutched my head, feeling light headed and woozy all of the sudden. This was too much information in one go.
I frowned. I was probably going to have to resort to botox myself one of these days.
“Okay,” I said slowly, comprehension has started to seep in. “But I’m still confused though,” I turned around to face tall person across me. “Are you, or are you not Tristan?”
For the life of me, the Tristan from the park was bruised and… well… ugly.
I mean, he was basically just deformed from all the beatings he had received.
“Well?” Hunter and I asked impatiently.
Smiling, Maybe-Tristan lifted himself from the wall and took three steps towards me. Standing in front of my 5’6 stature, I felt like a pawn on the chess set.
I swore I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
I tried to take a step back but Hunter’s body blocked my movement.
My legs buckled from the absolute jelly feeling. My eyes started to water from being so scared. I didn’t know why I was scared. The pounding in my chest reverberated throughout my body and I had to keep assuring myself that he was not dangerous. Grand’Mere said so herself.
And then Maybe-Tristan did the most random thing he could have done in that moment.
He bowed.
He freaking bowed like a gentleman in one of those Jane Austen remakes.
“Thanks for saving me the other day.”
I gaped like a fish out of water.
“So you are Tristan?” I asked disbelievingly.
Tristan nodded.
“And you’re really not Connor?”
He chuckled. “I told you I am not, didn’t I?” he said smoothly.
I couldn’t believe it.
“Then what the hell have we been panicking about this whole time?” I went psycho on everyone. “What the hell, you guys?” My eyes may as well had been on fire. All I saw was red.
“YOU!” I jabbed Tristan’s chest. “You could have told me you were not out to get me!” I jabbed him harder.
Tristan just ignored the finger poking his chest and instead, raised an eyebrow. “I did. I tried to talk you many times but you wouldn’t listen,” he stated simply. “I even had to call your Grandmother to explain the situation to her.”
“Well, I – You – I could’ve –” I was lost for words.
He was right. He had been trying to talk to me all this while. So in a way, it was sort of my fault. But how was I supposed to know all these things if nobody told me anything?
So I did the next best thing I could.
“YOU!” I spun around and jabbed Hunter. “This is all your – Aaarghhhh!”
Static – literally – coursed through me. All I felt was intense pain and my body just gave way. I could feel myself falling down and floating, suspended. I don’t think the ground ever greeted me. I wasn’tsure. Maybe it was the stress or the exhaustion but I just blanked out.
My vision went dark.
But I did hear one last conversation before I passed out completely.
“You tasered your own granddaughter,” somebody stated in a tone laced with a hint of disbelief.
A short pause.
“She was being annoying.”
~*****___'~~~~~~~~~~~~ > . < ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'___*****~
Follow me on twitter!!! =D amarawrrr