Trystan straightened her bedspread neatly, finally assembling it back to the way it had been before she and Peter's last lovemaking session the night before. Even after washing the sheets, they still smelled faintly of his cologne. She smiled at the circumstance. It seemed as Peter would always leave a piece of him no matter where he was to go.
She passed her reflection in the mirror and noticed how many hickeys had accumulated during Peter's stay and how much make-up she would have to use to cover them all up. She would question his never ending affinity of leaving love bites, but she knew his response would mean very little, for she always looked forward to the actions it took to discard them there. Beggars could not be choosers.
There was a knock on her open door, and she turned to see Peter, donned in a navy hoodie, lingering in the entryway. "Hey."
Trystan grinned, "Hey."
"Getting ready to head out—my plane leaves at ten." He jabbed his thumb out the doorway, his empathetic smile showing he would rather do almost anything else than leave Trystan's home. He had never gone through such a bout of emotions before; he was beginning to find himself and even though it was exhausting, Trystan's support was all he needed to get him by. It would be hard leaving her and going back to Los Angeles where that encouragement had not been present for so long he had forgotten it had existed.
"It's only seven-eighteen . . . you can't stay a little bit longer?" Trystan neared him and grabbed his hands into hers. She knew she was stalling, but she could not help herself. Peter's presence made her feel so warm inside.
"You know I want to, but New York traffic can be hell and it takes two hours to get to the airport." He rubbed the pad of his thumbs against the back of her hands sympathetically.
"A few more minutes won't hurt," she reasoned and began stepping backward towards the bed, leading his hands to her waist. She draped her arms around his shoulders and mumbled against his neck."Just two minutes, I promise."
Her teasing smile brought about Peter's own, and the compromise was not an easy one to decline, not that Peter had ever thought of 'no' as an option with her lips against him.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?" he surmised as he landed on top of her when she fell against the bed. Trystan simply smiled before bringing his face to meet hers.
She locked her legs around his waist as their playful pecks turned into Peter sucking her bottom lip and she clutching at his hair. Each second that passed was more lengthy than the last, so much that time had become illusory, just as they both liked it. When they were together, time did not exist, only they did. They made up a world where the only barriers were their own and they chose whether or not to cross them or cower behind the lines.
Alas, as the two minutes did indeed pass, they were no longer in just their world; they were reentering one where they played by society's rules, by ethics, morals, and even Kimioko. Their love was a violation they had to keep from being revealed, even if that meant putting up the aggravating façade that they were only friends.
Peter groaned out of irritation when he had to pull away from Trystan's lips, annoyed that the erection forming could not be tended to unless he wanted to miss his flight.
"I gotta go," he muttered, his forehead against hers. "If I don't leave now, I never will."
"That's not a bad idea, is it?" Trystan inquired as she toyed with the drawstrings of his top. Peter would have taken her words jokingly had her voice not been void of humor.
He settled down beside her as Trystan stayed on her back, her eyes on the ceiling. Peter wished he could tell all of what she was thinking, but her expressionless disposition made it difficult to do so. He did not know what to say, so he simply let his fingers toy with her father's locket that lied complacently in the dip of her collarbone.
Peter heard her sigh, but it was not that she had grown lax beneath his touch. She lied tensely, and her lips twisted the same way they always did when she was about to ask something she did not really want to.
"Am I a bad person?" She queried aloud, and it was not until her eyes turned to Peter that he realized the question was not rhetorical but directed at him.
"What?" Taken aback, his brow crinkled. "What are you talking about?"
"Am I a bad person?" She asked again. She did not expect Peter to tell her she was, rather the opposite, as he did. But her head shook slowly as he denied any negatives about her.
"Bruno, tonight you're gonna go home to someone else. You're gonna have this whole other world I'm not supposed to be in. You're gonna have to put up this front that we haven't been sleeping together, that we don't care about each other as anything more than friends, that you don't love me. . . . You have a lot more to lose than I do. I knew all of this and still put you in that position."
Trystan sat up and Peter did the same, his confusion refusing to lighten. She wrapped her arms around her knees and settled her chin atop of them glumly.
"I don't mean to spring all this on you but . . ." she sighed, trying to find the right words. "I've been thinking about this for a while. It's just that . . . when I'm with you, there's no place I'd rather be. You make me feel so good. Whether it being our conversations or just lying with you . . . I've never been this content with anyone. And it kills me to know that while feeling all of this, everything I have for you, it sucks knowing I have to hide it and that it's my fault for letting it get so far."
"Don't blame yourself for this, Trys–,"
"I could've stopped all of this from happening had I just did what I said I would. At the studio, I kissed you first. I was the one to let my feelings go too far. And then I told you what we did could never happen again, and it did, because I let it." She searched his eyes for at least an inkling of understanding. "I don't wanna feel guilty for loving you."
Peter would have been elated by her admission of returned affection had not the weight of her words made his stomach drop.
"So . . . what are you saying? You don't wanna do this anymore?" The possibility of Trystan choosing to discontinue what they had had Peter panicking. He did not want to lose her. He would give up many things—his job, his home, his affianced—just to have her.
Trystan bit her bottom lip before replying, "I just don't want you to feel guilty for being with me either. I don't want you to regret it."
Peter reached out his hand and caressed the nape of her neck. He was quiet, letting his thoughts form. It was true, he and Trystan had indeed gone and gotten themselves into a tizzy, but he would not have her blaming herself for something they both created. He would rather take every bit of incrimination if that meant she would not feel bad for anything she had done. He moved his hand to clasp it with hers.
"Trys, I don't feel guilty for being with you, so don't blame yourself. I'm the one engaged, not you. I hold more responsibility over what we've done than you do. I knew what I was doing when I kissed you back." There was a small shift in her appearance, either relief he was on the same page or shame for the same reason.
"I knew what I was doing when I slept with you and I knew what I was doing when I said I loved you. I don't really know what to say to make all this right; I can't control your take on this, but what I do know is, is that there are many things I regret in my life, but you aren't one of them. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I wanna leave here with you knowing that."
Trystan looked down at their interlocked fingers. Her thumb caressed his stiffly as she whispered, "What if one day . . . you don't love me anymore? What if all this–,"she circled her hand in the air, "–everything we've done, shared . . . what if that's not enough anymore? Then what? What if you feel like you've just wasted your time?"
"Why do you think I'd ever think that?" Peter was actually offended she thought his love for her would ever dwindle away. She was someone who had given him something he was sure no one else would be able to. She would always mean something to him.
"Because anything's possible, Bruno," she exhaled, frustrated. She wanted him to think realistically. People fell out of love all the time. It happened every day to anyone. Hell, it had even happened to him. She was sure there was a time he was in love with Kimioko, and yet here he was with her. What if he grew tired of her? Would he move on to another woman? "I don't want us making all these choices, doing all these things . . . just for us not to last. I don't wanna go through that again."
"'Again'?"
Trystan's eyes shot to his when she realized she had exposed herself. "Nothing . . . don't worry about it."
"I think you need to tell me something, Trystan." His grip tightened on her hand. "I don't want you doubting me because of something someone else did. We can be real, remember?" He bumped her shoulder with his own. "Just tell me."
Trystan looked at him for a long moment before replying, "Don't you have a plane to catch?"
Peter's eyes caught the analog clock hanging above her door and noted that he was running late. However, he was not going to be so easily dismissed. "Can we talk about this later then?"
Trystan did not want to bring it up ever, but she had mistakenly roused his interest and she knew he would not let up until he was given an answer. She nodded and Peter gave her a small grin.
"Okay. Is it alright if I kiss you?" He asked, and Trystan had to stop her brow from cocking in confusion when she remembered she had just set an awkward barrier between them both. She cupped his face between her hands and pressed her mouth to his.
The plane ride to Los Angeles was lonesome without Trystan's presence. Peter did not look forward to touching base and loathed the sound of the tires screeching to a halt on the landing strip. As the people around him bustled about, he stalled until he absolutely had to grab his things and retract from the plane. He thought it a shame how apathetic he was about seeing Kimioko, but it was not surprising. One did not spend a week with Trystan Wildes and expect much else to be as exciting.
As he entered the airport, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and waited for the Wi-fi to load so he could call in a car. He would tell them to take the long way home.
His luck faded not from the wavering signal of the waiting area, but that his ride was already there. All he heard was "Baby!" before being enveloped in a tight hug. Pink hair was mushed against his cheek as the breath was nearly knocked out of him.
"Hey," he replied and hoped he had hugged Kimioko back with as much vigor despite his shock. He had not expected at all to see her or the vitality she withheld. He thought he would have a little more time to rid himself of the scent of another woman before he went hugging up on another one.
Kimioko kissed him twice and then stood back with a wide grin. Her hands clutching his, she expelled, "I missed you so much! ow was the trip? It's not the same when you're not here."
Peter eyed her oddly. "It was fine and I've gone on business trips before." He could not recount any recent times she had been so excited to see him.
"Doesn't mean I don't miss you. Plus the whole "I'm coming back" and then not hearing from you in three days thing," she knowingly smirked. "Which we're still gonna talk about by the way. I don't like finding out from your friends that my fiance is okay."
Peter regarded her with a sheepish smile. "Yeah, I know. Sorry about that."
"It's okay." She rubbed his shoulder and then gasped as she suddenly remembered, "My parents are outside waiting for us. They wanna take us out for lunch!"
"Really?"
Kimioko's parents respected Peter enough, offering him a cordial handshake whenever they would see him, but they had never willingly offered much of anything, especially something like lunch date.
"Yeah." Kimioko nodded. "Daddy wants to go over the gala proceedings. He's already spoken to Benson about it and made some plans."
"Ah." Peter knew there had been a catch. It would have been strange if her parents wanted to see him just to see him.
"And they wanna see you, too," Kimioko goaded as she pinched his cheek. "While you were gone, I had a long conversation about them needing to treat you better, especially Daddy. You're gonna be apart of our family soon, so I don't want there to be any bad vibes between all of us anymore."
Why the hell did you have to do that? Peter thought, aggravated. On the trip back, he had already begun tossing about in his mind ways how he would tell Kimioko about wanting to end their engagement. Now she had her parents wanting to make "amends" after eight years of treating him coldly. Luck was not on his side today.
He had to muster up the will to offer Mr. and Mrs. Phan a friendly smile when Kimioko led him them as they stood in front of their pricey Cadillac waiting out front. Surprisingly, the two middle-aged business owners smiled at him, free of any tautness Peter would usually find in their suit-clad dispositions.
"It's good to see you, Peter," Mrs. Phan welcomed him, the handshake she gave him much warmer than it typically was. Mrs. Phan was a pretty woman—tight around the edges but pretty nonetheless. Kimioko favored her mostly, except her freshly dyed pink hair that contrasted sharply against Mrs. Phan's dark tresses. Her eyes were amber in color, same as Kimioko's, and she always accentuated them with a thin layer of eyeliner. Peter had hardly seen her wearing anything but a business pantsuit and pearl earrings, as she was then, but the grin she wore was a new accessory. "How was the plane ride?"
"It was pretty good. A little turbulence here and there but nothing to complain about," Peter extended conversationally and Mrs. Phan nodded. "That's good."
If it was out of character for Kimioko's mother to to be so gentile toward Peter, he was sure it was taking Mr. Phan out of another realm to extend the same kindness. Unlike Mrs. Phan, who kept a conversation going the entire way up to the restaurant, it was not until he was seated next to Peter with a glass of white wine and plate of grilled chicken and green beans that he decided to regard him with more than subtle glances in his direction.
"Benson tells us that he would be happy to co-host a gala between his company and Kimioko's. We think it would bring recognition to her brand and yours as well."
Peter nodded after taking a sip from his glass. "So I've heard, but may I ask how it would help me? I expected to only be there to support Kimioko."
"Mrs. Phan and I have spoken to some executives who would consider working with your production group. Not all are in the music business but those I've gotten into contact with are interested in expanding your company as far as branding and broadening your spectrum." Mr. Phan explained all whilst cutting a piece of his chicken. Peter saw Kimioko's wide grin in his peripheral, so he was sure she noticed he was awestricken.
"Oh, uh . . . thank you both," was all he could manage to say. Peter had purposely kept a lower profile in the business to keep from free-loaders and those trying to sabotage him. The tight-knit circle he had developed over the years had brought him in more than enough capital, so he was not too keen to the idea of having to open up to more people who had the potential to disrupt what he had created.
"No need to thank us, Peter," Mrs. Phan smiled as she forked her salad. "We're all going to be a family soon, so we want to do what we can to help each other out."
Peter had not been aware that he was in need of any help, and he would be lying to himself if did not admit he felt a bit uneasy about the gesture. Still, it was more than what Peter would ever ask from him, and he did not want to be ungrateful for them going out of their way to do something so gracious. Peter assumed that was what Kimioko was referring to when she said they would be nicer to him.
The lunch went on much more smoothly than past encounters, and Peter thought it just his luck that Kimioko's parents were displaying a graciousness he wished he had seen years before. After Mr.and Mrs. Phan's extensive gesture, Peter found it would be even harder to talk to Kimioko about how he was feeling. They had offered him more business opportunities than Peter had ever thought to give himself, and he was sure they, Mr. Phan especially, would not take it lightly after hearing that Peter evidently did not love his daughter enough to marry her.
He almost wished Trystan was there to give him advice on what to do. Before they were lovers, they had become confidants. Trystan would be able to recommend the best thing to do that would keep any hurt at a minimum. Alas, she was apart of it all, which meant she would likely be apart of the pain. Peter knew what he wanted to do, but did not know how to do it. Someone would get hurt in all of it and it would be his fault.
He wished not that he had reconnected with Trystan, the one who was the catalyst for his willing infidelity, but that he had never met Kimioko.
Trystan thought herself pathetic as she did not know what to do with herself without Peter around. She could have easily planned to meet up with some of her hometown friends who would be happy to see her, but she thought it not fair to extend the invitation knowing most of her time spent with them would be spent thinking about Peter. She could have used to her time writing; she was certain everything that had transpired between she and Peter would be a source of great material, but it would have been too overwhelming. She was not sure everything she felt could fit in the confines of her trusty journal.
Trystan had never depended on someone as emotionally as she did on Peter. She prided herself on her independence but found that characteristic had been dwindling since falling in love with him. He was her muse whether he knew it or not and was so beyond the music. She could not grip her pen without his encouraging word and could only love when he was there. He simply made everything better and she cursed the man for her feel so disposed. Love was such a suffocating thing and she was uncertain whether she wanted to receive it or strangle it.
It was already nighttime but the time she pulled herself from off her couch and shut off her record player with the vinyl that spun about blues music. She would not wallow in her self-pity in her apartment any longer—the remnants of his cologne and all that had occurred was stifling.
She fixed herself up so she would not look as she did when Peter left—sad and partially depressed—and grabbed her coat and purse. She hailed a taxi that took her to one of the close-by movie theater, where she sat through a foreign film that was interesting enough to keep her cerebration occupied with something other than that damned man, but when it was over, she found it impossible. Peter had made himself a forcible presence in her mind that would keep coming back no matter how many times it was kicked out.
She walked little ways to a bar called White Abyss. It was not one of her usual hangouts, but she had gone enough times to know the bartender by name and she could use a drink.
The sound of pool balls knocking against each other, glasses clinking and a barrage of T.V.'s showing different shows greeted Trystan as she stepped through the door. Some men sitting nearest the door gave her a nod before letting their eyes lingered on her body as she walked past. Trystan ignored them. As long as they let her be, she would not bother questioning them of their unabashed ogling.
She made her way to an empty seat at the bar, shrugging off her coat before sitting onto a deep red stool. She ordered a kiwi cocktail and when given the green beverage in a rock glass with a black straw, did she attempt to alleviate her senses from that of Peter.
She focused on the other things that weighed in her life—like finalizing Elle Marie's second music video and working on another song for her. Steve would be calling her soon to check up on her to see how everything was panning out in Los Angeles. Her mom would probably be calling her, too, since she was leaving soon. The anniversary of her father's death would be coming up soon, and she would come back to New York to lie flowers by his headstone. She would have to go by Angelique's to pick up Bella, who had stayed with her for the week.
When she put her mind to it, thinking things that did not involve Peter was not that difficult, at all really. It was just that she did not want to. Many aspects of her life had become secondary to their relationship, as wrong as that sounded, but she could hardly help it.
She ordered a small platter of hot wings and a second, then a third drink. She polished it all off and then settled for a small bowl of peanuts the bartender offered her. She dully crunched at the small pods as she tried through her shallow haze to follow an uninteresting game of football.
As Trystan neared the last of the peanuts in her possession, she heard a voice ask beside her, "Is this stool taken?"
"Oh, no its–," Trystan turned to acknowledge the male voice, and her mouth dropped as far as her heart sunk into her stomach when she realized who she was regarding. "Derek."
Standing as handsome as she remembered him to be, Derek Wallace, better known as her ex-boyfriend, smiled down at her. Trystan looked at him like she saw a ghost. She wondered just how much she had drank to be seeing him right before her eyes.
"Trystan." He nodded with a grin Trystan remembered being in love with at one point in time. "Didn't expect to see you here." He took the seat beside her and chuckled when he noticed her inch away a bit.
"Didn't expect to see you . . . ever," Trystan noted and Derek laughed around. Trystan did not know why—she had not meant it as a joke. She really did not think she would ever come across the man who had basically dropped her on her ass, or, better put, did not want to see him again. "What are you doing here?" she asked with a noticeable venom.
Derek stroked his brown beard as he replied with a smirk, "Ever? That's cold, T."
"It's Trystan," she corrected curtly.
Derek held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, Trystan. Well, how are you? You look good."
Trystan gave him an up-and-down. "Fine. You look the same." It was not a complete lie. He did look good, but other than the accumulation of facial hair and appearing a bit older, he had not changed much.
Derek snickered. "I remember you being a really nice person, Trystan."
"Well, excuse my rudeness, but I'm not really interested in speaking to the man who left me without an explanation." Trystan grabbed her purse and went to stand, but Derek grabbed her wrist before she could make it off the stool.
"Please, don't go. I just wanna talk," he surmised with a suaveness in his voice that would have any woman swooning, but Trystan knew better.
"I don't think so." She squinted her eyes and yanked her wrist from out of his grip. "You have a lot of nerve to expect me to listen to you after what you did. Goodbye, Derek."
While she was able to successfully stand, Derek did, too, and she sighed. He was much too close for her comfort, so she stepped backward. To her realization, the alcohol had done more to her than she had assumed, and she stumbled a bit. Taking it as an opportunity to touch her again, Derek reached out and grabbed her arm.
"I think you've had a little too much to drink," he chuckled when she was upright. "Do you need a ride?"
"No, I don't." She pulled away from him again. "I'll get a taxi."
"Well, can I get your number? I'd really like to catch up with you."
"What part of 'no' aren't you getting?"
"Trystan, please. We used to be able to talk about anything."
She paused and stared at him. We used to be able to talk about anything. He could not possibly be serious. Most of their conversations had been void of any depth and Trystan was almost insulted that he assumed their causality in conversation was anything more than what it had been.
She crossed her arms. "So, now you wanna talk? After three years when you left out our door? Now is the time to talk?"
Derek looked at her sheepishly, the same face that had gotten him out of a lot of trouble during their relationship. "That's what I want to talk to you about. You deserve an explanation–,"
"You're damn right I do," Trystan cut him off. "Three years ago I deserved an explanation. But I'm over it now. I've moved on. Besides, I'm involved with someone." Why in the hell had she gone and said that? It had to be the alcohol talking, because she and Peter definitely had a relationship, but not one where anyone—especially someone like Derek—was supposed to hear about it.
"Okay, I'm coming about this in the wrong way." Derek held his hands up in surrender. "I'm not looking to rekindle anything we had--I'm involved with someone, too. I didn't even know you were going to be here—I'm in New York on business–,"
"Aren't we all?" Trystan grumbled and plopped back into her seat. If she recalled Derek correctly, he would be able to out-talk anyone, especially if it were about himself. Her inebriation would not allow her to stand and listen to his ramblings at once.
"Got a little overwhelmed with the ol' job and decided to come out to get a drink. Saw you so I thought I'd say hi. And, if you're up for it, tell you why I left like I did." He sat back down in the stool beside her.
"You might as well because it doesn't seem like you'll leave me alone until you do." Trystan waved her hand flippantly and avoided his eyes.
Trystan's taxi dropped her off at her old home. She slowly climbed the aging stairs and pressed the buzzer until she heard her mother's voice. She was immediately let in and her mother was already waiting for at the door when she approached.
"Everything okay, baby? I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow." Yvonne said as she ushered her daughter inside.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wanted to talk to you," Trystan assured.
"You've been drinking?" Yvonne asked suspiciously as she closed the door.
"Just a little," Trystan confessed as she pulled off her coat and placed on the back of the living room couch.
"Well, you could've just came here. You know I have a bottle of rum in the freezer!"
The two women shared a laugh, though Trystan's was milder. Yvonne noticed her halfheartedness and questioned her again, "You sure you alright, Tree?"
Trystan could not lie to her mother. Yvonne could spot a problem before there even was one. Not one of Trystan's most favorable characteristics about her mother, but she could do little about it. She shrugged, then ran her fingers through her hair, then sighed. "I just saw Derek."
"Derek?" Yvonne said his name with as much surprise as Trystan had seeing him. "As in the one who–,"
"That one." Trystan pointed upward before plopping down onto the couch. Yvonne sat beside her and Trystan lied her head on her lap.
Yvonne massaged Trystan's scalp as she recounted the events at the bar that led up to Derek revealing the reason he had left her.
"He told me . . . he didn't think I would able to handle him becoming a businessman. He didn't think I would be strong enough to deal with everything he planned to and that he thought he needed a woman who would be able to withstand it all. Someone who would be by his side through thick-and-thin and . . ." Trystan paused to compose herself. The last thing would be the hardest to say. "Someone he could show off to the corporate, someone he would be proud to flaunt."
Yvonne was taken aback. She had raised Trystan into the beautiful woman she was and took it as a personal insult that anyone would try to value her any less than what she deserved. "He said all that?"
Trystan shook her head. "Not in those exact words, surprisingly he has more class than that, but I knew what he meant." It did not take him showing the picture of his current girlfriend, a blonde woman in a business suit, to spell out what he had the decency not to say. She left the latter thought out of the conversation. She knew if she told Yvonne, it would be nothing short of Jesus' second coming that would stop her from hunting him down.
"It just sucks, you know? I did all I could do as a girlfriend for him; I acted like a wife when I was only a kid in college. I did a lot of things to see him succeed, and to hear that it hadn't been enough . . . it made me so mad. I put myself on hold to make sure he got to where he wanted to be. It wasn't surprising to hear; I didn't feel a lot of love when we were together, but I thought if I just stuck it out, we would grow together. And I was wrong. To be unappreciated sucks."
Yvonne hummed a sigh above her as her fingers continued to massage her daughter's head. "I hate that that had to happen to you baby, you know you deserve nothing but the world. But I am happy about one thing."
"You are?" Trystan looked up at her.
Yvonne giggled and tapped Trystan's nose. "You're finally showin' some hurt over this!"
"That's a good thing? And what do you mean? I showed hurt when he left."
Yvonne gave her a knowing look. "Tree, you told me he left you like you were telling me the weather. You didn't cry, yell, nothin'! Acted like it didn't bother you. I knew it did, but I didn't wanna make you feel worse by making note of it. Did the same thing when your daddy died. Acted like it didn't bother you."
Damn. She could question Peter's perceptiveness, they had only reconnected a couple of months before, but here her mother was, the woman who had brought her into the world and helped raise her, telling her the same exact thing.
Trystan said nothing as they lazed in silence, Yvonne's extremities still probing. Trystan did not know if her purposeful inability to show her emotions had done her well or stunted her. During the cruddy part of her life, putting on the face she was fine had kept her from crumbling. But now, she realized, had she taken that time to really delve in her sensitivity, it would have kept her from always pretending nothing bothered her. The thing Peter had tried to explain to her.
"Is this your locket?" Yvonne pulled Trystan from her reflection. Her mother was toying with the heart of the necklace on her chest. "I thought you gave this to Bruno after June died?"
"Um, yeah, I did, but Bruno actually gave it back to me while he was here." Trystan tried shrugged it off as nothing as she sat up from Yvonne's lap.
"Did he say why he gave it back?"
"Uh, just thought I needed it more than he did."
"And how would he know that?"
Trystan frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I think someone would have to spend an awful lot of time with you to recognize something like that."
Trystan's mouth troubled her words, and she feigned ignorance. "What are you talking about, Mom?"
Yvonne simply looked at her for a moment, and when Trystan did not say anything, she pried further, "I think there's something you're not telling me."
"Mom, I don't know what you're talking about–,"
"Girl, I was born at night, not last night. I may only be fifty-six and still learning, but I know love when I see it."
God. Trystan searched her mother's eyes, trying to figure out how in the hell the woman could be so astute, or how she herself could have been so obvious with her affections that not one, but two people were able to call it out.
"You have feelings for him?" Yvonne asked, and Trystan felt as she did as a child when she was caught doing something she was not supposed to do even as her mother spoke to her evenly.
Trystan did not know why there was a sudden onslaught of emotion, but her eyes watered as she answered truthfully, "Yeah."
"I know. I had a feeling the night he came here." Yvonne patted Trystan's thigh. Trystan apparently was not the only master of deceit. Her mother had not let on she had known anything.
"And I knew for sure when he asked me about those pictures upstairs."
Trystan's heart froze. "You mean the . . .?"
Yvonne nodded.
"Oh my gosh." Trystan let her head fall into one of her palms. During an especially tiring period during her mid-teens, Trystan had gone and taken loads of pictures of she and her father and scratched out his face in each one. Some she ripped, some she tried burning, but everyone was void of his face.
She had been angry, seething, that her father was not there. He was not there to see her dance shows, to drop her off at junior prom, to congratulate her on her honor roll. She was enraged that he was not there to love her. She did not feel he was there "in spirit" or that he was looking down on her and smiling. She could not feel his hugs or hear his words of encouragement outside of her memories, or for the moments where she had taken a pair of scissors and set fire to the memories that made her happy, she hated him. Her rampage ended with her in a puddle of tears and hurriedly trying to stuff away all the photographs she had tried to destroy. She could not bring herself to throw them out, so she hid them in one of the back closets of the home. It was the only moment out of fourteen years and recently that she had let her hurt show.
It was not until a short time after Trystan's twenty-first birthday that Yvonne had found all the pictures. She did call and ask had it been Trystan's doing, but when she confessed it had been her, Yvonne did not question her further. She quietly surveyed them all before taking the box up to the guestroom. And even then, Yvonne had forgotten she had placed them there.
"I stopped him when he was trying to leave from seeing Joel and Diane. We just got to talkin' about a lot of things, and he brought up that when he'd been pulling his suitcase out the closet, he knocked over the box. Trust me, baby, I didn't want him seeing something like that just as much as you didn't but . . . he was so concerned about it, and to see he gave you back your locket, too . . . there's a lot of love in something like that."
"He didn't even tell me about that." Trystan whispered and shook her head. It made more sense then that Peter seemed to have practically sprung to object of her father on her that night at her place. She appreciated, however, that he had not told her about the pictures specifically but called her out on her feelings. He showed he cared without embarrassing her, and Trystan almost wished Yvonne had not told her because she loved him even more for it.
"Mom, I love him and I don't know what to do about it." The admission weighed heavily in her stomach though her shoulders felt lighter. She did not want anyone knowing she and Peter's business, but her mother had already caught a whiff and she needed someone to tell of her woes otherwise she would explode. She tried telling Peter, and though he seemed to understand, it was like he did not want to. He did not want to hear what they were doing was wrong, that he was not allowed to love her like he wanted to. He did not dismiss her, but he did not heed to Trystan's words as she wanted him to. It was a tough situation she did not know how to get out of without leaving him, and she did not want to do that.
"I don't know what to do about it either." Yvonne shrugged and Trystan whined, "Mooom!" as she lied back down in her lap.
"I'm serious, Tree, I don't! You got yourself in a mess, girl! I thought I taught you better than that."
"If I could explain to you how this all happened I would," Trystan groaned. "But I can't. It was like he both just slipped and fell in love one day and it's the worst and best thing to ever happen. I've never felt this way about a man before, but he's engaged, Mom. What am I supposed to do?"
"If I was righteous and you were anyone else, I'd tell you to leave him alone, that he's already with someone and you don't need the trouble. But I hadn't seen you smile the way you were when you were here in a long time, and I figured out it was Bruno who was makin' that left dimple show."
Trystan rolled her eyes at her mother's teasing. "I swear it didn't seem that obvious to us."
"It probably wasn't to anyone else, but I'm your mama so I know things."
"Pam knew, too."
"That's because Pam's fast self probably pulled something like this before, too."
Trystan laughed into her hands and made note to tell Pamela what Yvonne had said, but then she began to moan again as she inquired, "But what am I supposed to do?"
"I already told you," Yvonne reminded with a soft chuckle. "I don't know."
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Thanks for reading! ^_^