It was a nice day in Brooklyn. The buildings and places of the Earth that were able to breathe beneath hot dog stands and littered newspapers were met with blanched streams of sunlight. What was left of grass was suffocated by the pale brown leaves that had fallen from trees and blown about by the late Fall winds. The commonplace accents of horns beeping and the occasional police siren fell in place with the scenery. It was a nice day in Brooklyn, but Peter found no joy in it.
He walked alongside Diane, who he had spilled everything to two nights before on the phone. More or less, it had been a drunk dial, but his older sister insisted he come out to New York so she could help him through his crisis the best way she could. She kept her thoughts and comments about Trystan to herself, unsure how Peter would react if she were to speak aloud what she wanted to say.
They ambled across the sidewalk, a bouquet of flowers in Peter's clutch as they followed the ordained path to their mother's grave. They did not usually visit June randomly, but they both felt the need to talk to her, hoping in her silent intelligence, that something positive would come about the grisly circumstances.
Diane sipped slowly at her strawberry smoothie though the wind was growing more and more bitter as winter would be approaching the next month. Peter had always found it strange, her preference for cold beverages in cold weather. He used to tease her about it when they were little, insisting her bones would freeze if she kept at it, but as a adult, she still did it, guzzling away as it did not bother her at all.
"I still think your bones will freeze one day if you keep doing that," Peter jested, and she chuckled softly, bringing a genuine simper to his face.
"You know the cold's got nothing on me," she returned, the boldness of her New York upbringing coming through. "I'd drink this in a blizzard if you let me."
They approached June's headstone, sitting as gracefully as it always did beneath a ray of sunlight. Her name, bright and clear for all to see, hurt Peter's eyes as he was reminded of the truths that had lingered from his knowledge for so long.
Deviant from their usual routine when visiting their mother, which consisted of Peter setting down the bouquet of flowers just right and Diane saying a quick prayer, in lieu, Peter sat down in the grass and leaned against the headstone, the plants in his lap and his gaze somewhere before him.
Diane thought it peculiar, but did not want to question her younger brother's process. Of all the things she had been through in her own life, she had no right to judge how he chose to handle things. She squatted down and sat next to him, crossing her legs and staring at whatever he was staring at.
"So, what's up with Izzy's father? Has he come to visit her?" Peter asked suddenly, and Diane trailed her eyes over to him.
"I know you wanna talk about something that is way more interesting than Andrew."
The way she said his name signaled to Peter that things were not as fine and dandy as she had hoped for, but he was not surprised. He never trusted the man, thinking him unequipped to be a father let alone his niece's. "He hasn't come to see her has he?"
Diane sighed beside him, running a finger down the side of her plastic cup, bereft of condensation as the air about them was too cold. "No, he hasn't. We made plans and everything, but on the day of, he bailed, saying he wasn't in the right "mental space" or whatever, but I really think it's because he doesn't know how to be a father."
"Is that what you think people will think of me?" Peter inquired, and Diane's brows furrowed.
"Huh?"
Peter took a second to respond, swallowing air through a thickened throat, "When it gets out to the press, to the media, do you think people will think I wasn't there for her? That I bailed? That I left Trystan to raise her alone?"
Diane exhaled, having not expected that question and for a moment forgetting that Peter's circumstance stretched much farther than hers did. Peter was a notable figure; hell, there were probably some hidden paparazzi lurking behind a car to capture pictures of them both. And she knew her brother well enough to know that there would come a time when he would bring the little girl—and Trystan—out of hiding, and a smaller part of her, the part that annoyed her the most, knew he would not want her to take the fall for it even though it had been her fault.
"I don't know, little brother," Diane replied honestly. "But I think what matters more is how you respond to all this. . . . What are you planning to do?"
"I have no fucking idea how to be a good father," Peter answered immediately, that fact having lied against his chest as well. "It's not like we had an example, and I haven't had any practice either. I haven't even seen her in a month. I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."
Diane was angry with Trystan for putting her brother in such a predicament. She knew he was a much better man than he used to be, and had she told him the truth from the beginning, he would have been a great father, but as he sat there, looking hopeless and pitiful, Diane wanted to have more than a word with the woman who had single-handedly disrupted his life.
Her mouth firmed as she, too, did not like bringing up the woman, Diane queried, "Have you talked to her?"
Peter shook his head. "No."
"When are you going to?"
"I don't know."
"Look, B," she reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "I understand you being mad—I am, too; I got a little niece I didn't know about—but don't you want some answers? Some closure? I would."
Peter was quiet. Of course he did. There were many things he wanted, but then, there were many things he was not sure that he did. "I just . . . I don't know if I can look her in the face now. I don't know if I'l ever be able to trust her again . . . not after something like this."
Peter found that people thought it was much easier to advise him to simply go and speak with Trystan. He felt they did not take into consideration how deeply he felt about it all, how torn. How could one look another in the face and have to come to terms with the fact their union had been strung together and then severed by a lie?
Em was one of those people, unexpectedly stopping by his office one morning to tell him the same thing everyone else around him already had.
"Hey, Bruno," she greeted softly, and Peter had begun to loath that look on people's faces when they saw him—dispositions of pity. He did not like being pitied, but who could help it when looking in the face of the man who just had his heart ripped in two?
"Em? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be out doing press in London?"
The young woman set her purse, Michael Kors, in one of the two chairs in front of his desk before settling in the other one. Trying to appear as grown and prestigious as that was the new image she strove to build for herself as an artist, she attempted the character in front of him, but ultimately failed as Peter had known her since she was practically a kid and would regard her the same no matter how she acted.
Suddenly, she became he slightest bit of nervous in his presence. She had never spoken to him alone before, and under the circumstances, did not know how he was going to react to her words. "I don't leave until later tonight, but I'm here because I-well-um . . ."
Peter's brow lifted, urging her to continue as he waited silently.
"I just wanted to talk to you about, y'know . . . Trystan."
He sighed, and before she could be turned away by his countenance, she explained, "Neal told Roger about what happened and then he told me."
"Of course they did."
Em chuckled lightly. "You know your boys—neither of them can keep a secret."
Peter only looked the slightest bit amused and she carried forward so not to lose his attention. "Well, anyway, first, I just wanna say that I'm sorry this is happening to you."
He nodded.
". . . and I don't think Trystan was right at all for doing what she did but . . . I think it'd be good if you tried talking to her?"
Peter fought from rolling his eyes as he declared, "You're not the only person to tell me that."
"I'm sure I'm not, but . . . I don't know, it's just . . . Trystan was a really good friend for me and she always looked out for me when she used to live here. I'm thinking she probably had a good reason to do what she did."
Peter made a noise. That "reason" line was irritating, if not infuriating. "There's no excuse, at least not one that's good enough for me."
Em licked her lips and tried another approach. "Well, either way, I still don't think she's a bad person and I don't want you to either. If it hadn't been for her, I'd probably still be getting abused by Benson."
Peter's eyes leveled to hers as she openly admitted what she had never revealed to anyone but the other woman.
"Trystan was a godsend honestly. She was the first and only person to realize he was making me do things to keep my contract with him. I was only nineteen and wanted to be a singer so badly so I just . . . went along with it. I'd meet up with him after everyone else had left the office, go to his house when he told me to . . . just a bunch of stuff. But then one day, I got tired of it, and he didn't like that."
Had it been years ago, the mere utterance of Benson's name would have sent Em into fright and tears, but having grown some more with separation, she could at least manage mentioning him without wanting to throw up. "I don't want you to think of me any differently after I tell you this, okay?"
"Em, you don't have to–,"
"I know I don't, but I want to because I think it might help," she interrupted and continued on. "The first time I told him no, it wasn't a surprise that he took advantage of me. I was all alone in his big house with no one to hear me if I screamed. But I never thought he would hit me."
Peter's line of vision left hers and fell to his desk, uncomfortable and still unsure why she was telling him that.
"He only did it in places people wouldn't see, and at a time, I thought he was actually being nice to do that. Can you imagine? That went on for months but I hid it behind a pretty smile because I wanted to be in the business so badly. Then, one night, Trystan almost caught us in his office. I know she saw him trying to do things, but she acted like she didn't and I left.
"I didn't know what they had talked about, but a couple days later, she calls me telling me that I have to leave him otherwise I'd get hurt. It was obvious she didn't know I already was and maybe thought I was sleeping with him by my own choice. I ended up breaking down and spilling everything to her, and even though it took months, I was finally able to get away from him and filed a report against him; of course it didn't go anywhere, but that was why he left so suddenly. There had been reports of him doing it to other women, too, and he didn't wanna take the heat. A punk ass move, but at the time, I was just happy I'd been able to get away from him and he was gone.
"I wouldn't've been able to do any of that if it hadn't been for Trystan. She was always there when I needed her, calling in to check up on me even when I didn't wanna speak to anyone, and I knew without thinking that she would fight for me to the death if she needed to."
A drift of silence passed between them, Peter appearing placid though it was really because he did not know how to respond. He had not known that, any of that, and for years had assumed she had cheated on Roger. He felt bad then, for presuming as much.
Em exhaled and looked back at him. "I'm telling you all this to say . . . Trystan's always looking out for people. That's just who she is, or at least who she was. I know she has her faults—what human doesn't?—but she was one of the most genuine people I knew and that was something I really needed being a kid in such a big world without my parents. And maybe . . . I know this won't be what you wanna hear, but maybe she was looking out for herself the way she looks out for other people. I know that sounds really selfish, but I don't think she did what she did to spite you. I think she might've been protecting something. Don't ask me what, because I don't know, but I do believe she wouldn't've done any of this if she didn't think it was to keep someone or something safe."
And then there was Christine.
"Wow . . . that's . . . wow. I'm so sorry, Peter."
He did not look at Christine after he revealed to her what had been bothering him for the past few weeks. When she had called him out for being so short with him over the phone and in his actual presence, he had mustered up enough energy to go to her place and apologize for it.
When she opened her door, he could tell Christine thought he was there for make-up sex, but taking in his slumped disposition, she guided him inside her home and set him on the couch before demanding he tell her what was wrong.
Peter had not meant to spill his internalized agony, having no desire for more people to be privy of his situation, but ever so seducing in her ways, she had him pouring out like a river. He told of all the deceit and pain he had been going through for weeks. He did not cry in front of her; his tears were his own, but he wanted to, and even more he wanted to relay his frustrations about Trystan. Alas, he did not reveal her name.
"Who is this woman? Do I know her?" Christine found his gaze, prepared to defend him.
"No, you don't." Or at least he hoped she did not. Trystan had been gone from the public eye for four years, but that did not mean people did not remember her.
"Well, good for her, because she deserves an ass-kicking for doing that to you. I mean, really? Hiding a daughter from you? That's some crazy-bitch shit."
"Don't call her that," Peter found himself protecting Trystan. "She's not a bitch."
Christine leveled back. "Well, excuse me, but I think what she did constitutes that word. What does she expect you to do now after she basically threw a child in your face?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know; we haven't talked."
"Well, you need to, and soon. Lay down the law. Tell her she can't just throw fatherhood at you."
Peter offered her a strange look. "What gave you the impression that I didn't want to help raise our daughter?"
Christine snorted as her shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know; it's just you've never really strikes me as the "Daddy" type . . . well, that kind of daddy anyway. And you don't like being in actual relationships either. How would any of that work?"
"It could work," Peter maintained without really thinking about it. "I don't really know how, but it could."
The woman shrugged, sighing as she could not offer anymore advice until Peter actively did something about his predicament. "Well, I hope everything turns out fine for you. Sorry you're going through all of this." She pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek, telling him if there was anything else he needed, he knew where to find her.
"I get it, Bruno," Diane conceded, bringing Peter from his recollections. Em and Christine had definitely left him with something to think about, but it was not enough to quell his inhibitions. It would take a lot more than a theory to get him to believe.
For the sake of him not making the very same mistakes she did, Diane did not pressure him into what she was sure other people already were. She had distrusted Andrew for years, but that little glimmer of hope he would give her, that little glimmer of promise, had her going back to him only to be smacked back into reality. For the sake of Peter's sanity, she did not want that happening to her younger brother.
But then, as she saw Peter go into the inner breast of his coat and pull out a flask, the smell of liquor that probably cost more than a two-hour long taxi ride, she begrudgingly admitted to herself that she did not want him as he currently was either. What Trystan had done was killing him inside, but he could not drink away his problems and keep ignoring her; if anything good was to come out of what had happened, he would have to talk to her sooner or later.
Diane told him this, and after taking a sip of the drink, he said, "I know, Di. I just . . . don't know when or what to say. Angelique told me she wasn't the same woman she used to be, that she's gone through some shit. And maybe I'm stalling because I don't think I can stomach what I learn about her. I don't wanna see her as even worse than I do now."
His sister nodded, understanding. She knew what Trystan had meant to him, and possibly finding out something worse than her being a deceitful liar would be enough to have him continuing on his downward spiral. It was all a gamble with no good-looking place to go. Either direction he chose, he would be hurt.
And, Diane thought, that since a lot was being laid out onto the table, that she might as well come clean with her own happenstance she had kept from him.
"A few years ago, after you guys broke it off, I'm guessing, Trystan. . . she came back here."
Peter's ears perked up and he turned to her. It was not surprising that she had come to New York—she did so multiple times every year, but there had to be something of significance to Diane's words if she made the point of noting it.
"I'm guessing it was to see her mother or something, but I never caught her at Momma Vonne's place, it was actually at Macy's I think."
Peter wanted to tell her he did not really care about what store she had seen her at, but he let her continue at her own pace.
"I didn't realize it was her at first, she was wearing a coat and had a hood on, but when she turned around, I noticed her face. I called her name and waved, but when she looked up at me, it was like she was like a deer caught in headlights and hurried out of the store. It was so weird to me. I wanted to go talk to her mom but every time I wanted to drop by, she wasn't there."
That certainly was strange; Diane and Trystan had had a good relationship growing up. In their young teen years, Trystan would much rather hang out with his sister than he, and even when they became adults, they had always been cordial to each other.
Diane licked her lips and inhaled slowly. "It wasn't until a few days afterward that I realized when she turned away from me, she wrapped her coat tighter around her stomach like she was hiding it and . . . she'd been shopping in the baby department."
Peter's eyes widened. "You knew, too?!"
"No! Bruno, no." She grabbed his forearm to deescalate the anger that was about to rise within him. "I mean, I figured she was pregnant, but I didn't know it was with your baby. I thought that maybe she was hiding it because . . . I don't know . . . it was someone else's? And she didn't want me to know that? And then when you never called telling me about it, I just figured that was the case. I promise you, I had no idea it was yours."
"You could've a least called to tell me you'd seen her; you knew how much I wanted to get into contact with her."
"I didn't think it was my really my business or place to do that," Diane confessed, and even as she revealed her truth she felt bad about it. "I was thinking that if she wanted to go and see you, she would. I didn't wanna put her in a place she didn't wanna be in. Thinking back on it, I know I probably should've said something; at least then you wouldn't've been all the way in the dark. Sorry."
Peter did not reply, instead exhaling loudly as he felt there were too many people around him aware of things he had not been. But yelling at his sister for not telling him about the incident would be misplaced. She was not the one he was irate with, and he told her so.
"You were just looking out for her," he noted quietly. "Can't be mad at you for that."
"Yeah, well," Diane sighed, "I still kinda wish I'd said something. I mean, damn, it's been four years. Had I opened my mouth it probably would've been a lot less than that."
"We can't change the past, Di," Peter acknowledged though he was frustrated because he really, really wished he could. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Trystan was the one who decided to keep it all away from me." He took another swig of alcohol.
Diane eyed her brother sympathetically, then took the lid off her smoothie and nudged him with her elbow. "You're not gonna be the only one defiling Ma's grave," gesturing toward the flask.
Peter made a noise that could have been a laugh if he had smiled, and poured a shots worth of liquor into her beverage. She stirred it with her straw and took a sip, cringing at the crispness. "Who made you such a hard drinker?"
"Pop."
"Well, I guess I'm more like Ma then," she snickered, recalling how June had preferred smoother drinks to ones that made one's stomach feel as though it was corroding.
"What do you think she would tell me to do? Ma, I mean," Peter inquired, closing the cap on the flask.
Diane grinned tinily. "You already know what she'd tell you—that you need to talk to Trystan and figure this all out, because if you're not gonna do it for yourself, do it for that little girl."
Peter thought back to Raina, who probably had not a single idea about what was going on, wondering why her mother was not acting as her mother and why he had abruptly stopped coming to see them both. It was not fair to Peter what Trystan had done, but even more so, it had not been fair to the young girl who had offered neither of them nothing but love.
"What's her name by the way?" Diane asked. "The little girl?" Calling her Peter's "daughter" still felt strange on her tongue, and she was not sure if he had yet accepted her as such.
"Raina June," he answered, and she laughed mockingly.
"Had the nerve to name her after Ma but didn't tell you she was yours?" Diane scoffed and then went to stand. "Let's go. I don't wanna defile her grave even more than we already have by cursing all over it."
Peter stood as well, and leaving the flowers nestled gently against her headstone, they made their way out off the gravesite.
They decided to walk instead of hailing a taxi, and as they traipsed back down the sidewalk, Peter spoke aloud, "I don't want you being mad at her—at Trystan."
Diane side-eyed him. "Why not? After what she did to you, I think my own anger is warranted."
"I know, but," he sighed, "I can be angry enough for everyone."
"You don't even seem that mad."
He must have been concealing his emotions pretty well then, because even after time had passed, his heart still seethed with rage, but exploiting that rage had stilled as he had yet to see the very person he was angry with. "Trust me, I am," he told his sister. "As hell."
When they arrived back at their old home, Peter only meant to drop by for a second to say hello to his niece and nod at his father if Joel had even come out of his bedroom that day, but his visit was to last longer when they both saw Yvonne coming out of her apartment door on their way up the stairs.
Yvonne was never a person to not speak when she saw someone she knew, which exasperated Peter in that moment, because as he could not look Trystan in the eyes, he could not look her mother into hers either. He was aware that more than likely, just as Angelique had, she had known Peter was the father to Trystan's child but had kept it from him.
"Hey, you two," she spoke in her usual inviting tone, smiling as she did so.
"Hi, Momma Vonne," they both spoke in unison just as they had when they were younger.
"I was just on my way to grab my mail, but I'm glad I ran into you both. Diane, how's Joel doing?"
"As good as he can, taking things day by day."
Yvonne nodded. "Good, good. . . . Bruno?" Something shifted slightly in her face, and Peter immediately recognized it as shame, because Trystan's disposition had done the same. The only difference was her mother could look at him squarely as she was about to admit the fault he knew she would soon express. "Can I talk to you for a second, honey?"
He wanted to tell her no, that if he could not even speak to her daughter that he would have a hard time speaking to her, too, but that was not something he would ever do to her. Yvonne had been a godsend to he and Diane after June died, checking up on them daily and making them dinner even when she did not know about Joel's growing struggle with alcoholism. Peter nodded and made his way back down the steps.
"Diane, tell Izzy that if she's good this week, I'll make her those oatmeal cookies she likes," Yvonne grinned as she gestured for Peter to follow her back into her apartment.
"I'll be sure to. Thanks," Diane appreciated and climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving the two to talk.
The second the front door had closed behind them both, Yvonne spilled, "Trystan told me that you know now."
Peter thought he would have been braced with an offer of tea first, but he imagined that Yvonne's sentiments resembled Angelique's—she had wanted him to know from the beginning, too, and was relieved when it was no longer a secret.
"Yeah, she did," Peter responded quietly, suddenly uncomfortable in her presence.
Yvonne could tell by his stiffened stature, and offered him a seat at the table while she went to get him a glass of water. She brought it back to him and sat across from him, her hands clasped as she tried to find the best words to say to the man who looked as if he had not slept in a year.
"Firstly, I just wanna apologize to you," she said, her eyes genuine as she did so. "I never wanted for something like this to happen. You didn't deserve it. My baby did you wrong and as her mother, I can admit that, but I also wanna admit my own faults. Just as she kept it from you, I did, too."
Instead of asking why, Peter wondered, "When did you find out?"
Yvonne sighed, remembering how shocked she had been when Trystan came to her crying. "I was the first person she called and told, but she had been five months along by then, already growing a belly when she came to visit me so I could see for myself." Peter wondered if that had been during the same time Diane had seen her at the department store.
Yvonne continued, chagrin lining her features, "I knew that baby was yours before she even told me. Tree was never big on sleeping around, and I knew how much she loved you."
"Then why didn't she tell me?" Peter asked, for the life of him unable to understand what had been hard about that. "All she had to do was tell me."
"Honey, you'll have to talk to her to figure that one out."
"Do you know why?"
"Well . . . yes, but–,"
"Then why can't you just tell me?"
"Bruno, baby." Yvonne reached across the table to touch his hand. "I know this is hurting you, I know it, honey, but you have to talk to Trystan. She has everything you wanna know. And Bruno . . . she still needs you."
Peter scoffed involuntarily and garnered Yvonne's saddened frown. "I know that's almost funny hearing after everything she's kept from you, but she does. I know asking you to do anything is a stretch, but if not for yourself, do it for my grandbaby."
Peter swallowed thickly again, noticing just how closely Yvonne and his own mother's values lied. He knew if it was for anyone, it should be for Raina, but it was said a lot easier than it would be done.
"Poor baby's been crying for her mama for a week now. No matter what I do, she always wants her."
"What?" Peter's brow furrowed. "She's not with Trystan?"
Yvonne inhaled sharply, but did not have to answer as his peripheral caught sight of something he had not even noticed upon walking in. A small Tinkerbell book bag sat at the corner of the kitchen's island. Peter recognized it from the first time he met the little girl. "She's here right now?" His heart rate spiked up, anxious that he was in the same building as her.
The older woman nodded, and observant of his tension, she told him, "Don't worry; she's upstairs taking her nap."
That did not relieve Peter's uneasiness, and what Yvonne said next only heightened it.
"Trystan . . . she's not doing well, Bruno. When she called over a week ago, I knew she was going down that path again and I flew right on down to Georgia to get Dew. She doesn't need to see her momma like that."
Again? Peter's concern deepened into fear. "What's going on with her? And 'again'? What do you mean 'again'?"
In that moment, Yvonne realized that Trystan had kept from him a lot more than she had initially suspected. She sighed and squeezed his hand a little tighter in urgency. "Bruno, you have to, no, you need to go talk to her. Please, I'm begging you, too."
"I don't even know what to say to her," Peter conceded, "especially now after what you just said."
"Tell her what's on your heart, baby," she said. "Ask her what you want to know, what you deserve to know. I know she hasn't been truthful with you and kept so much much from you, but she has no other option but to tell you the truth now, and I know my baby well enough to know that she'll do that."
Did she really know her daughter? Did she really know her well enough to think she would be completely honest with her after all she had done to him? Peter had the gall to ask her that, but was interrupted by a small voice coming from up the stairs.
"Nanna?" It was Raina, and a pain shot through Bruno's heart at the sound of her. "I'm up now!"
"Hold on, baby, I'll be right there," Yvonne called up before turning back to Peter. "I completely understand if you don't want to see her right now."
Peter nodded. While he had the audacity to ask Yvonne the authenticity of her daughter, he still had not the courage to look his own daughter in her eyes. Not yet at least.
They both stood from the table, and with a quick hug and Yvonne's consoling message of telling him to go see Trystan as soon as he could, he left Yvonne's apartment, but not so quickly where he could have missed Raina's tearful, "I want my mommy."
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Thanks for reading! ^_^
Also, who else saw Bruno's Apollo special last night?!?!