Chapter 26 Bizarre Love Triangle
TWENTY-SIX
Bizarre Love Triangle
Halloween night starts off with a bang as Joey accepts West's proposal on Mountain View, a half a block away from my house. She’s a sexy cop, he’s in prison stripes.
He asks her to be his ball and chain. Were it not for the fact that Kate and Eliza are watching, it would be ridiculous.
But they are watching, and so—it’s brilliant.
Connor and I spy on them from my front yard as West gets down on one knee and takes Joey’s hand. The girls watch from the neighbor's porch as Joey almost passes out in surprise.
The ring goes on the finger, they have a group hug, and the deed is done.
“I’m really happy for them,” Connor says. “He did great.”
I agree. And not for the first time, I am suffocated by envy. Happy for them, yes. But really bitter about the choices I’ve made that prevent me from having what they found.
I look down at Connor. He and I are wearing jeans and hooded sweatshirts, with nothing better to do tonight than bear witness to the joy of others. He shivers from the chill in the air and asks if I’m ready to go inside. I am.
Trudging up the front steps together, I ask if he wants a drink.
He nods, and then we both get pretty quiet.
He takes care of trick-or-treaters while I mix up a pitcher of margaritas.
I wonder what the hell Tristan is up to since Connor seems determined to spend the evening at my house.
He must be on a date, or at a party or something.
But I don’t ask. I don’t actually want to know. The answer—any answer—would keep me up all night. The bottom line is Tristan has a life, and I’m not in it anymore. It was my choice, and these are the consequences.
Action erupts at the front door, and then a rush of feet across the hardwood floors heads my way.
Kate and Eliza surge through the kitchen and proceed to dump all their candy on the glass table, already discussing possible trades. Kate sees me first and does her trademark running jump at me. My job is to catch her. She calls it a jump hug.
She’s dressed as a fairy. Connor did her makeup, and her cheeks are covered in glitter. She rubs her face against mine, her pink lipstick leaving smears. “Momma’s gonna marry West. You’re gonna be my uncle for real,” she says, not loud enough that Eliza will feel compelled to correct her.
“How’d I get so lucky?”
She nuzzles against my neck and sighs, like she’s as exhausted as I am. “When are you and Tristan gonna get married?”
Eliza hears that. “Archer’s not marrying Tristan, Kate. They broke up. Remember?”
The words make my heart sink.
Kate draws her face away and looks into my eyes. Her little forehead forms a frown. “You can still marry him though, can’t you?”
“Oh my God—don’t move. Cutest picture ever.” Joey stands in the doorway of the kitchen scrambling to open the camera app on her phone.
Connor appears at my side, photobombing Kate’s and my moment. He wraps his arms around us both and presses his cheek into my arm.
Joey snaps the shot. I set Kate down and excuse myself, saying I’ll be right back. The bathroom affords the most privacy, so I go there. I look like I just made out with a go-go dancer. All the glitter and lipstick. I wash it off, thinking of Tristan more, not less.
He should be here tonight—with us. He should be helping me with the drinks and congratulating West and Joey.
Is Kate right? Or is Kate just seven?
Loud knocking on the bathroom door startles me. “One bathroom house, Archer. Give it up.”
I open the door for Connor.
He laughs when he sees me. “Oh my God, your face. You look just like me.”
“When was the last time you wore glitter?”
“Yeah, you’re right. You look more like you just left a strip club.”
“Funny.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks in response to the haze of gloom in my voice.
“Where’s Tristan?”
He blinks, his head rearing back. “What?”
“What’s he doing tonight? Why aren’t you with him?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Is he on a date? Did he go to a party? I know he’s not just sitting home by himself—you’d be there.”
“I thought you were letting him go.”
I shake my head.
“Well, you need to because you’re right. Tristan’s not at home tonight.”
“Who are you protecting? Me or him?”
“Him,” he says so fast it feels like a slap in the face.
“From me?”
He nods, his eyes hardening, closing ranks with the person who isn’t here. Shutting me out. I don’t see this look on him that often anymore, but when it comes to Tristan, I guess I’m the threat.
I straighten up, roll back my shoulders, and try to get a handle on the raging, territorial beast inside me. I take a breath and step around him, clearing his path to the bathroom.
“Hey, remember—you let him go. You broke up with him. You broke his heart. I warned you about this. I told you weeks ago you needed to get him back. What the hell have you been doing since then?”
Time—I’ve been giving him time. Time for him and Connor to figure the whole mess out before I decide whether to put myself back into it—time for me and Connor to figure out where we stand with each other—how to be in each other’s lives—“I was trying to give him some fucking space.”
“Well, strong work, ‘cause he’s out with someone else now.”
“He should be with me.” I actually yell that, though I’m not proud to admit it.
“Tough shit. You don’t get to tear him apart again. You’re too late.”
“Too late for what? He's not married. He's not dead—”
Connor shakes his head in a somewhat patronizing way that crawls right up under my skin. “Brother, go back to your happy place. Go back to that little place in your head where the world is better off with the two of you apart. Go make yourself at home. It's over.”
“That's not what he wants,” I say.
“Oh? How would you know? Do you have the slightest clue what you did to him? You straight up rejected him when he hadn’t done anything wrong. You surgically removed him from your life.”
“I fucked up. I made a mistake—”
“I tried telling you that. We all told you that,” he yells gesturing toward the kitchen.
“Where is this coming from? At one point, you said he needed me. What about that?”
“He did need you. But you never fucking came.”
I shove my hands through my hair and try to think, but he’s fucking right. He is always right. It’s really annoying.
“You’ll be okay,” he says. “He will too. But it’s time to let him go. For real this time.”
I am so sick of those words. I am so fucking sick of letting Tristan go.
I’ve spent years of my life trying to do it, but here I still am with him attached to my heart and soul.
“Don’t, Eliza! No!” It’s West’s gruff voice coming from the kitchen. Connor and I watch as Eliza skids down the hallway with Joey’s phone in her hand. She hands it to me.
I frown, looking at it. Instagram. It’s the picture Joey took ten minutes ago in the kitchen with Connor tagged in the caption. And Tristan’s reply.
Look at you… #Perfectfamily #homeatlast
I hold it up so Connor can see. “He’ll be okay? Really?”
Connor reads the screen. He shifts nervously from foot to foot and glances up at me. I regret my harsh tone the instant I see his face.
“I need to go,” he says.
“Wait—Connor. Listen—this is my fault. Let me go talk to him.”
“Your fault?” he asks, confused. “You’re not even on Instagram, Archer. That was directed at me. It had nothing to do with you.”
I know Tristan well enough to know it has plenty to do with me.
“I’m going home. I’ll call you later,” Connor says, and he leaves.
I don’t sleep well. Too many margaritas and images from The Omen swimming around in my head make my thoughts confused and slightly horrifying.
Connor doesn’t respond to any of my attempts to contact him.
Before he and Joey left with the girls, West told me to give it a couple days.
Connor’s fine. Everyone is fine. Get some rest.
But I keep thinking of those words.
Look at you…
I’ve come between them again. One way or another, my needy ass keeps insinuating itself into their friendship, making both of them miserable. It’s why I broke up with Tristan in the first place—so this wouldn’t happen—so I wouldn’t hurt anybody anymore.
When I get up the next day, my self-loathing is as bitter as the taste in my mouth. It’s been a while since I’ve had so much to drink, and I’m feeling every ounce of it this afternoon.
After a shower, I go out to the patio and resume my obsessive texting and calling of my brother.
I’m about to go over to his house when West comes creeping through the back gate.
I don’t get up when he approaches the porch, even though he’s juggling two grocery bags as he tries to open the screen door.
Once inside, he sets the bags down and takes a seat in a chair facing me.
“Your brother sent me,” he says.
“Yeah?”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“Why?” I prompt.
“He had to go out of town. He wanted me to come check on you.”
“Out of town? Why didn’t he just tell me that? I’ve been trying to call him all morning.”
“He mentioned that. You can put your phone down. He’s fine.”
I wait for West to elaborate. When he doesn’t, I lose my patience. “Well, where is he?”
“He's looking for Tristan.”
I sit up straight, alarmed. “Meaning he doesn't know where Tristan is?”
“Like I said, he’s looking for him.”
“Did he not come home last night? Has he called the police?”
“Relax, Rambo. Tristan texted to let him know he's okay, but he didn't say where he went. Connor’s trying to find him.”
“Out of town?” I need to think, but the gears aren’t turning as well as would be helpful.
“I'm not really supposed to say any more than that.”
As I lean toward him, my elbows braced on my knees, my head falls into my hands. I’m unwilling to hold it up anymore. “You’re keeping Connor’s secrets now? I'm not gonna race off after either one of them, all right? I just want to know they’re okay.”
“Sounded to me like Tristan went to Houston.”
“Why?”
West shrugs. “Fuckin’ social media.”