Chapter 28 Come With Me and Escape
TWENTY-EIGHT
Come With Me and Escape
Connor still claims I can get Tristan back, and I have to take his word for it.
He says all I need is a better plan. He’s a big believer in grand gestures which, I’ve discovered, are not my strong suit.
I can no longer rely on our innate chemistry, either, because it’s impossible to seduce someone long distance if he won’t take your calls.
Everyone has an opinion on the exact nature of what getting Tristan back should look like.
The ideas range from Helen suggesting I write him a letter of apology and tell him how much I love him, to West’s more laid back approach of giving him a few weeks, then going back to see him.
Connor of course wants me to let him go talk to him again.
Or I could send him flowers every day for ten days and then buy him a puppy because Kate is both seven and totally over the top.
Joey, who is also not a huge believer in grand gestures, suggests I leave it alone—if it’s meant to happen, the universe will present the opportunity. She tells me to have some faith.
The wisest and best advice, however, comes from the person I should have been talking to all along. She’s a lot like what I imagine Tristan was like when he was nine, minus the hormonal mood swings.
Eliza.
“Paint him a picture, Archer. Use oils because oils last the longest even though they’re a little more work. It makes them more meaningful.”
We’re at my kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon two weeks before Thanksgiving. Joey and Kate are making Jell-O. Connor’s in his old room taking a nap, and West is out picking up burgers for dinner.
Eliza is beating me at chess, which always puts her in a more charitable mood. I have it on good authority that she has a crush on me. She’s generally not the biggest advocate for my relationship with Tristan, so I feel like she’s really throwing me a bone here. I must be acting truly pathetic.
“A painting huh? Just for him or should it be of him?”
“Both.”
“Two paintings?”
Eliza sighs. “Of him, for him.”
“Do I mail it to him when I’m done?”
“With flowers,” Kate adds.
“Be quiet, Kate. I’m trying to concentrate!” Eliza shouts at her sister.
“Settle down there, Bobby Fischer,” Joey says sharing a look with me.
I turn my attention back to Eliza. “Why a painting?” I’m humoring her, but I’m also pretty sure she’s on to something.
She frowns at her knight as taking out my pawn would wind it up in danger of my bishop.
I know she’ll end up making the move. It’ll probably pay off in her long game.
“Well, I think it would show him how much you think about him—which is a lot. And it would show him that you’re trying.
Which you are.” She sighs. “And it’s romantic. ”
“Is it?”
She nods, taking out the pawn. Though I saw it coming, I feel like moving my bishop would be a mistake. Chess is not a strong game for me.
“I would want a painting from you,” she says.
“Yeah?”
She gives me a very serious face. “Are you sure he’s really the one for you, Archer? It’s awfully unfair that he’s making you work so hard. What did you do that was so bad anyway?”
“I broke a promise. I let him down.”
“Did you say you were sorry?”
“I did.”
“And you told him how much you love him?”
I swear she smells my hesitation. Her eyes get so wide I could throw a baseball through one of them. “You didn’t?” she shrieks.
I hesitate some more.
“Archer. All this time you’ve been going around pouting so everybody felt sorry for you, and you didn’t even tell him you love him?”
I hear a snicker behind me, and I turn to see Connor coming into the room. He pats my shoulder before he sits down at the table. “Occam’s razor, brother. They say the biggest problems have the simplest solutions.”
Eliza is standing up, one hand on a hip and the other out, palm up like she’s holding a pizza. “Are you hearing this?” she asks Connor, all incredulous dismay.
“Yep. He’s a piece of work isn’t he?” He yawns.
I fold my arms across my chest and sit back in the chair.
Eliza huffs, all indignant. “I cannot bee-lieve you right now.”
It’s hard not to laugh because I’ve heard Joey say that to each of her daughters at least a hundred times. But if I laugh at Eliza when she’s being this serious it will be a very long night for all of us.
I look toward the kitchen for help, but stirring Jell-O evidently takes a lot of concentration. So, no help there.
“Archer has trouble expressing strong emotions,” Connor tells the worked up nine-year old.
“That’s what Hallmark cards were invented for!”
Joey laughs so hard, she snorts.
“I’m glad everyone is so entertained by my heartbreak,” I say.
“It can be pretty entertaining,” Connor says.
“You’re a fine one to talk right now. When was the last time you talked to him?”
“Tuesday,” he says, conceding the point.
“Maybe you should paint him a picture, and I’ll mail the puppy,” I say.
Kate gasps. “You’re getting the puppy?”
“He’s doing sarcasm, Kate. Be quiet.”
Joey finally snaps. “Eliza. God. Tone it down.”
West’s car pulls up alongside the house. The crunch of the gravel is my out. “I’m gonna help bring in the food. We’ll pick this up later, ladies. Connor.”
It’s cold outside, but I don’t care. There’s an incredible amount of heat in the kitchen. I wait by the driver’s side of the car.
The door opens, and West puts a heavy boot on the driveway. “You look like you’re taking a break from an ass-whipping.” He left just as Eliza was presenting me with the chess board and a challenge.
“More like execution by firing squad.”
“Sorry I missed that.” He hands me the bags of food as he gets out of the car. “You all right?”
“Eliza said I should paint Tristan a picture.”
“She’s a romantic. I think it’s possible to read too much.”
“You think it would work?”
“Well, I’m not sure about that, but it’s better than sitting around talking about it all the time. Right?”
“Am I boring you?”
He laughs. “No, brother. I just wish I could help.”
“What would you do?” I ask.
“If it were me?”
“Just tell me what to do, brother. I’m at the end of my rope.”
“I like Eliza’s idea. Paint him a pretty picture, hand-deliver it, and let the chips fall.”
“So, I should go back there?”
“Unless you think you can get him to come here, which is my vote, personally. Let Kate work her magic. No one can resist Kate.”
I laugh. “I need all the help I can get, apparently.”
The kitchen door bursts open, and West and I snap our heads around to see Joey in all her technicolor glory. Her blue eyes are wide, and she’s already talking. “I just had the most genius idea ever.”
“For what?” West asks.
“For getting Tristan back.”
When I hear “The Pina Colada Song” playing in the kitchen, I know I should turn and run.
But hey. I’m out of options.
They pretend like they care what I think, meaning that I’m told the plan. I shoot it down in less than a heartbeat, and they all carry on as though no one suggested a thing.
I spend most of the week at my studio painting the portrait. Oblivious.
All I know is the week after Thanksgiving, I’m heading back to Houston with the 24 x 36 oil on canvas to give it one last try. Go out in a blaze of glory.
I’m zipping up my overnight bag the morning of the trip when Connor texts me.
Connor
Did you finish it?
Me
Yes
Connor
Is it at the studio? I want to see it first.
Me
Yeah, I’m here if you wanna come by before I go
I touch the oil painting to see if it’s dry. Close. It might be by the time I get to Houston if I keep the windows down. Maybe. That’s the thing about oils. They’re unpredictable, but so’s my plan, so it’s fitting.
Tristan’s face stares back at me. This particular image is another one that’s branded itself into my brain.
It was the moment he showed me the tattoo in my kitchen when he was still wearing my necklace.
That was the day I got him back, and that’s the intention I’m putting out into the universe—get him back.
That moment when he was on my lap and telling me to look closer, I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Where we were supposed to be.
Connor texts me. Be there in five.
I’m ready. Looking at the portrait of Tristan in quarter profile inspires me.
I know I won’t fuck it up this time. He might still be pissed and tell me to go to hell, but I’ll have no regrets.
I’m gonna share my heart. I’m gonna put myself out there, and I am going to tear down every single wall that’s kept us apart.
He’ll have no excuses. No options but to take me or leave me.
The rubber is about to meet the goddamn road.
The knock on the door comes sooner than I expect. I walk away from the window and pull open the door, saying, “That was fast.”
Tristan stares back at me, gorgeous as any daydream, with his lips parted in shock.
“Shit, it’s you,” I say, still barely able to tolerate how beautiful he is.
His forehead draws together in confusion and disbelief. I take in what he’s wearing—the sleek black sweater and pinstriped pants. He looks like he’s going on a date.
It’s the most disorienting moment of my life. It’s like being spun around with a blindfold at a party downtown, and when you take off the blindfold you see you’re on Mars. How the fuck did I get to Mars? How is Tristan in Austin? At my studio?
“Is this your place?” he asks, still unable to hide how stunned he is.
And that’s when it all comes together in my head.
I knew her smile in an instant…
Wow. Those assholes.
“Come in. I think I understand what’s happening.” I step out of the way, and he hesitates before crossing the threshold.
“I’m really confused,” he says.
“I can explain. Come in.”
He finally does, stepping into the loft and taking a look around. “This is your studio.”
“Yeah.” We weren’t officially together long enough for me to bring him down here. I’m not sure how anyone but me knew that, but someone sure as fuck did.