Chapter 28 Come With Me and Escape #2
The most prominent piece in the studio is the portrait of him on the balcony at the Four Seasons. I’ve actually gone so far as to hang it over the bed. It’s the first place his eyes go—the thing he’s walking toward. “Is that me?”
“That’s you.”
“I look sad,” he says.
“I don’t think so.”
A text chimes on my phone. I take it out of my pocket and look at it.
It’s from my brother, and it says DO NOT fuck it up this time. I’m counting on you.
I close my eyes and put the phone down on an end table.
Another chime comes from Tristan’s pocket.
He reads the message with his back to me and then drops the phone onto the mattress.
His message must have been longer because it takes him a minute.
Then he turns to me again, a look I can’t decipher in his eyes.
“What’d he say?” I ask.
“It was the lyrics to ‘Escape,’” he says, letting his irritation show. “The fucking pina colada song.”
“This was not my idea. I was actually on my way to see you.”
“How did you know I was in town?” he asks.
“I was going to Houston. My bag’s in the car.”
“Why were you coming to see me?”
Okay. There’s no reason this has to be any different than showing up on his parents’ doorstep in Houston again.
I can adjust. I was depending on the long car ride to give me some time to think about what to say to him and how, and what my expectations are, and you know…
et cetera. But I’m a smart guy sometimes.
I have a doctorate and everything. And this is about art. Kind of.
“I wanted to give you that.” I point at the portrait by the window.
“You wanted to give me a painting—oh…” He walks toward it. “That’s me, too.”
“Yeah. It’s you. Of you. For you. I hope you like it.”
“This is… it’s—I don’t know what to say.” He stops in front of the huge canvas and says, “I actually look kind of irritated in this one.”
“That’s not irritated,” I tell him. “That’s beautiful.”
He reaches out to touch the thick paint making up his hair. So many colors. So many hours I spent trying to make it perfect enough. “It’s really good, Archer.”
“Thanks.”
I walk over to stand beside him. “I call it ‘Optimism’.”
He lets out a short burst of a laugh which he quickly stifles. “Seriously?”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“Were you just gonna drop it off at my parents’ house?”
“No…”
He looks at me with interest. He’s had a haircut. His skin is glowing. Perfect. Noticing it sidetracks me.
“Were you—? I’m sorry—were you thinking you were going on a date?” I ask.
His cheeks darken, but he doesn’t bat an eye. “Yes.”
“And you just showed up at some strange address?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m a big boy now. I can handle myself.”
“Yeah—except you got completely played.”
“Well, I’m young and single, and I’m stupid—shit happens.” He sighs, losing a bit of restraint. It’s the first time I notice how tense he is. He’s wound so tight, Connor could probably play him with a bow.
“You came all this way for a date with a stranger?” I ask, not ready to let him off that particular hook yet.
“Apparently not,” he huffs, focusing on the painting again.
“Who was this guy? What was he like?” I ask.
“He was the opposite of you. The only thing I’m interested in.”
“Yeah? What’s the opposite of me?”
“Light-hearted, nerdy, ostentatiously wealthy.”
“I’m wealthy,” I say.
“You’re not ostentatious, though.”
“Why would you want a guy like that? Why would Connor think you would?”
“Because he knows I can’t handle getting my heart broken again,” he says shortly.
“But he sent you here,” I remind him.
He shifts his weight uncomfortably and won’t look at me. “You’re different,” he finally says.
“Different?”
“Than before. You’ve changed. You’re like a different person.”
“How?” I ask.
“You want me to describe it? Paint you a picture? I’m no artist.”
“Just tell me. My English is pretty good.”
He rounds on me, his eyes narrow and blazing. “Okay. Then let me tell you about that day I saw you at Connor’s rehab.”
I stand still and look at him, ready to hear whatever he has to say. I know where my heart was that day, and I don’t have a thing in the world to be ashamed of.
“I saw you flirting with that nurse. I saw the way you brushed the leaves off her sleeve. Touching her like it was no big deal—talking about how fun it was to break the rules with her. You were smiling. You were fucking beautiful. Of all the time I’ve spent missing you in my life, it never hurt the way it did that day.
That day it hurt so bad, I wanted to claw my eyes out. ”
“First of all—you totally misunderstood what she was talking about—”
He turns abruptly away. “God, Archer. It doesn’t matter. What you did or didn’t do with that nurse doesn’t make any fucking difference. What happened that day was I realized you could have anyone you wanted, and the only person I’d ever want was you.”
“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”
“It is. Don’t you get it?”
“No.”
He faces me again, his expression flat. “I can’t get over you.”
“Welcome to my world. You think I painted that on a whim?” I gesture to the portrait. “Jesus Christ, Tristan, you’re the only person I think about. The only one I’ve ever wanted to share my life with.”
He shakes his head in frustration like I still don’t understand. “My point is—that day, you were all self-actualized and shit, and I hadn’t had a thing to do with it.”
“Oh no?” I ask, begging to differ.
“I used to delude myself into thinking you needed me, but the truth was—you needed a family. And Connor was the only one who could give you that. I got in the way, and I wanted you too much, and I dragged both of you down. I made all of us miserable, and then you did the thing you had to do which was get rid of me. And voilà. By the time I saw you at the rehab, you were confident and happy because you were finally free.”
“Hold on—stop talking for a second. I’m not gonna let you go down this road again. It’s the wrong road. The fact that I was in a good mood that day didn’t make me self-actualized. But I can tell you what did—seeing the look on your face. That was when I woke up.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, his expression clouding with confusion.
“That was when I realized for the first time that you and I aren’t supposed to be apart. We weren’t meant to go through this life without each other. So, I can’t let you go. Not this time, Tristan. I do need you, and you need me, too.”
“But what’s changed? Because I told you that months ago. You didn’t give a shit then.”
“Of course I did. I thought I was destroying your life.”
“And your solution was to break my heart?”
“Goddammit.” I drive my hands through my hair, frustrated.
“I was terrified of what I was doing to you and Connor. I thought maybe my mother had been onto something when she decided I was a bad seed and poisoned me the way she did. Like maybe she’d always seen I was toxic sludge, and she was protecting the world from me.
That’s how I felt—like I needed to protect you both. Get you the fuck away from me.”
“Your mother was a pathological narcissist, Archer. Connor didn’t slit his wrists because you were a bad brother—he did it because that bitch tried to destroy every bit of happiness he ever had. I have spent my entire life trying to undo the damage your mother did.”
“Exactly, and then you wind up with me and all my fucking damage. Jesus, Tristan. How much did you think I could watch you try to handle? You weren’t put on this earth to be the Brennan family therapist.”
Tears fall from his eyes without warning. Nothing about his face telegraphed that he was about to cry. There are only tears when, a moment before, there were none. “I just wanted to be your boyfriend.”
The word yanks hard on the string that connects us. I feel it deep in the meat of my heart. “I know. I get that now. I didn’t at the time. I thought it was all too much.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you’re probably the better person to decide how you want to live your life and who you think you should live it with,” I say. “I just really hope it’s still me. I think it should be me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all in agreement that I will never be happy without you. It’s been decided. A consensus has been reached.”
“Again with all the flowery romance. I don’t know if I can take it.” He wipes at a few tears and looks out the window. One more image burning itself into my memory—the way the sunlight attaches to his perfect face.
“You’re not the icing on my cake, Tristan. You’re water. I can’t live without you.”
He faces me again and puts a hand on his hip. The other makes a sweeping gesture around the room, including me. “Sure you can. You do it all the time.”
“No. I don’t. Which is why I’m standing here right now. Really fucking dehydrated.”
His lips quirk into what’s almost a grin. He does away with it quickly. The way he’s looking at me, standing like that… It reminds me of Eliza and the words I keep forgetting to say.
I take a deep breath and finally, deliberately, step off the fucking plank.
“Tristan, I have loved you since I found you horrified by whatever was in my mother’s nightstand.
By the time I cut your hair, I was so in love with you, it was embarrassing.
I climbed a tree. I broke my knee because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. ”
I dig into my front pocket and pull out the black velvet box.
I hold it in my hand for him to see. This part was my idea. Not Eliza’s or Connor’s or anyone else’s. This is all me. And it’s a big leap, but there is nothing I won’t do to make him understand I’m serious. I’m serious like the rest of my life depends on it.
“All I want now is the chance to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I think I’m finally in a place where I can do that.”
He stares at the box before glancing back up at me. “What is that?”
“What do you think it is?”
He looks at the box again, pointing at it. “Is there a ring in that box?”
“It’s too small for a necklace.”
“Archer—”