Chapter 47
Tristan
I feel utterly helpless. I’m not a lawyer, or a social worker, or a therapist. I don’t know what to do in situations like this.
I’m a child of divorce, so maybe that’s something, but my parents never fought over custody. For all their squabbles, they never involved me.
I can’t imagine what Raquel is thinking, doing this.
And it hurts me to see how much this hurts Nick.
A week has passed since Raquel sent a professional server to deliver the papers. Nick has been as put-together and efficient at work as always, but when I see him outside of work, I can tell how much this is affecting him.
He’s told his parents, he says, and the three of them sat down with Abigail to finally explain the situation to her. Thankfully, Nick tells me, Abbie said in no uncertain terms that she does not want to live with a mother she’s never met.
It sounds like Carmen and Nick’s father are even more pissed at Raquel than Nick is. From what Nick tells me, Carmen never liked Raquel to begin with, and this has officially cemented her on Carmen’s shit list.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.
I want to help, I want to fix this, but I know that isn’t my job. I remember what Bobbie has told me, what I’ve been processing, about not trying to fix things that aren’t mine to fix.
This, I know, is one of those things.
All I can do is be there for Nick. Support him in the way that he needs and wants to be supported.
Something I’m learning about Nick is that he’s not very good at asking for support or for help.
He doesn’t exactly shut me out, but whenever I ask how he’s doing, if he’s okay, if he needs anything, he gives simple replies. Non-replies. Replies that shut down any option of me doing anything for him.
I know he’s trying to be strong for his daughter, but I worry that he’s being too hard on himself.
Then again, I don’t know if it’s my place to intervene at all. I mean, I’m not his partner. I made it very clear that I’m not ready for something like that—nor am I even sure if that’s what I want with him.
I also worry that I might be a complication.
Last week, Nick met with a lawyer who specialized in family law.
The lawyer said that, given how Raquel is presenting the situation, she has a decent chance of winning.
Not that the court will automatically hand her custody, but she will likely make a compelling argument about Nick’s intense working hours, the danger of his job, and the fact that he’d left a high-paying job in finance to become a firefighter.
Her lawyers can spin that as a lapse in Nick’s judgment, as something that was putting his own need “to be a hero” ahead of concerns for his daughter’s stability and safety.
Then there’s the kinky thing.
Nick told me that Raquel knows about his interest in BDSM, and she never approved of it. She has an entirely puritanical and negative view of BDSM and kink, and the papers Nick was served alluded to elements of his “lifestyle” that weren’t appropriate for children.
I know that involves me.
Even if Raquel doesn’t know about me, I am involved.
Because of that, I wonder if I should keep my distance. Is it safe or smart for Nick and me to see each other outside of work?
I am surprised, then, when he invites me to join him and Abbie for a hike at the Golden Gate National Parks Conservancy.
TRISTAN: Are you sure?
NICK: Why would I not be sure?
TRISTAN: IDK, it was a stupid question.
NICK: Not a stupid question—I’m genuinely curious. I want you there with us, and more importantly, Abigail wants you there. But if you’re not comfortable, let me know.
TRISTAN: I don’t want to make things more difficult with the custody suit.
NICK: That’s very thoughtful, but I’m not asking you to be Abbie’s stepfather. We’re just going on a hike.
He’s got a good point. And besides, I really do like hanging out with Abigail.
I had an absolute blast at dinner with Nick, Abbie, and Carmen.
Abbie is intelligent and precocious, delightful in ways I didn’t know kids could be.
Honestly, I usually find children a little annoying (or, at least, confusing), but Abbie is nothing like that.
TRISTAN: Okay, thanks for inviting me! Want me to meet you there?
NICK: Don’t be silly. We’ll pick you up! Be there in thirty minutes.
And then, fifteen minutes later:
NICK: Coffee order?
I smile at my phone.
TRISTAN: Surprise me.
NICK: BOLD of you to say.
TRISTAN: I’ll drink anything!
NICK: Oh… I know ;)
? ? ?
Fifteen minutes later, Nick and Abbie pull up to the curb in front of my parents’ house.
I’m sitting in the kitchen, reading the news on my phone. Yuritza, Dad’s nurse, is with him in the living room, trying to convince him to take his medication.
Things with Dad have been getting progressively worse. He forgets things, he seems confused, and irritated more often than not.
It breaks my heart a little every time I notice one of his “moments,” as we call them.
Yuritza is great with him. He trusts her, and she talks to him in a frank, direct manner that doesn’t take any bullshit.
She sticks her head into the kitchen. “Someone is coming to the door.”
I put my phone down. “Who?”
“Do you know any male underwear models? That’s what he looks like. And he’s carrying a tray of coffees.”
I shoot to my feet. “That would be Nick.”
Yuritza makes a conspiratorial face. “Who’s Nick?”
“A friend—a coworker.”
“Which is it?” she says with a diabolical smile.
The doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!” Dad shouts.
“No, I got it!” I reply. Oh, why didn’t I tell Nick to wait in the car?
I hurry to the door, shoving my phone in my pocket, aware of Dad and Yuritza hanging in the background.
Nick is waiting on the stoop when I open the door. Immediately, he flashes one of his stunning smiles, and my traitorous knees briefly go weak.
“Good morning,” he says, “You’re looking cute.”
“Thanks,” I stammer.
He wears a peacoat, gray slacks, and brown boots. His hair has grown since we first met—no longer buzzed, but short and curly.
“Tristan!” Dad shouts from inside the house. “Don’t leave him just standing out there, tell him to come in!”
Yuritza materializes directly behind me. “Aren’t you cute? Why don’t you come in?”
Nick glances from me to Yuritza, amusement in his eyes. “Let me just get my daughter real quick.”
He hurries back to the car, and Yuritza loops her arm through mine. “You’re dating a father?” Her eyes twinkle.
“We are not dating.”
“What’s this about dating?” Dad shouts.
“Watch the game!” I holler.
“He’s having a good day,” Yuritza says, patting my arm. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea for him to meet the underwear model.”
“He’s not an underwear model. He’s a firefighter with me.”
“Well that’s even hotter.”
Abbie hops out of the car, holding Nick’s hand. When she sees me, she squeals and runs up to our house.
“Tristie!” she shouts, which has become her nickname for me.
“Hey, Crabigail!” I call, and she launches herself skyward into my arms. I’m hit with the full force of an airborne eight-year-old and stagger briefly before catching my balance.
“Is that nickname gonna stick?” Nick asks mournfully.
Abigail has her arms around my neck as Nick leans in to give me a one-armed hug.
“It’s absolutely gonna stick,” I respond, wanting to kiss him but knowing now isn’t the time or place to do that. We’ve stayed pretty chaste in front of Abigail, leaving all that room for Jesus, and I don’t want to give Yuritza and Dad more to gossip about. They love to gossip together.
He turns to Yuritza. “You must be Ms. Calderon.”
She beams up at him. “And I take it you’re Nick.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says.
“And I’ve heard nothing about you, but I’m very eager to learn.”
Fear flashes through me. “Oh, I don’t know if we have time to stay. We’re going on a hike.”
“Nonsense,” Nick says, grinning at me. “I brought coffee for them.” He holds up the tray in his hands. Sure enough, there are four cups of coffee, one for each of the adults.
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” Yuritza says.
We enter the house, and I set Abigail down in the foyer. Dad joins us there, looking remarkably good. He still gets dressed in business clothes almost every day, though he hasn’t gone into work in weeks. He sizes Nick up and then offers his hand.
“Cameron Cavanagh,” he says.
“Nick Gutierrez-Pena,” Nick says. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
They shake hands in a very masculine way, and then Nick holds up the tray of coffee. “Pick your poison, sir.”
Dad scrutinizes the coffee. “What’ve we got here?”
Abbie bounces near him. “Black coffee, café au lait, mocha latte, and caramel latte,” she recites.
Dad selects the black coffee and crouches down so he’s at Abbie's eye level. “What’s your name, champ?”
“Abigail,” she says, smiling shyly.
“Abigail, you can call me Mr. Cameron,” he says. “Do you like pancakes? Yuritza and I were talking about making pancakes.”
Abigail turns to Nick with saucer-sized eyes.
Thirty minutes later, we’re all sitting at the kitchen table with mountains of pancakes, a saucer of warm syrup, and a skillet of eggs. Dad is in remarkably good shape today—he seems confused only rarely, and he recovers quickly each time. I’m impressed.
He and Yuritza ask plenty of good questions.
I know they’ll be gossiping about it later, and that Bobbie is going to get a full report, and that I’m going to be teased relentlessly about it when I come home later.
I haven’t told them anything about Nick or about our connection, but I have a feeling that I won’t be able to dodge questions after this.
Finally, we decide it’s time to go. It’s cold outside, so I grab a coat and layer it over my crewneck sweatshirt. Dad and Yuritza wave goodbye, and I catch an eyebrow-raised look from Dad. I roll my eyes. He gives me a thumbs-up.
“I hope they didn’t ambush you,” I say once we’re on the road, headed towards the Bay. “Yuritza is great for Dad, but she’s brought out his more gossipy side.”
“She seems like a great nurse,” Nick says.
“She really is. She’s been so helpful.”
“And your dad is great. He seems to be doing well.”
“He is, right now. He’s got good days and bad days. I’m glad you caught him on a good day.”
Nick reaches over and puts a gentle hand on my knee. He’s never done something like that around Abbie, but she’s lost in a young readers chapter book in her car seat.
“I hope it wasn’t weird that I met him,” Nick adds softly.
“It wasn’t.” And I mean that. “I’m glad you did, honestly.”
He squeezes my knee. “I’m glad I did, too.”
I want to ask him about the lawsuit and about how it’s going.
I want to know everything: how I can support him, what I can do, but I also don’t want to ask these questions in front of Abigail.
I wait until we’re at the park, when she runs several paces ahead of us and has fun exploring the landscape. Then, I turn to him.
“How are you really?”
His expression changes, settling into something grimmer.
“I’ve been better,” he admits. “I was so angry at Raquel at first, you know? I don’t think I’m feeling that way anymore, but I’m still frustrated. I feel blindsided and manipulated, and this isn’t healthy for Abbie. I want to protect her from this, but she’s going to be involved in some way.”
He shakes his head. “Some of what Raquel is saying makes me wonder if she has a point. Was I selfish, becoming a firefighter? It’s way more dangerous than working in finance, and I’m making a fraction now of what I would’ve been making if I had stayed in that career.”
We walk slowly together, our boots crunching on the cold ground. It’s a nice day—cold and windy, and I feel bright and alive.
Our shoulders brush while we walk, and I feel the back of his hand against mine. We lace our fingers together, a casually intimate gesture—something we don’t normally do, but which feels right in this moment.
I don’t know if he’s anchoring me, or if I’m anchoring him, but I feel steadier this way.
“You know,” I say gently, “you’ve never told me the full story of why you made the switch.”
Nick’s pace slows even further, and he stares out at the strait, at the bridge, at the hills beyond. “It’s not the most fun story,” he admits quietly. “But I’d like to tell you, if you want to hear.”
“I’d like that,” I whisper.