Chapter 67
Nick
Everything is going to be okay. That’s what I tell myself after a day off, when I don’t see Tristan once he leaves my place.
Everything is going to be okay.
I’m glad he got coffee with Chasten, who seems to have calmed whatever anxieties Tristan was feeling earlier. I still don’t know what they were, but I hope he’s okay.
I know that, if he decides I need to know, he’ll tell me what was on his mind.
I trust him.
And it’s nice to trust someone that much.
The next day, I get up extra early to make Abigail breakfast. My mother is coming to pick her up and take her to school.
She usually offers to make breakfast for Abbie on days that I work, because my shifts start at seven in the morning, but I figure I can do it today.
I like cooking, and I have plenty of time—and I don’t want to give Raquel any other reasons to say that I’m not a good father!
A knock on my door tells me that my mother is here. I wipe my hands and go to answer the door.
“Hi, Mamá.”
She hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Something smells good.”
“I made mangú.”
“That’s my boy. Is Abigail getting ready?”
“Yep. She should be out soon.”
She pats my cheek. “Thank you. Anything I need to know for drop-off today?”
I pour coffee into my to-go mug. “Now that you mention it, yes. She needs to bring her math project with her.”
“Where is it?”
“In her backpack.”
“Good thinking.” My mother looks me up and down.
I have my coffee in one hand and my duffel in the other, which contains my work uniform.
“You seem extra excited about something. Is it that sweet boy we met?”
“He’s not a boy, Mamá.”
“Ah, so it is about him.”
I sigh. “Yes, Mamá. I told him I loved him.”
Her eyes light up. To my great relief, Mamá and Abigail both adored Tristan when they met him. Not that I was surprised. He is, after all, adorable.
“And what did he say?” she asks.
“Oh, he didn’t say it back.” My voice is breezy, unconcerned, but I might as well have told my mother that her favorite grocery store has decided to stop stocking Diet Coke.
“What?” she cries.
“But I think everything’s going to be okay,” I insist. “Like, I think he feels the same, but he’s just not ready to say it.”
She grunts. “If you say so.”
“Mamá, his fiancé died a year ago. He’s still healing.”
“Hmph. Well, you deserve someone who loves you.”
“I know, Mamá. Abigail likes him.”
“I like him, too. But not if he doesn’t love you! Keep me updated.”
“Trust me,” I say on my way out the door. “You don’t want all the updates about my love life.”
“That’s what you think!” she calls after me. I wave to her, and she shuts the door.
Despite what she seems to think, I’m optimistic.
Even though Tristan didn’t outright say that he loves me, I have this feeling that he does.
Maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe I’m setting myself up to get my heart broken. I still don’t know why he acted weird when he made me breakfast, but I won’t let myself read into it.
If he’s not ready to tell me how he feels or what was going on that morning, I’ll give him the time he needs. I don’t want to rush him, and I will continue to trust that we’re always being honest with each other.
It’s a cold, gray day outside. No snow or rain on the radar, but a flat, slate-gray sky that dims the morning light and makes the world around me look strangely surreal.
The morning is quiet while I drive to work.
I drum a mindless tattoo on my steering wheel, my mind wandering to my plans for the shift.
There are some administrative tasks I need to handle when we’re not on call. Some things I want to check on the medic unit. There are rumors of an inspection today, and I want to make sure that we’re ready.
I want to talk to Tristan about things, but I also want to respect our multilayered boundaries as coworkers.
The ball is in his court, and if he wants to talk about our relationship at work, that’s fine with me, but I won’t press him.
When I park on the street a block from the station, I’m feeling good.
There’s a spring in my step as I walk through the cold morning, ready and eager to see Tristan and to meet whatever the day has in store.