8. Tristan
CHAPTER 8
TRISTAN
T ristan wasn’t having the best day.
That was surprising, because things were finally going his way. He had Ria to take care of the triplets, so he wasn’t worried about them and didn’t have to bring them to work. That was a huge relief by itself. He could finally concentrate on his job and on getting things done.
Yet he was strangely hungry all morning. Usually, he tolerated his fasts well, but today, he wanted nothing more than a stack of pancakes piled with sliced fruit and dripping with maple syrup.
“No kids today, huh?” David, the company’s financial manager, handed him a document. “This just needs your signature.”
“Yep, the kids are home with a new nanny. I’m cautiously optimistic.” Tristan smiled and signed the document before handing it back.
“It must be a relief to focus on work again.” David shrugged. “I love my kids, but it’s good to get a break now and then.”
“Right.” Tristan nodded, but something struck him as odd about the conversation. He wasn’t able to put a finger on it until later, when he was walking out of a quarterly planning meeting. He was relieved to be able to focus on work, but he felt bad about his relief. He was the closest thing to a parent these kids had, but he couldn’t be the father they needed. He should want to be with them all the time, shouldn’t he?
Yet whenever the kids gave him a hug or pressed a sticky cookie into his hand with a grin, Tristan felt bad for his sister. She should be the one raising her beloved children, not her clueless half brother. It was like he couldn’t win. He either felt guilty for not being around the kids, or he felt guilty for being close with them. And either way, he felt guilty for not knowing what he was supposed to do for them.
Guilt was an unfamiliar feeling for Tristan. He didn’t much like it.
Around eleven, he got a text from Ria.
They weren’t actually asking about a school, it turns out — they were asking about a squirrel. Who knew?
He stared at the text for a long time. He hadn’t known that the kids were asking about a squirrel. He didn’t even know which squirrel they were asking about — perhaps one of their toys? Tristan told himself that it didn’t matter, but he found his thoughts drifting back to Ria and the kids throughout the day. Usually, by now, he’d have gotten a frantic call from the nanny saying that the kids were going wild, but there was nothing but an occasional positive update from Ria.
In some way, that made Tristan feel even more guilty. Clearly, Ria had some kind of magic power over the kids that he just didn’t. When all the babysitters and nannies had struggled, Tristan had felt less bad about his own difficulties with the triplets. Now that he heard about how clearly capable Ria was, he felt like he must be doing things wrong.
In short, it wasn’t a good day — even though Tristan was able to address numerous urgent business matters that had been on the back burner for some time. He ate his lunch of kale salad at his desk, still elbows-deep in work, and followed it up with some green tea in the afternoon. A memory of Ria joking about the green contents of his cabinet floated back as he sipped his drink, and Tristan smiled slightly.
Five o’clock came and went with Tristan still working. Finally, around eight thirty, he dragged himself away from his desk. Now that Ria was here, he should be able to work like this every day, so he didn’t need to work all night anymore. He headed home, the streets of San Francisco still buzzing at this hour, and pulled into the driveway around nine.
Inside, the house was quiet. Tristan took off his shoes and headed upstairs to check on the triplets, who were all sleeping peacefully. He smiled at the sight of them before carefully shutting the door.
Next, he went down to the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten dinner yet.
When he stepped through the doorway, he caught sight of Ria. She had on headphones and pajamas (shorts and an oversized T-shirt) and was dancing with great enthusiasm. A pile of dishes sat on the draining board beside her and she had a sponge in her hand. Her red hair was piled into a bun on top of her head.
Tristan paused in the doorway. He should get her attention and let her know he was here, but something about the way she danced — completely freely — was compelling. Just as he was about to say something, Ria turned, sponge in hand. Her eyes widened when she saw Tristan, and she dropped the soapy sponge onto the floor and pressed a hand to her heart.
“You scared me.” She pulled off her headphones.
“Sorry.” Tristan glanced at the fallen sponge. “I see you’re throwing more of my property on the ground.”
Ria rolled her eyes and scooped the sponge up. “I figured you’d appreciate that it wasn’t something breakable, at least.”
“Thanks. Also, you know you don’t have to hand-wash dishes, right? I have two dishwashers.”
“I know.” Ria shrugged and brushed her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. “But I like washing things by hand. It’s relaxing.”
“Really?” Tristan had never heard that before.
“Really.” Ria turned back to the sink and began scrubbing a pot. Not wanting to just hover, Tristan picked up a dish towel and started drying things. “How was work?”
“Productive.” Tristan would usually have been more excited to talk about his job, but today he wasn’t feeling it. “How were the kids?”
“Oh, they’re great. Although they just can’t pronounce ‘squirrel.’” Ria grinned. “We went to the park, did some baking together, had a nap — well, they did — played some games, did a craft, cleaned up the toy room, had dinner and a bath, and went to bed.”
“Were there any tantrums?”
“A few. Kids that age always have a few.” Ria rinsed the mixing bowl she’d been scrubbing and handed it automatically to Tristan. He took it. As he did so, he wondered how long it had been since he’d washed or dried a dish by hand.
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.” Ria gave him a warm look. “Tantrums are very common.”
“I suppose I expected that the kids would behave for you,” Tristan admitted. If he were being honest, he was a little relieved that everything hadn’t been sunshine and rainbows for Ria when it was so hard for him.
“At two and a half, even if they’re trying to behave, things will fall apart. They have so little control over their emotions, yet their feelings feel so big.” Ria shrugged and handed over a dripping wooden spoon. “They would throw a tantrum or two no matter who was looking after them.”
“Still, you have some kind of magic,” Tristan said. “You got them asleep, all at the same time, two nights in a row. And the house is looking cleaner than it has in, well, a while.”
“You can just call me a sorceress.” Ria winked and twizzled a second mixing spoon in her hand as though it were a magic wand.
“What were you making today?” Tristan asked as he accepted the mixing-spoon-slash-magic-wand and dried it.
“Cookies. I know, you won’t be having any, but they’re actually quite healthy. They’re mostly made of oatmeal, with just a little natural cane sugar and some dark-chocolate chips.”
“You’re right, I won’t have any, but I’m sure the triplets loved them.”
“They were excited mostly because they got to help make them,” Ria explained. “Kids that age love being involved in things. A few chocolate chips did disappear, but I felt it was an acceptable tax for the fun we had.”
“How do you know so much?” Tristan asked. “About kids, I mean.”
“Experience.” Ria shrugged. “That’s all there is to it, really.”
Tristan hesitated. “Surely, though, you have… I don’t know… some kind of magic you can share with me. Something that would make things easier with the triplets.”
Ria looked at him, her green eyes intense as she held his gaze for a long moment. Tristan realized that he wasn’t going to get her jokes about sorcery this time, and he found himself holding his breath. Perhaps this would be the moment when Ria would say a few magic words and he’d be able to understand the triplets better.
“There’s only one real kind of magic when it comes to taking care of kids,” Ria said gently. “It’s the same kind of magic that makes love thrive anywhere, and the same kind of magic that makes you good at anything.”
“Which is?”
“Showing up. When you’re there for your kids for long enough, every day, and keep showing up when things get hard, that’s when the magic happens. Nothing really changes, but you feel differently, and it becomes easier.”
“Right.” Tristan’s stomach twisted. Those weren’t the magic words he’d hoped to hear from Ria. Instead, she’d confirmed what he knew to be true. He didn’t show up for the kids, not enough. He tried. Of course, he tried. When he was taking care of them, he made sure they were fed and dressed in clean clothes and that they had everything they needed. Yet the first opportunity he had, he always ran away to work.
Part of it was not wanting to step on his sister’s toes. Another part, though, was that Tristan simply felt he couldn’t give the kids as much as someone like Ria could. He’d never been compelled to ooh and aah over babies, nor had he planned to have children of his own. His company had always been his child, and work was what he was good at. He wasn’t good with the triplets.
“Here.” Ria handed him a plate. “Dry this?”
Tristan understood her request for what it was: a way to change the subject. Perhaps Ria felt she’d overstepped, and she probably had. If Tristan hadn’t been so impressed with her, or if he hadn’t recognized the truth in her words, he probably would have been angry.
“Sure.” Tristan wiped the cloth across the plate. “Is this the last one?”
“Yeah, we’re all done.” Ria dried her hands and stepped back from the sink. Her hands went to her hips as she surveyed the counter. “Everything looks all right.”
“It does.”
“Well, I’ll head up to bed.” She pivoted on her toes with the same grace she’d used while dancing around the kitchen. Halfway to the door, she paused and turned back. Tristan half-expected another deep comment, but she just smiled slightly. “If you change your mind about the cookies, they’re in a plastic container on top of the fridge.”
And then she was gone, leaving Tristan alone in the kitchen. He sighed, put the plate away, and opened the fridge. He still needed to eat dinner, and he still had work that needed to be done. Yet now, he felt distracted again. He was caught up in thoughts of Ria and what she’d said about showing up.
How could Tristan ever be a father to the triplets, though, when it would mean erasing their mother? How could he ever be a good father when he didn’t understand what made young kids tick? How could he run a company and raise kids without letting the ball drop somewhere?
Tristan shook his head and pulled a container of quinoa and beans out of the fridge. Before he headed down the hallway to his office, he sent one glance at the container of cookies on top of the fridge. Then he shook his head and left the kitchen. At his desk, he sat and worked, eating bites of his dinner between emails, until it was after midnight and his eyelids were too heavy to stay open.