Chapter 16 The Things We Never Got Over
THE THINGS WE NEVER GOT OVER
“Did you call him?” Callie asked, walking into my office.
I closed the file I was making notes on and rubbed my face. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And we’re having lunch tomorrow.” I sat back in my chair. The conversation between Tristan and me had been stilted and awkward. I hadn’t known what to say to him. I don’t think he knew what to say to me either, which was going to make lunch very interesting.
Callie sat down on the couch. “Oh wow. How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. I still can’t believe he’s here.
That he’s okay.” He looked more than okay; he looked…
perfect. Everything about him drew me right back to him like a moth to a flame.
And that was what I was struggling with.
That in these twelve years I had not gotten over him.
In fact all the twelve years did was make me miss him so much more.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Callie asked.
I played with the edges of a file. “Not sure what good it will do. You’ll tell me he’s a textbook survivor of child abuse, which means he’ll have depression, anxiety, communication issues, and low self-esteem, to name just a few.
All things that can be triggering to someone like me who has abandonment issues.
” Those were the labels the textbooks gave him.
The words our instructors used when talking about people like Tristan.
I had seen them. I had seen Tristan’s drug and alcohol abuse.
Witnessed the risky behavior. The nightmares and flashbacks.
The blood. Thankfully, I never saw the suicidal tendencies.
These were things that should’ve driven me away last night.
But they were just part of Tristan. Like the color of his eyes.
“Is it easier for you to look at it like that? A textbook diagnosis?” Callie’s voice was smooth and caring. I recognized what she was doing: making me drag the baggage out of my closet and sort it out. Sometimes having a best friend as a therapist was a pain in the ass.
“No, I don’t want to look at it at all.” I looked away from her as I tried to get my thoughts under control. Since seeing Tristan again, all the shit I thought I had dealt with or neatly packed away came rushing back in brilliant colors.
I learned one night that if there is enough blood, there is an odor.
One that clings to everything. Your clothing, your hair, the clothes he wore.
It leaves a stain. On your hands, his face, and on that stupid pink rug in the bathroom.
And no matter how hard you scrub it, it’s still there. It stains everything.
And one night there had been so much blood.
“Evan?” Callie called.
“I thought he had died one night. Tristan. I had never seen that much blood before. It scared me seeing him that way. But at that point, I didn’t know what death felt like.
” The memories were still so vivid. Time had not dulled them.
“I did a year later.” My dad had gone to the doctor for something to help with exhaustion; instead, they gave him a stage four cancer diagnosis.
It had happened so fast. Before I could grasp what was happening, he wasn’t my dad anymore.
Cancer will take away all your memories that don’t revolve around it.
It steals the father of your childhood, of Christmas morning and Saturday afternoons, and it replaces him with a shell of a man you don’t recognize.
My father’s death leaked into every part of my life. The grief had filled my bones with an ache I could still feel some days. And I never wanted to feel it again.
“I remember walking into the church. The dark wood casket my aunt had picked out sat at the front. My mother sobbing somewhere. There were people and flowers. And noise. I closed my eyes for a minute, wishing it would all go away. When I opened them, everything was gone. I missed my father’s funeral because I had a panic attack in the middle of the church.
Tristan carried me out and took me home.
“For weeks I couldn’t get out of bed, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t function. But Tristan never left. Even when my mother yelled at him, blamed him for my actions. For missing the funeral. For puking down the front of my dress. When everyone left me, he stayed.”
I let out an unsteady breath, remembering how I had clung to him.
How I couldn’t shower without him nearby.
He sat on the counter just talking me through the simple action of washing my hair.
Back then I hadn’t realized it was because I was afraid of losing him.
The fear of losing everyone I loved. That’s what Mrs. Peterson and my mother should’ve been more worried about.
Not my sex life. “When I finally was able to open my eyes without crying, I realized if I ever lost Tristan, I wouldn’t survive.
I didn’t want him to ever leave my side. ”
“Evan.” Callie’s voice was soft. “You were seventeen. Your frontal cortex wasn’t fully developed.
At that age, you didn’t have the brain matter to make decisions nor understand the ramifications of those decisions.
You can’t be mad at yourself for something your brain wasn’t mature enough to understand.
Nor can you rationalize grief away. You, of all people, should know that. ”
I should have. I had taken so many classes on grief and heartbreak.
I had wanted to find a cure, a way to make my heart not hurt so much.
“I do. And I also know that at thirty my frontal cortex is developed, and yet I still feel like some stupid teenager who’s pissed off at the boy who broke my heart.
” The words slipped out before I could understand them. Frontal cortex development, my ass.
“You’re upset with him?”
“Apparently.” I scrubbed my face. “Why do I still have all these fucking feelings?” I went from hating him to missing him so much I wanted to crawl into his arms and never leave.
“Because you’ve never dealt with them,” Callie said.
“The people in your life never let you explore your feelings. Your mother couldn’t handle your grief with your father or when Tristan left.
Your teachers and friends thought they were helping by never talking about all the tragedy you had suffered at such a young age.
And now that chicken has come home to roost. The question is what will you do with that chicken? ”
This was the Callie most people didn’t see. They saw the fun-loving one who liked to talk about sex and joke about how women should have lots of it before marriage. She believed that women should take back their sexual freedom from the men who stole it. “Is shooting that chicken an option?”
“Not a healthy one. And why would you want to shoot the chicken when it looks like Tristan?”
I cocked my head. “What are we talking about?”
“The consequences of you not dealing with your broken heart. Of making your best friends never let you google him.” Her smile was soft, and I knew she was right. It didn’t make it any easier. “What do you want to happen tomorrow?”
I chewed on my bottom lip. I wanted us to go back to that night and make different decisions. I wanted to say something different. But I couldn’t and I didn’t know where that left us. “I don’t know. Part of me wants us back. But the frontal cortex part knows that’s probably not healthy.”
Callie rolled her eyes. “Since when are you one to do the healthy thing? You're dating Ian. And before Ian it was Lyric and Sam.”
“What’s unhealthy about Ian?” I knew what was wrong with Lyric.
Callie leveled her gaze. “Seriously? He’s emotionally unavailable. He’s also physically unavailable most of the time. Which you thrive on because that means when he leaves, you won’t be heartbroken.”
“No.” My voice pitched higher.
“Really.”
“Okay, who asked you?” I saw the writing all over my cream-colored walls.
But like most things, it was easier to ignore.
Therapy was a little like cooking. You couldn’t trust a chef that wouldn’t test his own food.
You shouldn’t trust a therapist who didn’t need therapy.
“It really does suck having a best friend who is also a therapist.”
“Tell me about it.” Callie looked at her watch. “I’ve got dinner plans, but if you're going to have a breakdown, I can cancel them.”
“I think I’ve ruined enough of your nights with my breakdowns.
I’m fine.” I waved her off and reopened the file.
There wasn’t much more to talk about anyway.
I was still hung up on Tristan, and the only one who could cure me of that was him.
Tomorrow would be another make-or-break moment in the story of us.
“Ev. I’m serious. If you need me to stay, I will. I don’t think August and I are going to last much longer anyway. Things are moving way too slow. Like way. Too. Slow.”
I smiled at her. “You had such high hopes for Mr. I Work With My Hands.”
“I thought a nice blue-collar worker would be a nice change.” She shook her head. “I just want to find someone who can keep up with me. Who looks amazing naked and likes to be naked. With me,” she quickly added.
“Me too.”
“Um, you already have that. Your chicken.” Callie stood. “Whatever you decide to do tomorrow, make sure you’re doing it for yourself and not what you think other people want you to do. Oh and when you have sex with him, promise me, you’ll tell me all about it.”
“Cal, I’ve had plenty of sex with him.”
“Yeah, but not this Tristan.” She winked before she turned to leave.
No, not this Tristan. I’m not sure I knew who this Tristan was.