Chapter 17 The Choices We Make
THE CHOICES WE MAKE
The restaurant Tristan had chosen was nice.
It had linen napkins and a hostess. “Um, I’m supposed to meet someone.
Tristan Anderson.” I was early. In my panic I had read the directions wrong.
It was twelve minutes away, not twenty-one miles away.
And with weekend traffic, it had taken me ten minutes.
“Right this way.” She didn’t grab a menu or anything.
The restaurant had sweeping views of the gray Minnesota River.
I followed her around the empty tables to one by the window.
The restaurant was empty except for a few staff that were wrapping silverware or polishing glasses.
There were no other patrons, just Tristan, all grown-up and dressed in black.
He took my breath away as he stood. Taller and leaner.
It was like our eighth-grade year all over again.
Tristan had left as an eighteen-year-old boy and came back as a very handsome man.
“Evan.” He kissed my cheek before pulling my chair out.
“Thank you,” I said, sitting down. This was not the Tristan I knew. That Tristan didn’t wear tailored suits that fit him perfectly. That Tristan didn’t own expensive-looking watches and jewelry.
“Did you find the restaurant okay?” He sat down and slid his chair in.
“Yeah. I did. It seems like a nice place.” I looked around the empty restaurant. The hostess had gone back behind the bar and was stocking glasses. “Is it too early for lunch?”
“It’s not open for lunch. My friend owns it. I thought it would be easier to talk without all the noise.” He took his napkin off the table.
“Oh, wow. That’s nice of…”
“Craig. And he owes me. Would you like something to drink?”
Before I could answer, a tall man dressed in a white chef’s coat came out with a bottle of wine. “Thought you could use this,” he said, setting a bottle of wine on the table. “So this is The Evan.”
“Evan, this is Craig.” Tristan stood. “Hey, man.”
“Hey, Tris.” Craig pulled Tristan into a one-arm hug.
Tristan was over six feet tall, but Craig was taller. “So, I finally get to meet The Evan.” Craig turned to me. “So, The Evan. Why are you slumming with him?”
“Ah…” I looked to Tristan for some hint as to what was going on. “I don’t know if I am the Evan. But I’m Evan. It’s nice to meet you. You have a beautiful place here.” I stuck out my hand.
“And you are beautiful.” He took my hand and kissed it.
“Dude, seriously?” Tristan rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, Ev. Next he’ll want to show you his knife.”
“It’s a really big knife.” Craig winked. “You have a choice today, Evan. Would you like lamb or steak?”
“Steak is fine. Medium please.”
“And you, ugly?” Craig turned to Tristan.
“Whatever will cost you more,” Tristan said, pulling the cork from the bottle.
“Of course. And how would you like that done, Your Majesty?” Craig teased Tristan.
This was odd to see Tristan like this. Happy. A bit carefree and teasing Craig on how he wanted his lamb cooked and plated.
“Anything for you.” Craig shook his head, turning back to me. “Enjoy the wine. Lunch will be served in about ten minutes. In the meantime, Evan, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. My house is your house.” Craig put his hand on his chest.
It was hard not to like Craig. His smile was warm and inviting. “Thank you.”
“Don’t you have a job to do?” Tristan poured me a glass of wine.
“I do. And now I get it, man. Now I get it.” Craig patted Tristan’s shoulder before he left.
“He seems nice.” I watched Craig talk to the hostess.
Tristan looked over his shoulder. “Yeah. I’ve known him and Mara, his sister, for a few years. They own the restaurant together.”
“That’s nice.” Now I sounded like one of Ian’s friends, saying stupid words to fill the empty space. “I mean, that they get along well enough to work together.”
“I guess, if you like that ‘normal’ family thing.” He looked back to me, settling into his chair.
The silence stretched between us. I looked at everything but him. The brass railing around the raised dining area. The forgotten fingerprints on the window. The pattern on the carpet. I don’t know what I was afraid of.
“So, how have you been?” Tristan broke the silence.
“Good. I graduated from the U and got my master’s from St. Thomas.
I’m finishing up my LPCC license. I… uh, have a job at the PineWood Center.
I’m… um… a therapist.” Why was this so hard?
I knew what he looked like naked. He had been inside of me, for fuck’s sake.
But all I could do was recite my resume. “And you? How are you?”
“I’ve been okay.”
“That’s good.” Again, more empty words. I took a sip of wine, unable to look at him without tears burning in the back of my throat.
“Ev, you okay?” He ducked to meet my gaze.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice sounded thin and pitched.
“Because you won’t look at me.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly before I looked at him.
There were hints of the old Tristan under the ink of the new one.
His eyes were still so green, and his mouth was the same.
But there were new parts, parts that weren’t physical.
He had confidence and a lightness about him.
Then I knew the reason why I couldn’t look at him. Because I wanted to cry.
“You look different.” I tore my gaze from his mouth and looked to his watch and the tattoos that peeked out from his sleeve.
He looked at his hands. “Yeah, I got a little more ink.”
“It’s more than that.” A rift was starting to grow between us and it kept getting larger. A rift that had taken twelve years to make. I didn’t know why I thought we could pick up where we left off. Neither one of us was the same.
He shook his head. “No, I’m still the same old Tristan.”
“I don’t think so. It’s been twelve years. I’m not the same Evan.”
“I can see that.”
“Can you?” I snapped. No, we were picking up right where we left off. The part we never had as teens. The angry part. The part where we yelled and screamed at each other and then it ended.
“Yes, I can.” He bit back. “And you’re right, there are parts of me that have changed.
I’m not that stupid boy that broke your heart all those years ago.
” He paused, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip as he thought.
The familiar gesture made all this harder.
He searched the table, looking for the same answers I wanted.
“You want the truth? These past years have been tough.”
“Good.”
“Good?” He frowned at me.
“You made the choice to stay.” I hadn’t meant to raise my voice.
Mara brought the food, setting it down. She looked at Tristan before glaring at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Tristan said, pushing his plate away.
I nodded, afraid I would start crying if I said anything. I waited for Mara to leave. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I understand why you stayed.” I picked at my food, not sure why I thought meeting him was the right choice. The rift between us was too wide to bridge.
“It’s okay.” He tossed his napkin on the table and refilled his glass.
I sat back in my chair and took a sip of wine. We both sat in the quietness of what was happening. The breaking point. “I’m seeing someone.”
“Is he nice?” His eyes roamed across my face. I wondered if he could see the faint cracks I thought I had fixed starting to show again. The prints he had left upon my skin, the ones I had tried to cover with another’s. But they always washed away, leaving Tristan’s.
“Of course he is.” But he’s not you were the unsaid words that hovered between us.
Because Ian wasn’t. And I thought that was what I wanted: someone who lived his life on the surface.
People like that didn’t bleed on my bathroom floor.
Didn’t look at me like Tristan was right now.
Hurt. A hurt I wasn’t ready to relive. “I should go.” I gathered up my purse and jacket.
“It was nice seeing you again, Tristan. I wish you the best of luck.”
I stood, not sure there was anything else to say other than goodbye. The goodbye we didn’t get twelve years ago. I didn’t think a heartbreak could pause for this long. But as I made my way to the door, I felt it breaking. The old wound open and bleeding out.
I stopped at the front door. It had started to rain.
Of course it had started. This wouldn’t be the depressing ending of our love story if it wasn’t raining.
This was more than Tristan and me; it was also Ian and me.
I seemed to gravitate to fucked up relationships.
Ones that were going nowhere. I’m not sure I knew how to love someone.
I stepped out under the awning, hoping the rain would wash away all of this shit seeing Tristan had brought up.
“Blu, wait, please.” Tristan grabbed my arm.
The name hit me hard, threatening to crack my chest open. It had been so long since someone called me that. “I can’t do this, Tristan.” I watched the rain through tear-stained eyes.
“Do what?”
“Pretend like nothing happened between us.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Then what are you asking of me?” I looked at him. Part of me wanted him to say he wanted to try again and this time everything would be okay. That was the part that needed therapy. The other part knew what I needed him to say. That it was really over.
“A friend. You were my best friend. I told you everything. There have been so many times I wanted to call you and tell you the good instead of all the bad. But maybe I waited too long.”
“You want to be friends?” Both parts of my brain spun, not sure what to do with this. How was I going to be friends with him with all the baggage I carried around? I loved this man. I knew what his tears tasted like and how perfectly his hand fit in mine.
“Yeah. I do. Things have changed, Ev. Can we try it? I mean, if it doesn’t work, I’ll never talk to you again.”
“Friends?” I said the word again, trying to make it fit with his name. “What would that look like?”
He put his arm around me. “I hold this and walk you to your car.” He grabbed the umbrella sitting by the door. “Then I ask you to lunch or maybe a walk in the park to feed the ducks.”
“Feed the ducks?” I snorted out a laugh.
“I said I’ve changed.” He opened the umbrella, and we walked together.
His arm was around my shoulders like we were back in high school, and for a moment, we were Tristan and Evan, kids that still believed we would be okay.
When we got to my car, I realized there was a big part of me that wanted him in my life. But how?
“So can I see you again? Just as friends. There is so much about your life I want to hear about. I want to hear about all the good. And the bad.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Yes.” He opened my door. “I’m sorry, Ev. If I could go back and do it all over again, I would. I would do it differently.”
“Would you?” I hated how sad he looked right now. I hated broken Tristan. And yet I loved him. The broken parts.
“Yes. Because it wasn’t worth it. None of it was. You have my number.” He turned and walked back to the restaurant.
I did.