by M. K. Easley
As the morning went on, Beckett moved down the line, coming to stand beside Tristan.
“I'm surprised you're here alone,” Tristan said coolly, not looking at him. “No Emmeline?”
“Emmeline?” Beckett snorted. “No. She wouldn't be caught dead here.”
Tristan looked at him disgustedly, and Beckett cocked his head at her.
“Are you ready to tell me what exactly your problem is?” Beckett asked in a low voice. He scooped eggs onto a woman's plate and smiled at her, waiting until Tristan had offered her home fries before looking over at Tristan.
Tristan's jaw worked, and Beckett could tell she was trying to decide whether or not she wanted to respond. They served three more people before she did.
“Fine.” Tristan also kept her voice low as she turned to look at him. “I don't get you. You're smart, and you seem like a good enough person. I mean, the company you keep is questionable so you could be different around people you're comfortable with, but you know, you seem OK. And you speak up when you see someone being mistreated, and you come here to volunteer on Thanksgiving, and none of that jibes in my mind with why on Earth you would date Emmeline Strandquest.”
“Hey now,” Beckett said, looking offended. “This isn't fair. I didn't know you in sophomore year so I can't bring up any of your transgressions, but you can bring up mine?”
“Sophomore year? What? I'm talking about now! This year!” Tristan gestured wildly with her spoon, sending bits of home fries flying.
“This year?” Beckett frowned almost comically, following a home fry that landed in Tristan's hair, and they had to break to serve a few more people. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Emmeline told me on Monday morning that you and her got back together, at some party last Saturday.”
Beckett's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.
“She what? And you believed her?”
Tristan stared at him dumbly.
Beckett shook his head in disbelief. “Emmeline and I did not get back together. Every party we're both at goes the same way: she tries to get me back, I turn her down. Saturday was no exception, but now I know why she was trying extra hard all week at school with me, too.”
Tristan still said nothing, feeling like the biggest fool. That was OK, however, because Beckett was not done talking.
“I can't believe you believed her. I mean, she and I broke up over a year ago. I'm a whole year older, and wiser, and my brain is a whole year bigger.”
“Well I didn't think you were thinking with your head brain,” Tristan finally said, immediately regretting it. Beckett's eyes went wide and so did Tristan’s. She looked away stiffly as Beckett began to laugh, and was grateful that a handful of people chose then to get in line.
“You know, I thought you were smart, but now I'm worried that you think penises have brains,” Beckett whispered, between the last and next people he was serving.
“Shut up,” Tristan hissed, and Beckett started laughing all over again. He plucked the food out of her hair, and Tristan finally cracked a smile, which led to her laughing quietly with her hand covering her mouth.
“Look, can we just call a truce, or whatever?” Beckett asked, his face earnest. “I know you don't want to be friends, so I'm not suggesting we have sleepovers and braid each other's hair, but like, we can say hi around school, yeah? Walk to class together if we're going the same way? Sit together at l--”
“No,” Tristan said immediately, and Beckett put his hands up in surrender.
“OK, OK. But the other stuff?”
“Fine.” Tristan nodded after mulling it over a moment.
“Fine.” Beckett smiled at her, and Tristan smiled back at him, tucking her hair behind her ear before looking away.
As breakfast came to an end and everyone began clearing the tables to switch over to the lunch rush, Tyler, Jason, Bailey, and Hattie showed up. Tristan’s stomach clenched as she watched them greet Beckett, who was still in the dining area, from the kitchen door.
“Tristan?” Susan asked, and Tristan turned away from the porthole window. “Can you grab a bin and start setting the tables?”
“Ah, actually, I was wondering if I could maybe help out in here? If you need it?” Tristan asked awkwardly.
“I’ll take her!” Dolores called, before Susan could respond.
Tristan smiled gratefully, scurrying around Susan to go help Dolores. Dolores put her to work chopping vegetables for the soup she was making, and Tristan happily complied. They got to chatting about school and Tristan’s plans for the holidays (staying home), for prom (not going), and for after graduation (oh gods).
Beckett noticed Tristan had not come back into the dining room after the last bin of dishes she’d taken into the kitchen. Offering to go grab more silverware, he entered the kitchen, seeing her across the room with Dolores Hebert, one of the longtime soup kitchen chefs. They were chatting and laughing as they worked, and Tristan looked relaxed and happy. Beckett watched her for a few beats, not usually getting the opportunity to see her like this, and their conversation drifted his way.
“...Ward Livingston University, up in Boston, is my dream school, but I’m sure I’m not going to get in…”
“...Love to become a researcher, if not for authors then maybe in the science field, but for authors would be number one... a very small pool though… I’d probably have better luck going freelance but...”
“...Major in Linguistics, I guess, and go from there. I haven’t thought about…”
“Beckett?” Susan asked, coming up beside Beckett, who was leaning his hip against the counter holding the dishware bins, forgetting to pretend to look busy.
“Sorry,” Beckett jumped, grabbing a handful of silverware out of the bin. “Just came to get more silverware.”
Susan nodded, looking at him suspiciously, and Beckett smiled, leaving the kitchen. So Tristan was dreaming of an acceptance to Ward Livingston University, which was Beckett’s longshot choice as well. What were the odds? He’d more or less settled himself on the idea of Tulane University in New Orleans, which was a fine school, but if he could have his pick, Ward Livingston was what he’d had his eye on since his freshman year of high school. Beckett was having a little trouble believing that he and Tristan had the same ambition -- in fact, he was starting to feel like the way their lives continued to intertwine in even seemingly random ways meant there was a connection between them that was a bit outside the realm of what was typical for two regular people.
Beckett set the tables, lost in thought, then brought himself back to attention as he went to resume his station at the serving table. Bailey stood to his immediate left, and Tristan finally came back out to stand to his right, giving him a small smile as she did. Beckett saw Bailey nudge Hattie, who laughed, and he looked over at them exasperatedly.
The lunch rush was busier than the breakfast rush, not affording Tristan and Beckett much of an opportunity to chat. Instead, Beckett enjoyed watching Tristan interact with the diners, a warmth he wasn’t accustomed to seeing from her drawing him in. Her generosity and chattiness were infectious, and Beckett found himself interacting with the diners in much the same manner, to Tristan’s delight. Bailey and Hattie threw a couple of looks his way, but even they loosened up incrementally, and Tyler and Jason were their usual outgoing selves. The vibe in the room was a good one, a happy one, and Beckett had never before enjoyed a volunteer shift so much.
When the last diners were fed and everything was cleaned up, Beckett hung around, waiting for Tristan. He waved Jason and Tyler on, ignored the looks Bailey and Hattie were giving him, and grinned when Tristan came out of the kitchen, looking surprised to see him.
“What are you still doing here?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Why?”
Beckett looked at her sideways as they headed out of the dining room and towards the back doors, and Tristan gave him a sheepish smile.
“Let me try again. Thanks fo
r waiting, but you didn't have to; I drove here.”
“No problem. I waited because I wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?” Tristan asked, puzzled.
“For today. For organizing this. I know you're the one who put up the volunteer sheets around the Academy. I'm just sorry more people didn't show up.”
“Oh.” Tristan waved her hand. They exited the building, directly into the pouring rain.
“Gonna be a fun bike ride home,” Beckett observed, and Tristan squinted at him through the downpour.
“You rode your bike here? Do you not watch the news?”
“I don't; I'm not a senior citizen,” Beckett replied, laughing.
“Hilarious. OK, put your bike in the trunk. I'll drive you home.”
Tristan unlocked her car and got inside while Beckett maneuvered his bike into the trunk. He got in the passenger side a minute later, soaked.
“Thank you for not making me bike home in that,” Beckett said, pushing his wet hair back off of his face.
“You're welcome. Where to?”
Beckett directed her to his house, which was closer to their school than Tristan had realized.
“So what made you start volunteering at the soup kitchen?” Beckett asked as they drove.
“I ran into Dolores a few times at the grocery store, and one of those times she mentioned it and how they're always in need of volunteers. I went the next week and I've been going ever since. I try to make it at least once a month. What about you?”
“My Paw-Paw was homeless, back in Alabama where I used to live. He was a veteran and lost everything, and he refused to move in with us or my Aunt and Uncle, so he lived on the street until he died. The local food kitchen took such good care of him, I never forgot it. I figured it's the least I can do, but I don't go enough.” Beckett shrugged.
“I'm so sorry, Beckett.” Tristan said genuinely, and Beckett shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Was what it was. I'm right up there, 3054.”
Tristan pulled up to the curb. The house was situated on a small, tree-lined road, an unassuming white clapboard that backed up to a wooded area, just like Tristan's. Beckett stared up at the house for a moment, and his dread was palpable. He blew out a breath and then turned to Tristan, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Thanks again for the ride. Have a good dinner, OK? I'll see you Monday.”
“You too. Thanks Beckett.”
Tristan wanted to say more, but what? Stay? Come have dinner with my family instead? Why are you dreading going inside your own house?
Beckett closed the door, retrieving his bike and running it up the side of his house, disappearing into the heavy downpour. Tristan pulled a face and shifted the car into drive. It was none of her business, but Beckett's vibe had totally changed when they'd pulled onto his street, and she was so curious as to why that'd been.
***
Tristan arrived home to a warm house that smelled amazing. She closed the front door behind her, her stomach already growling, and Olivia, who was walking by, greeted her.
“Hey, how'd it go?”
“Really well,” Tristan replied, smiling.
“Good.” Olivia eyeballed her. “Anything exciting happen?”
Tristan laughed.
“I was handing out meals, O.”
“Yeah, it's just that you're mostly bright green and yellow right now, which I mean I guess that could be from volunteering, but…” Olivia squinted at her, and Tristan rolled her eyes.
“When did you start reading auras? I thought that was Ember’s thing.”
“He's been teaching me.” Olivia shrugged. “It's kinda boring, honestly, but I'm definitely interested in yours right now since you usually sit around dark bluish gray.”
“Yellow,” Tristan recited from memory. “The color of happiness and optimism. Green, the color of compassion and altruism. Gee, what a mystery.”
“Orange,” Evander said, walking up behind Olivia and pointing. “The color of sexual energy.”
“Now you're making things up,” Tristan said, and Evander shook his head.
“Am not. It's lurking there in the back.”
“There is no back!” Tristan said, as Evander walked off towards the kitchen.
“Hmm,” Olivia said, but thankfully let it go.
Tristan, shaking her head, went to the kitchen as well and greeted her parents, who, along with Ivan and Ruby, were preparing their Thanksgiving feast.
“Trinity!” Sol exclaimed, elbow deep in the turkey. “I didn't think you were coming home. Do me a favor and make the stuffing?”
“Ever?” Tristan asked, grinning. She pushed up her sleeves and washed her hands, getting ready to pitch in.
Umbris escaped the kitchen in which Tristan was sure he thought was a stealthy manner, which it wasn't, and Sol mock glared at his retreating back. “I see you!”
“You're very happy,” Sol observed, smiling at Tristan as Umbris’s laughter floated back towards the kitchen. “Good day?”
Tristan nodded.
“You know I always feel the best when I get to help people.”
“Indeed,” Sol replied thoughtfully, but said nothing else.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I have an early shift at Rise and Grind tomorrow,” Tristan said as she worked. “I have to be there by five. I just didn't want you to worry when you noticed I wasn't here.”
“Noted. Five until when?”
“One-thirty.”
“I think Oceana and I are going to go up to New Orleans, if you'd like to join us. We might meet up with the Crenshaws.”
“Oh, I don't know. Since when do you go out instead of planning the layout and pulling out the decorations for Yule?”
Sol shrugged. “There's time for both.”
“Well our usual tradition happens to be one of my favorites, so I think I'll stay here while you turncoats go to the city.”
Sol chuckled, and Tristan smiled, reaching for another piece of bread.
“Trinity is totally crushing on him, isn't she?” Olivia said to Evander, as they lounged in the living room.
“Who?”
Olivia gave him a look. She held up her phone, showing him a selfie Bailey had taken at the soup kitchen with Hattie. In the corner, Beckett was making a face at the camera. Olivia zoomed in on him.
“Beckett Benson.”
“Oh. Duh.”
“Bad idea jeans,” Olivia shook her head.
“Beckett's OK,” Evander said, flipping through the channels on the TV.
“It's not Beckett I'm worried about necessarily, it's what kind of shit Trinity will catch when word gets out. Which word will get out, because this is Lavelle.”
Evander scoffed, and Olivia rolled her eyes again.
“I'm serious, Ember. I have a bad feeling.”
“You always have a bad feeling. It's fine. Trinity would die before she admitted out loud that she likes him, so I'm sure she'll be fine.”
“I don't always have a bad feeling,” Olivia huffed, but Evander ignored her.
“Bad feeling about what?” Umbris asked, entering the room.
“I don't know!” Olivia wailed in frustration. “That's the problem! I just know it involves Trinity.”
Umbris surveyed her, and Olivia knew he was trying to suss out if she was serious or just being dramatic.
“Dad, ignore her,” Evander said, not bothering to look away from the TV. “She doesn't have any details and she's been saying this all month and nothing has happened. Nothing is going to happen. We all go to school together; we have been and will be keeping an eye on Trinity.”
“You're so annoying,” Olivia said, and Evander made a face at her. “When do you get to start going out again? Do you think you'll be any less miserable when you're done being grounded, or is this just who you are as a person now?”
“OK, OK,” Umbris interjected, before the twins escalated into a shouting match. “Ember, go help Ruby set the table. Oceana, go help Ivan in the front
yard.”
The twins left, mumbling to themselves, and Umbris shook his head, settling into his chair by the fireplace.
***
Dinner was ready by five o'clock, and the Wallaces, joined by Ivan and Ruby, gathered around the long dining room table. As tradition dictated, they each went around the table saying what they were thankful for before digging in.
The food was plentiful and delicious, and the atmosphere was warm and content. A few times, Tristan wondered about Beckett and how his holiday was going, but then she'd be drawn back into conversation. Dessert -- pies of all different flavors -- was brought out after the main course, and by the time the plates had been cleared, everyone had a stomach ache.
“Why do we do this to ourselves every year?” Evander groaned, and everyone groaned back in agreement.
“As soon as I can move, I'm going for a walk. Anyone who wants to come is invited!” Olivia chirped, and Tristan and Evander nodded.
Once they’d had a chance to digest, the siblings went out the front door and down the long driveway, no particular destination in mind. They closed the gates behind them and started up the road, and that was when Olivia finally spoke.
“So the gathering is coming up, next weekend.”
“Already?” Tristan asked, surprised. “Where did November go?”
“Already,” Olivia replied. “I tried talking to Mom about Orion, but she completely shut me down. Ember, I know you’re going to make fun of me for this, but I have a really bad feeling about him, and I don’t think it’s fair that we should be kept in the dark.”
“I’m not going to make fun of you,” Evander said, sounding slightly defensive. “He gives me a bad feeling, too.”
“Me too,” Tristan said, nodding.
“I’ve been thinking, and I have a plan. Trinity, do you think you could get information out of Celes? Like do you think he’d agree to see what he could find out from Dune and Thera and then tell you about it?”