The story is so beautiful; it brings tears to my eyes. I wipe away a few stray tears, hoping neither of them notices. Piper ends the story with “And it worked for Kathryn and Ade, too. They kissed right over there.”
“Great story Pipe,” Tristan says, “thanks for sharing.”
“Tristan! Don’t be mean. It was a great story, Piper. So romantic.” I compliment. Getting nosy, I ask, “Did you kiss your boyfriend under the waterfall, too?”
“Actually, one night after work, we did a lot more than just—”
“For the love of God! Are you trying to give me a coronary,” Tristan yells, stuffing his fingers in his ears. It’s really the cutest thing I’ve ever seen him do.
He looks just like my painting right now, boyish and manly, adorable and smoking hot. I am so screwed. It’s so physically and sexually frustrating that I have to shift in my freaking seat, because I’m getting all worked up just being around him. I’m a goner. Stamp my forehead, send me through the ringer, I am officially another Tristan O’Donnell casualty.
“What’re you smirking about?” Tristan asks, staring at me.
“You’re cute when you get all ‘daddy-like’ on her,” I swoon.
“Well, that’s about as close to being a dad as I’ll ever be,” Tristan says, taking a drink of his iced tea.
“Now, that’s not true—”
“Oh no, it is,” he argues and then tells me all about how he had to sign a contract with his father to never have children. It’s the most ridiculous, cold-hearted thing I’ve ever heard a parent make his child do.
“So, what you’re saying is… if you decide you want a wife, some kids, the whole nine yards, you lose your inheritance… everything?” I ask, stunned, nearly speechless.
“Yep, every last penny,” Tristan says, shrugging. “But he’s right. I’m not cut out to be father. I’d fuck it up… ruin my kids. They’d be in therapy by the time they were 10-years-old.”
“You’re really okay with not being a parent someday?” I ask, wondering why the world is playing freaky ass Tristan-tricks on me.
“Perfectly fine with it,” Tristan says. “I do like naming shit though. So if I get this house, then I’m getting a dog for sure. I really want to name a dog ‘Lucifer.’ Isn’t that so sweet?”
“No, that’s not sweet at all, actually. You can’t possibly name a dog after Satan, you ass,” I say, laughing.
“It’s totally cool. Think about it. I could go around saying, ‘Get down Lucifer. No, bad boy, Lucifer.’ It’d be awesome,” he says, excitedly, like a schoolboy, just like my painting again. “I could tell people that I trained Lucifer.”
“You really are incorrigible, ya know that?”
“Of course I do,” Tristan grins, giving me that panty-wetting wink again. “What about you? You planning the big wedding and the tons of kids lifestyle?”
“I’ll get married I think someday,” I admit, honestly. “I really do like the idea of finding someone to spend the rest of my life with. Who wants to grow old alone and die lonely? Not me. No thank you.”
“That’s a good point,” Tristan says, smirking and nodding. “Maybe you could spend your life with Lucifer.”
“Ass.”
Laughing, he asks, “What about kids? Ya gonna get a minivan and drive the carpool to soccer games and swim lessons?”
“Definitely not.”
“Ahhh, so you’re a large SUV kind of chick. Tahoe? Suburban? What’s your vehicular pleasure, my lady? Tristan asks conspiratorially.
“Nah, no kids for me.” I confess. “That’s a future I’m not interested in.” As I explain to him why I’m not having kids, Tristan’s face falls, frowning the entire time.
“Hmmm, I’m not too sure about all that Leah,” Tristan says. “Seems kind of drastic and rash for something that isn’t 100% positive. Just because you have some gene doesn’t necessarily mean you’re gonna die from Cancer. Maybe we should ask Adrian or something.”
“No,” I say, “We definitely do not need to ask Adrian. Plus, ever since I scheduled the procedure, I’ve never felt better—never felt more certain about my future. I used to be scared, but I’m not scared anymore. It just feels right.”
“Well, I guess you know what you’re doing. When are you having this hyste—procedure?”
“The end of next month.” I say with finality.
Tristan’s forehead creases as he nods, thoughtfully. “Strange that neither of us wants kids. Some people might think that’s fate.”
“Others would call it coincidental,” I counter. “My sister would call it fate; I’m more of a coincidence kind of girl.”
“Jill, that’s right,” Tristan says, smiling mischievously. “I want to meet Jill… and Shay… Shay…”
“Shayla,” I help him out, happy that he even tried to remember Shayla’s name.
“Yeah, I want to meet them,” he grins wickedly. “So I can picture them in action later.”
“Oh for God’s sake! Men are lesbian-crazy,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Uh, how can we not be? There’s not just one, but two of our favorite things all over each other,” Tristan explains. “It’s like this; I love watching football on the weekends. But, if I buy the NFL ticket, then I can watch all the games—not just the one exciting game in my area. I can have it all—all together in one big wonderful, euphoric weekend,” he argues, feigning a dreamy satiated face.
“I gotta admit; it is pretty nice,” I say, grinning.
His face falls; total seriousness takes over. “Are you saying—?”
“I majored in art. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” I admit, returning his trademark wink.
Now it’s Tristan’s turn to squirm in his seat. “Fuck. Like once, twice… what are we talking here?”
“Two different times,” I confess. “Two different women.”
“Like full out? No holding back? Everything?” he asks, leaning closer to me.
“Once it was just a little making out in a bar, but the other time… the other time was… was… what you’re imagining… everything you are imagining,” I say, feeling like I’m not going to lie to him about anything again. I’m putting it all out on the table from now on—except for maybe admitting how much I really do want him.
“So what happened?” Tristan asks, more curious than turned on. “Did you guys date?”
“Nah, nothing like that,” I explain. “We were on an ‘I hate men hiatus.’ We’d smoked a little weed. I’d admitted that I kissed a girl before. She said that she’d done stuff with girls before too. Then, we just kind of went for it.”
Tristan’s look of total arousal is gone, and now he just looks awed and interested. Just the fact that he wants to sit here and talk to me, learning about my life, excites me, makes me wonder if I’ve misjudged him all these years.
Continuing, I add, “It was strange. There was none of that, ‘what now’ stuff. We both just knew it was a fun thing to do for the night. Neither of us wanted a relationship—just a good story to tell later, I guess.”
“Wow,” Tristan says, “you’re right. Damn good story… so did you like it?”
“Well yeah,” I admit, grinning. “But I’m an ‘in the moment’ kind of girl. When things are getting hot, I really can’t turn back.”
“Good to know… good to know. Duly noted,” Tristan says, smirking. “But I get it, I’m like that too.” He winks at me, and my body responds accordingly, just as it always does when his eyes flirt with me.
Then Tristan surprises me and adds, “When I’m… ya know… ‘in the moment,’ I think I’d do anything… like anything to get off.” He’s being totally serious, and I laugh, shaking my head at him.
“I’m not kidding,” Tristan explains, leaning forward and whispering. “Hell, I might consider doing another dude if I was worked up enough and on the edge. Who knows? Maybe even a fucking dog… a damn vacuum cleaner if it’s a sleek upright… shit anything.”
At this point, I’m crying, l
aughing so hard at him and his crazy candor.
Tristan says, “Then, when it’s over, and I’m done, all I can think about is how damn gross it all is… I don’t know, maybe it’s that good, old Irish-Catholic boy guilt.”
“Exactly! Sunday school really does a number on guilty consciences. I’ll remember to say an extra ‘Hail Mary’ for you tonight.” I laugh, not being able to shake the vision of Tristan fucking a vacuum cleaner. “By the way, I got a pretty sexy Dust Buster back in New Hampshire, any time you’re feeling lonely, you give me a call.”
“Trust me, I plan to… I definitely plan to,” Tristan states, grinning.
Getting up to leave, we walk over to the waterfall. “So, what do you think about that legend?” Tristan asks me.
“I think it’s a cute little tale to get more customers,” I say, not paying attention to him.
“You’re not buying it?” he asks, coming in closer to me. His breath is hot on my neck as he whispers into my ear. “Not even a little bit?”
“Not even for a second,” I say, knowing that I do not want him to kiss me right now—just as much as I do want him to kiss me. I don’t want to kiss him in front of everyone in a restaurant. I don’t want some legend to be held over our heads. But holy Godiva, I want to eat him alive—for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Mixed feelings.
“I can’t believe you convinced me to do something so cliché and touristy,” I say, jumping down from the horse and carriage. “I don’t usually like the typical tourist crap, and you’ve got me doing it all.”
“How can you not like the stuff that cities are famous for?” Tristan asks, interlocking his fingers with mine. Throughout the entire day, he hadn’t really touched me at all. I glance down at our hands and look back up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Yes Leah, I’m holding your hand. What? Are we like 12 now? Should I have asked first? Don’t forget, I have had those beautiful brea—”
Smacking him, “Okay, okay, I get it… and I did like looking at all the merchandise from the independent vendors at the Market. That was cool… I’m surprised a moneybags like you wouldn’t want to hit King Street, though.”
“King Street? For what? Overpriced crap that nobody really needs or wants anyway?” Tristan grumbles, shaking his head. “People pay a shitload of money for a damn label. It’s crazy.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Armani, I’ve seen your suits,” I argue. Tristan dresses impeccably. I bet fashion designers have him in mind when they create clothes that make girls weak in the knees and wet in the panties.
“That’s different. I dress well for work, but not everything I wear and buy has to have some damn designer label on it—especially if I’m on fucking vacation. If I’m on vacation, I’m gonna buy shit that’s unique to the city—not some high-priced, self-esteem ego boost.”
“Yeah, you really needed that giant picture of Hurricane Hugo. What’re you going to do with it anyway?” I wonder, trying to picture where he lives and how he decorates.
“I’m not sure, I just like the idea of something so disastrous fucking shit up and then… and then… I don’t know… being able to see how incredible it turns out after all the destruction and debris is cleared away,” he explains, thoughtfully. “Supposedly those places were just wiped out and now look at them—gorgeous.”
“Well look at you—all pensive and insightful.”
“Not insightful, just hopeful,” he wraps an arm around me and pulls me tightly against him. When he tucks my hair behind my ear, and his fingers graze my cheek, I get lost in his eyes and want him more. “I’d love to believe that something that was so fucked up can be so beautiful and wonderful after a little time and work. I’m just glad that things that should be—can be—recreated into perfection.”
“You’re making it pretty easy to believe, Stan,” I admit, feeling my restraint wavering.
“Like I said, I hope so,” Tristan grins, as he leans in closer.
The second his lips meet mine, everything I’ve been holding back comes fighting through. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. I allow myself to get lost in him, in his lips, and in his tongue. Kissing him on the street in broad daylight with people around means so much more than in a dark hotel room in the middle of the night. This is real. It’s us. We’re not hiding behind closed doors, behind our fears, or even hiding away from our past. We’re confronting it head on, with our eyes, and maybe even our hearts, wide open.
“Holy shit! Piper! What’re you doing?” we both scream, pulling apart, getting soaked by a giant water gun.
“Y’all looked a little hot,” Piper says in a sing-songy voice. “Just thought I’d cool ya off a bit.”
“That’s just great, Piper, real mature. How old are you, anyway?” Tristan groans, shaking water from his head.
“You’ll thank me someday,” she says, beginning her retreat back into the restaurant. “That’s water straight from the waterfall. You wouldn’t do it yourselves, so I did it for you. You’re welcome, by the way. Hashtag Love Legends.”
“Hashtag? Who says that?” he yells after her, smiling and shaking his head. “Do you believe her?”
“Yeah, we kid sisters are so unruly,” I joke.
“Hey Leah-wouldn’t-wanna-be-ya!” my father calls, pulling up on a horse and carriage of his own. He jumps down with the fluidity of a man in his forties, not a man in his late sixties. There’s pep in his step that I haven’t witnessed in a long time. He nearly skips to the other side of the carriage, helping Lanette down from her side.
“Uh, Hi Dad,” I reply, not really knowing how to respond or react to this little meeting.
“Well, would you look at my beautiful girl, Lanette? Doesn’t she look just radiant with that huge smile on her face?” My father puts an arm around Lanette dramatically, trying to emphasize how inexplicable the scene is in front of him. I roll my eyes. “And… and… what was that sound I heard coming from your mouth?” my dad asks, sarcastically.
“Dad! I was laughing, you nutcase. You’ve heard me laugh before. We just got sprayed with water from your magical waterfall, Lanette,” I explain, motioning toward the restaurant.
“I’s assumin’ Pipah was behind this?” Lanette asks, chuckling.
“Naturally,” Tristan remarks. “Mr. Franchetti, I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.” Tristan extends his hand. My father glares at it for a moment and then refuses the offer.
“I’m not ready to be your ally yet, son. You need to make me want to join your side,” my father replies, wrapping his other arm around me. “For right now, she’s all I care about. You… you’re great big homicidal temptation. It’s up to you to kill that temptation for me—so I don’t kill you.”
“Oh Vincenzo’s gots war on the brain. Don’t mind him. We just walked through Battery Park,” Lanette explains, looping her arm through his. “Remember Vincenzo, I tolds ya all the nice things Tristan here is doing for me.” Vincenzo? Lanette is calling my dad by his formal Italian name. What the Hell?
“I know, Nettie, but after the last time these two knuckleheads got together and don’t get me started on the last disaster my daughter dated for almost three years,” my dad says, holding nothing back. Nettie? What the heck is going on? Pet names?
“Now, stop getting your feathers all ruffled, we still gots dessert and another tour befores that ghost tour tonight. I ain’t spending the rest of this beautiful day with an old curmudgeon,” Lanette orders. My father nods, grumbling.
Then, Lanette shocks the fuck out of me and leans over and kisses him on the cheek—right in front of us. My father’s cranky demeanor changes instantly and his face lights up, a sheepish grin splaying across his face. Lanette leads my father back in to the Oasis as Tristan and I stare at them speechlessly.
“Piper and her match-making,” Tristan finally says. “That girl never gives up.”
“Yeah but… but… my dad lives in New Hampshire, and Lanette lives here,” I argue. “No good can come of this.”
“Sure it can. If it’s meant to be; it’s meant to be.” Tristan shrugs. “Plus, when your dad comes to see Lanette, you can come see me.”
“Yeah, when are you going to hear back about the offer you put on that house?” I ask, feeling a twinge of disappointment. Twinge? Bullshit. Blatant. Fucking. Lie. My entire stomach plummets at the knowledge that he’s going to move down here, out of New Hampshire, away from O’Donnell Industries, and essentially away from me.
“I’d assume some time today,” he answers. “What do you want to do now? Your dad is obviously booked up for the day.” Tristan raises and lowers his eyebrows in a corny, suggestive way.
“Ewww, that’s my dad! Gross,” I groan, nudging him.
“And from what I remember, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. You’ve got needs… he’s obviously still got needs,” Tristan jokes, dodging my elbow to his gut.
“Speaking of those needs,” Tristan closes the space between us. Every part of him is only a hair’s length from me. No part of us is touching, but every part is so close, I can feel his body heat radiating off of him. I want to reach out and touch him, kiss him, taste him. “How about you let me take you back to my room and take care of them for you?”
“Actually, I do want to go back to your room,” I admit, running my hand up his chest. “Let’s go back to the hotel. I want to get some stuff out of my room first.”
“So, uh, when I invited you to my room, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” I say.
“I want to paint you. What’s so wrong with that?” Leah asks, setting up all her paints and other shit I can’t even identify.
“So is this going to be some Titanic thing? Am I going to be naked except for
some big necklace or something?” I ask, trying to be funny.
I don’t want to sound like a pussy here, but the idea of her painting me puts me on edge. I’m not sure if I want to see myself the way she sees me. She could put horns on my head or make me look fat or some shit like that. Yes, I just said, “make me look fat.” Chicks don’t have the corner market on not wanting to look fat. I work out for Christ’s sake, and I work out to look good. And I do look good. If she paints me looking like some beer-guzzling, fat, unkempt dude, then I might lose my shit and have to get fucking therapy or something.
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