The Air He Breathes

by Brittainy C. Cherry

  She thanked me, then climbed out of the car to get into hers. “Tristan?” she said, wiggling her nose.

  “Yes?”

  “Tonight I was pretty immature and broken, but you handled it like a champ, kind of like a father to my childish ways. Charlie was lucky to have you as his dad.”

  I smiled. She had no clue how much that meant to me.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed. “And I’m sorry for calling you an asshole.”

  “You didn’t call me an asshole.”

  She nodded. “Trust me. I did. One more thing as a thank you…” She hurried over to Elizabeth’s bedroom window and pounded on it. When Elizabeth opened the window, I couldn’t help but smile. She was always so beautiful. Always. “Hey, Liz?” Faye said, looking at her sleepy best friend.

  “Yes?”

  “Give this guy a blow job tonight as a ‘thank you’ from me.” She smiled, leaned in, and kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Night, babe.” With that, Faye hurried away, seeming much happier than when she’d been crying not too long before. Sometimes all a broken heart needed was a bag of shit and a little fire.

  Elizabeth climbed out her window, walked over to me, and I wrapped her in a hug. “Did you do something good for my bestie tonight?” she asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled me in closer and rested her head on my chest. “Babe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s that smell?”

  “Trust me…” I looked down at my socks, which had at one point been white, but were now semi-brown. “You don’t want to know.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Elizabeth

  “Well, don’t just stand there staring at me. Aren’t you happy to see me?” Mama smiled, standing on my porch with a suitcase in her hand.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, confused. I glanced toward the BMW sitting in front of my house, wondering what in the world my mother had gotten herself involved with now—or more likely, who.

  “What? Your mother can’t come visit? You haven’t been answering my calls, and I missed my daughter and granddaughter. Is that such a crime? You won’t even give me a hug hello!” She huffed.

  I leaned in to hug her. “I’m just surprised to see you. Sorry I haven’t called, I’ve been busy.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is your forehead bleeding?”

  I ran my fingers across my forehead and shrugged. “Ketchup.”

  “Why is there ketchup on your forehead?”

  “I WANT TO EAT YOUR BRAINNNNNS!” Tristan said, walking past the foyer as he chased after a zombified Emma with spaghetti noodles in his hands and ketchup dripping from his face.

  Mama’s head tilted to the left and her stare followed Tristan. “I guess you have been busy.”

  “It’s not what it looks like—” I started, but Emma cut me off.

  “Grandma!” she screamed, running to the door and jumping into Mama’s arms.

  “My little sweet pea,” Mama replied, wrapping Emma in her arms and getting covered in ketchup. “Well, aren’t you a messy thing today?”

  “Mama, Tick, and I were playing zombie and vampires!”

  “Tick?” Mama turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “You let a man named Tick into your house?”

  “Are you really judging the type of men I let into my house? Do you not remember some of the men who walked into yours?”

  She smiled wickedly. “Touché.”

  “Tristan,” I called. He came over, rubbing his fingers through his ketchup-filled hair.

  “Yeah?” He smiled my way before turning to look at Mama.

  “This is my mother, Hannah. Mama, this is my neighbor, Tristan.”

  His stare met mine, and I watched his lips turn down for a split second, almost as if he was disappointed in my word choice. Soon enough he was smiling and shaking Mama’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Hannah. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “That’s funny.” Mama nodded. “Because I haven’t heard a word about you.”

  Silence.

  Awkward silence.

  “So, should I join you all in the awkward silence, or should I wait by the car?” a man joked, walking up the steps of the porch with a suitcase of his own. He wore glasses and a mustard button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans.

  Mama must’ve been on a nerdy boyfriend kick. I wonder if he’s a wizard.

  Silence.

  Extremely awkward silence.

  The man cleared his throat and held his hand out toward Tristan, probably because he noticed Tristan wasn’t giving him an intense look of confusion like I was. “I’m Mike.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” Tristan replied.

  “What happened to Richard?” I whispered toward Mama.

  “It didn’t work out,” she replied.

  Shocking.

  “So, Mike and I were hoping we could stay the night here. I mean, we could get a hotel room but…I thought it would be nice for us all to have a dinner together and hang out.”

  “Mama, tonight is my birthday party. Emma is going over to Kathy and Lincoln’s place for the night.” I frowned. “You should’ve called.”

  “You wouldn’t answer.” Her cheeks blushed over, and she fiddled with her fingers, almost as if she was embarrassed. “You wouldn’t answer, Liz.”

  And just like that, I felt like the crappiest daughter ever. “We can still do dinner, though…I can cook your favorite meal if you want. And you can watch Emma. I can call and cancel the plans with Kathy.”

  Her cheeks rose, and her smile stretched. “That would be wonderful! Tick—er—Tristan, you should join us for dinner.” Her eyes rolled over his body once with a look of disappointment. “Though maybe you should shower first.”

  “You still make the best chicken parmesan I’d ever had, Liz,” Mama complimented me as we sat around the dining room table.

  “She’s not lying, this is amazing,” Mike agreed. I gave him a tight smile and thanked them both. Mike seemed nice, which was a big improvement from the last creep I’d seen Mama with. Every now and then he would reach across the table and hold Mama’s hand, which actually made me feel bad for the guy. He looked at her with such lovey-dovey eyes; I was sure it was only a matter of time before she hurt him.

  “So, Mike, what do you do?” Tristan asked.

  “Oh, I’m a dentist. I’m in the process of taking over the family business because my dad is retiring in a year.”

  That makes sense. Mama had a way of choosing men who had bigger wallets than most.

  “Very cool,” Tristan replied. Everyone kept chatting, but I stopped listening; my eyes were glued to Mike massaging Mama’s hand. How did she never feel guilty about using men the way she did? How did it never get to her?

  “So how did you two meet?” I blurted out, making everyone’s stare turn to me. My chest felt tight, and my mind felt tired from seeing Mama using yet another man. “Sorry, just curious. Because last I heard Mama was seeing a man named Roger.”

  “Richard,” Mama corrected me. “His name was Richard. And frankly I don’t like the tone in your voice, Liz.” Her face was turning red, either from embarrassment or from anger, and I knew she would scold me in private soon enough.

  Mike squeezed Mama’s hand. “It’s okay, Hannah.” Mama took a deep breath, as if his words were all she needed to hear to calm her down. Her shoulders relaxed, and the redness on her cheeks began to fade. “Your mother and I actually met at my office. Richard was one of my patients, and she came with him while he was getting a root canal.”

  “Figures,” I muttered. She’d already been scoping around for another man while still with one.

  “It’s not what you think.” Mike smiled.

  “Trust me, Mike. I know my mother; it is what I think.”

  Mama’s eyes watered over, and Mike kept squeezing her hand. He looked at her, and it was almost as if they had a complete conversation without any words needed. She shook her head once, and Mike looked my way. “Anyway
, that doesn’t matter. What matters is right now, we are happy. Right now things are good.”

  “In fact, things are so good in that…we’re getting married,” Mama said.

  “What?” I hollered, all color draining from my face.

  “I said—”

  “No, I heard you the first time.” I turned to Emma and smiled brightly. “Baby, you want to go pick out some pajamas for tonight?” She complained for a while before hopping out of her seat and heading to her bedroom. “What do you mean you’re getting married?” I said to the apparently engaged couple, completely flabbergasted.

  There were two things Mama never did:

  1. Fell in love.

  2. Talked about marriage.

  “We’re in love, Liz,” Mama said.

  What?!

  “It’s kind of why we came down here,” Mike explained. “We wanted to tell you face to face.” He laughed, nervously. “And now it’s awkward.”

  “I think the word of the day is awkward.” Tristan nodded.

  I twisted toward Mama and whispered, “How much debt are you in?”

  “Elizabeth!” she hissed. “Stop it.”

  “Are you losing the house? If you needed money you could’ve asked me.” My throat tightened and I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sick, Mama? Is there something wrong?”

  “Lizzie,” Tristan said, reaching out to touch my hand, but I snatched it away.

  “I’m just saying,”—I chuckled, running my hands through my hair—“I just can’t think of any reason why you would rush into something like this if you weren’t in debt or dying.”

  “Maybe because I’m in love!” she cried, her voice shaky. She pushed herself up from the table. “And maybe, just maybe, I wanted my daughter to be happy for me, but that seems to be too much to ask for. Don’t worry, go to your party tonight and when morning comes I will be out of your hair forever!”

  She stormed off to the guest room and slammed the door behind her. Mike gave me a tight smile before excusing himself to go check on her.

  “Ugh!” I stood up from the table. “Can you believe her?! She’s just so…dramatic!”

  Tristan snickered.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. It’s just…”

  “Just? Just what?”

  He laughed again. “It’s just that you are so much like your mother.”

  “I am nothing like my mother!” I screeched, maybe a hair too loud, maybe a hair too dramatic.

  He continued laughing. “The way your nose flares when you’re pissed off, or how you bite your bottom lip when you’re embarrassed.”

  I stared at him with disgust. “I’m not going to listen to this. I’m going to get dressed.” Storming off, I paused halfway. “And I am NOT storming off like she did!”

  Though perhaps I did slam my door.

  Within seconds, my door was opened, and Tristan leaned against the doorframe, calm as ever. “Almost identical.”

  “My mother uses men to forget her own issues. She’s a mess. Mike is just another man who’s going to be let down. She’s unable to commit to anything or anyone because she never truly got over my dad dying. Watch, she’ll probably walk down the aisle and have that poor guy thinking he actually has a shot at a happily ever after, when in all reality, happily ever afters don’t exist. Life isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a Greek tragedy.”

  Tristan ran his fingers against the back of his neck. “But isn’t that what we did? Didn’t we use each other because we missed Steven and Jamie?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” I said, my fingers tapping against my sides. “I’m nothing like her. And it’s really rude of you to even think something like that.”

  “You’re right. What would I know anyway?” He frowned and brushed his thumb against his jaw. “I’m just the neighbor.”

  Oh, Tristan.

  “I…I didn’t mean it like that when I said it earlier.” I was the worst person alive, I was certain of that much.

  “No, it’s fine. And it’s true. I mean, it was stupid of me to think…” He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Look, Lizzie. We’re both still mourning. We probably went at this thing—whatever this is between us—in completely the wrong way. And I hold nothing against you for just wanting to be my neighbor. Hell…” He laughed nervously and stared straight into my eyes. “If all I’ll ever be to you is your neighbor, then that’s good enough for me. That’ll be enough. It’s a fucking honor to be your neighbor. But seeing as how I accidentally fell in love with you, I think it might be best if I clear my head and skip the birthday get-together tonight.”

  “Tristan, no.”

  He shook his head. “It’s fine. Really, it is. I’m just going to say goodnight to Emma and then head home.”

  “Tristan,” I said once more, but he walked out of the room. I hurried into the hallway. “Tristan! Stop!” I jumped up and down like a child, pounding my feet against the ground. “Stop, stop, stop!” He turned back to me, and I saw the pained expression that I’d caused to exist within his eyes. I walked to him and took his hands in mine. “I’m a mess. Each day, every day, I’m a complete mess. I say stupid things like I did today. I make mistakes as if ‘mistakes’ is my middle name. I’m hard to handle, and sometimes I hate my mother because deep down inside I know I am my mother. And just like everything else in my life, that’s hard for me to deal with.” I held his hands against my chest. “And I’m sorry you had to witness the broken Elizabeth during dinner, but you are the one thing that makes sense to me. You are the one thing I don’t want to mess up. And you are so, so much more than just my neighbor.”

  He placed his lips against my forehead. “Are you sure?” he questioned.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’ll get there.” He hugged me, and I felt a little better already. “I should go get dressed.” I sighed against him.

  “Okay.”

  “And you should come help me.”

  So he did.

  “Just for future reference, when I have a breakdown about my mother, you’re supposed to agree with me no matter how much logic I am missing.” I smirked, pulling my shirt over my head and sliding out of my jeans.

  “Sorry, I missed that memo. Yes! Gah! Your mother, she’s such a monster!” Tristan made a grossed out face.

  My lips curved up as I stepped into my dress. “Thank you! Now can you zip me?”

  “Of course.” His hands landed on my hips before his fingers moved up and zipped my red, curve-hugging dress. “And what’s up with all that perfume she wears? Way too much Chanel.”

  “Exactly!” I swung around to him and playfully slapped his chest. “Wait. How did you know what kind of perfume she wears?”

  His lips found my neck, and he softly kissed me. “Because her daughter wears the same kind.”

  I smiled. Maybe parts of me were extremely like Mama. “I should probably apologize to her for my freak-out, huh?”

  He cocked a brow. “Is this a trick question?”

  I laughed. “No.”

  “Then yes, I think you should, but not until after you have an awesome birthday tonight. Your mom loves you and you love her. I think you’ll both be okay.”

  I sighed, kissed his lips, and nodded once. “Okay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tristan

  “I should let you go in first,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “It’s your party, and I think you should have your moment.” I stood tall in my dark blue button-down shirt and dark jeans.

  “We can go in together,” she said.

  I hesitated. “People will think we’re a couple.”

  She held her hand out toward me with the most beautiful smile on her lips. “Aren’t we?”

  Man. With those two words from her mouth, I felt like such a damn giddy asshole.

  God, I love her.

  Even though we both were sure about each other, it didn’t mean everyone
else in Meadows Creek would be as okay with the idea. As we walked into the bar, everyone shouted ‘Happy birthday!’ to Elizabeth, and I stepped to the side to allow all the hugs to begin.

  She looked so happy from the love she was receiving.

  Those were my favorite moments to take in.

  It didn’t take long for the music to turn loud and the drinking to begin. Shots were being taken left and right, and the gossiping ladies of Meadows Creek were growing louder and louder as they watched Elizabeth and my every move.

  After taking another shot of some nasty alcohol with her, I leaned in and whispered against her hair, “Are you okay? With the looks from people? Because if you’re not comfortable, I can stop touching you.”

  “I love when you touch me. Don’t stop touching me. It’s just…hard. Everyone’s judging us,” she whispered with a frown. “Everyone’s watching us.”

  “Good,” I replied. My fingers touched her lower back and her body relaxed, curving into mine. “Let them watch.”

  She smiled wide and looked at me as if I was all she could see. “Kiss me?” she asked.

  My lips against hers were my answer.

  The night went from a calm beginning to a quick trip down drunken lane. I knew Elizabeth was going to be pretty intoxicated, so I made sure to stop drinking hours before we were going to leave. I was quick to sober up, and one of the most annoying things about being sober was dealing with the drunk people. Every now and then, Elizabeth would get pulled into conversations with the book club ladies—who she hated. I overheard them talking to her, making her feel guilty about us.

  “I can’t believe you are actually with him. It seems way too soon,” one judged.

  “I wouldn’t be able to date for years if I lost my husband,” another echoed.

  “It’s just weird, that’s all. You don’t even know him. I would never bring another man around my kid,” the last one explained.

  Elizabeth handled it like a champ. Maybe because she could hardly stand up straight and was in a happy-drunk bubble. Even so, every now and then, she would look my way and give me the biggest eye roll followed up by her smile.