by H. M. Ward
I hope I can help her find her way back. I know deep down, under all that grief and pain, she’s still in there. Every day is a struggle, but in the end she has to be the one to decide to keep fighting.
She squeezes my shoulder. “Call Trystan. He still doesn’t know his lines.”
“How do you know that?”
She pads toward the door. “Because he told me not to tell you, but he still can’t remember his lines. Was he like this in high school? No wonder you wanted to kill him half the time.” She grabs a scarf from the hook and puts it around her neck before grabbing her keys.
“Yeah, he was. I think he has dyslexia or something because he couldn’t seem to see the script.”
“Was he ever tested?”
“I don’t know. When I mentioned it back then, he didn’t want to talk about it. I guess it’s a sore spot.”
“Good thing he has you, Drill Sergeant Mari. Go beat his part into his brain.” She smiles and waves as she heads out the door.
I pick up my phone and dial my old number. Trystan answers on the first ring. “Mari, what’s wrong?” Music blares behind him and suddenly stops. He must be at rehearsal for his next record.
“Nothing, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to contact you, so I used this number.” I kind of like that he jumped to get the phone, even though it was a little evil of me. I did have his other number, but I assumed I’d be routed through an assistant. “I’ll be quick—Katie mentioned you’re still having trouble with your lines.”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat and laughs, but it's too high-pitched. His voice drops as he replies. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got it.”
“You’ve learned them?”
“Yup.”
“All of them?”
“Of course.” He sounds like his mind is far away, and I can hear him picking at the strings on his guitar.
I spit out a line from the movie, “I had to see you again. To be this close and pretend you didn’t exist, I’m sorry. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay away.” I wait a moment and when he doesn’t jump on his line, I prompt him. “And now it’s your turn.”
“Something about a plane,” he says in a flat voice, and I picture him sitting on a speaker in those old ripped jeans and leather jacket, kicking the scuffed toe of his boot against the floor. His hair is probably hanging in his eyes so no one can see his face and he’s not smiling. He’s embarrassed, but he’s hiding it with humor and charm—the way he always has.
I can’t help it. I laugh. “A plane? Trystan!”
“Yes?”
“Do you want help?”
“I was going to show up and improv the whole thing, but I’m guessing they’ll like your idea better.”
“And what’s my idea?”
“Learning the script.” I swear he’s pouting. I hear him suck in a breath and picture him pushing his hair out of his face and smiling. “Fine, but I can’t go to Katie’s anymore. We need to meet somewhere else, and coming here won’t be easy on you and Derrick. The press will say things he won’t like. I’m not sure where else to meet.”
“Let me take care of that. You finish your... whatever you’re doing, and I’ll give Bob an address. See you later.”
There’s a pause, before he says, “Mari?”
“Yeah?” My heart starts thumping all wonky like a flat tire.
The silence stretches on for a moment, and then he lets out a little breath. “Nothing. I’ll see you later.”
I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand. Every time I talk to him I feel like I did in high school as if no time has passed at all. But ten years have passed, and lots of things have happened.
Life occurs in segments, little bursts of time setting us on a course. Our little boat floats out into vast waters, sailing along until a storm comes to knock us off course—or worse. How many people are floating around, lost? I’m not even sure I am floating anymore. It’s more like I’m trying to break my boat free from years of rot after it’s been filled with sediment and settled on the ocean floor.
I’m not a bad person, but I don’t like what my life’s become. I go through the motions, day in and day out, and for what? At one time, I had an answer to that. Now I feel like I’ll be shoveling silt out of my hull for eternity.
Chapter 28
Mari
When I find a place that works, I tell Bob where to drop Trystan off and what we’re doing. He’s relieved someone is finally helping Trystan. Bob thinks if Trystan backs out of the movie deal, everything will fall apart—that everyone is waiting to watch Trystan crash and burn. Since he’s been in the crashing phase for a while now, burning can’t be too far away.
Something inside me snaps into place. I feel it move from a callous, 'I don’t care what happens to him' thought, to an 'over my dead body' notion. Before I have time to analyze the reason it happened, I’m convincing Bob that Trystan won’t burn at all—not while I’m around.
Is that something I can offer? I don’t know, but either way, I sound confident I can prevent it from happening. Bob is partly right about the movie, but the things that could break Trystan are unseen. Things happening behind the scenes are so hard on him right now. He hasn't mentioned his mother since the night I read him the note. I’m sure that’s eating at him, along with many other things.
I’m sitting at a table in a diner on Deer Park Avenue, not far from my old high school, waiting for Derrick. I have a glass of water, and I’ve been watching beads of condensation slide down the side.
When he walks through the door, he scans each table until he sees me. He crosses the restaurant in long, lean strides, with a grin on his face and his rarely seen dimple showing. He looks beautiful today, all decked out in a gray suit and shiny shoes. He lightly brushes his lips against mine before sliding into the booth across from me.
“So what’s the occasion?” He settles in across from me, obviously wondering why I dragged him half way across Suffolk County to a diner he’s never heard of before.
I hand him a menu and explain. “I’m just feeling nostalgic. I used to come here after class with Katie. I thought it’d be nice to have some memories here with you, too.”
He glances around. “Ah, so this is the place where you two went and got in trouble.”
I grimace. “I never got in trouble.”
He laughs and scans the menu. “That’s not what I heard. Your father was adamant about that, especially where your, and I quote, 'idiot ex-boyfriend' was involved. I now assume he was referring to Trystan.” He glances up at me. “Is it okay to talk about that? I’m not being an asshole, am I?”
He’s sweet to ask. I reach across the table and take his hands. “No, of course not. We should be able to talk about anything.” It feels like we’re walking on eggshells with this topic. Derrick swings from being completely understanding to beyond irritated in a blink. I’m certain it’s because fame is involved. A guy’s ego is a fragile thing. I don’t want Derrick thinking that he’s living in the shadow of a legacy. That time in my life is over.
He presses his lips together into a tight smile. “Good, that's how I feel, too. So, I need to know—”
Apparently it’s awkward question time. “I mean it, ask anything.” I rub his hand gently and then sit back in the booth.
He opens his mouth, makes a false start, and snaps it shut. The second time he starts over, he actually speaks. “Why did you guys break up? He doesn’t seem like an asshole and, from what I can tell, you don’t hate him—so what happened?”
This is the sore spot, because there is no real answer. “He left me, and it ended. That’s it. I did hate him for a while, but that’s in the past. I can't walk around hating his guts. It’s exhausting.” I laugh, trying to make light of it.
“Yeah, but you guys seem like friends again now. So everything is all right?”
“As much as it can be. I’m going to help him with his lines again later.” Our food arrives, and I dig into my gigantic salad, but De
rrick just stares at his sandwich. “What’s the matter?”
Derrick appears as if he’s thinking too hard. His brow is furrowed and there are worry lines etched into his forehead. “I think I’ve been pretty supportive, but this guy is your ex. Would you be okay with me hanging out with my ex-girlfriend? By the way, she’s a supermodel, incredibly funny, and rocket-scientist smart.” His tone is light, but his hands are on either side of his plate and his eyes are locked onto mine, worried.
I reach out and rest my hand on top of his. “I don’t cheat, and there’s no way he’s stealing me away from you. If he makes you uncomfortable, I won’t do it. You come first, Derrick.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to be that guy. You do what you think is best.” He watches me for a moment as if trying to put his finger on a thought that won’t sit still.
I shovel more salad into my mouth and feel a little self-conscious. “What? You want some?”
He smiles softly and shakes his head. “I think he did something to you, and you didn’t forgive him. You’re still mad about it.”
I nearly drop my fork and spew salad across the diner. Derrick has never been that perceptive before. There are two ways to play this, denial or tell him the truth.
You’re getting married, putz. Tell him the truth.
I frown and lean back in the booth. “You’re right. He did something, and I can’t let it go so there’s no future for us like that. Trystan banished his ass to the friend-zone for eternity.”
“What’d he do?” Derrick is careful. He knows he’s poking sore spots and, based on the way he’s hiding behind his plate, he knows I don’t want to answer.
“Okay. I’ll drop it.” He doesn’t push it further, just picks up his food and takes a bite. The lack of argument is anticlimactic. I want him to care enough to press me. I want him mad enough to threaten to beat Trystan to a pulp, but he doesn’t. “Well, he seems like a good guy. Would it be weird if I asked him to play a little one-on-one this weekend?”
What the hell? He was just asking me to distance myself from Trystan, but he wants to be buds with the guy? Derrick seems bipolar at times. It’s as if there’s a great guy and a total dick fighting for control of his brain at all times.
I hide my surprise and wave my fork in the air, trying to make light of things. “Ah, so there’s a bromance brewing?”
“Ha. Funny. Nah, I just thought if he’s going to be around you, I should get to know him better.”
I nod agreeably because I don’t know what I think of the whole thing, but I manage to conceal my thoughts by focusing on my food for the rest of the conversation. My mind won’t let go of the thought of the two of them being friends.
Why is that bad? It’d be like Derrick and Seth being close. That wouldn’t have been weird, so why does it bother me that he wants to spend time with Trystan?
Maybe it’s because I didn’t sleep with Seth. I wasn’t madly in love with Seth, either. That changes things. A fiancé shouldn't be all friendly with a guy that nailed his girl. It is weird and makes me feel like a concubine or something.
“Earth to Mari,” Derrick snaps his fingers in front of my face. The doggie snap needs to stop. Maybe I should be glad he’s not using one of those dog training clickers.
I smile and shake off the unsavory thoughts. “What? What’d I miss?”
“When are we having dinner with your father?”
I roll my eyes. I can’t help it. “You’re such a suck-up. I can’t believe you asked his permission to marry me.”
After the blow up in the restaurant I chased Derrick into the park. My engagement is embarrassing on two levels—one he initially threw the ring at me, and two, when I tried to apologize, he laughed it off and said that was his proposal. He knew we were meant to be because I ran after him. The whole temper tantrum was a test and I passed. He slipped the ring on my finger and I kept it there.
He never really asked me.
I didn’t have that dream moment where the world stops as he waits for me to say yes.
To add to that mess, Derrick asked my father’s permission, so Dad thinks that I had a romantic proposal. I didn’t intend to hide the facts, but now they seem embarrassing. I’m such an asshat that I screwed up my engagement. There’s no way to say that and have it come out right, so when people ask, I skip from the beginning of the story to the ring. Add one big ass bride-to-be smile and no one asks questions.
Derrick chews his food loudly, and takes a swig of soda. “Have you met that man? He’s not someone I want to piss off for eternity. I’m on enough shitlists as it is.”
“What do you mean?”
He wipes his face with the napkin and then confesses, “I haven't, um, told my mom about our engagement.”
I shriek, “What?” Everyone around us stops what they’re doing and stares. I wave and smile like Miss America, my face turning red.
Derrick chucks my chin. “Awh, you’re so cute. But seriously, I told her about you, just not that I proposed.”
Yeah, I can understand skipping that part since it was a train wreck, but not telling his mother?
I blink, shocked. “She’s going to kill you. You know that, right?”
His mom lives in Jersey. I’ve yet to meet her, but I spoke to her on the phone a couple of times. She sounds like a cookie-baking kind of mom, busting with pride at his achievements. The apocalypse couldn’t keep her away from him in an emergency.
“I know. I feel kind of bad about it, which is why I thought we should have an engagement party pretty quickly. My mom can meet your dad, and they can compare notes on how hard it is to raise kids and all that crap. It will be a great opportunity for your dad to see how much I adore you.” He drowns a few fries in ketchup before shoving them in his mouth.
“And your brother?”
“He'll keep his mouth shut all night and be a perfect gentleman.”
I laugh, certain that won’t happen. “A party? We’re going to have an engagement party?”
“Yes, with all our friends and family.” He takes my hand and kisses the ring he put on my finger. “Say yes.”
“Of course. Yes.”
He sighs and wipes his forehead as if he were sweating. “I was afraid you’d say no. Mari is usually anti-party. That’s going to be interesting when you’re the bride and the center of attention. Better get used to it future Mrs. Derrick Pynea.”
Chapter 29
Mari
“Bob, Bob, Bob.” I’m saying his name over and over again, playing with the way I move my mouth. I feel like a fish. The more I say it, the more his name sounds like ‘blob.’
I’m standing outside the diner, in the back parking lot, hidden from the main road by the building. Trees line the streets of the old neighborhood. My eyes rest on some little kids across the street playing at the McDonald’s, fixating on this one little boy who’s crying. He stands at the bottom of the slide with tears on his chubby cheeks and doesn’t move. He’ll stay like that until his mom comes and gets him. I didn’t see what happened, but I want to watch her reaction. This moment is the kind of thing that I missed out on with my mother.
A woman a little younger than me appears wearing sweats and sneakers, her hair tucked behind her ears. She kneels in front of him and smiles, kissing his face as she scoops him up into her arms.
Something inside my chest squeezes tight and I realize something—I want that.
I never noticed it before now, but I want that. I want to be a mother and a wife. I want to offer my kid the affection I didn’t have. Until now, I wasn’t interested in anything but working. I put happiness on hold and buried myself face-first in books and then in work until I had no life left.
For a long time, I wanted nothing to do with marriage or babies. No, thank you. I wanted to be independent. I wanted to do things on my own terms, my own way. I didn’t want to be joined at the hip with someone, and I sure as hell didn’t want to get knocked up and be trapped at home with a tiny helpless human. I’m an onl
y child, and it shows. I have no idea how to act around babies because I've never really been around them.
But watching the little boy and his mom makes me realize I’ve not moved forward, not in a long time. I don’t think about anything except work. I only talk about patients and Dad. Until the night Trystan showed up in the ER, I'd barely taken a day off.
I pop my lips and resume my bobbing.
His voice coming from behind me scares me out of my skin. “How many times are you going to say my name? I’m not sure if I should be flattered or afraid.”
I turn around slowly, smiling like a goofball. I wave awkwardly, wondering how long Bob and Trystan have been standing behind me. Trystan is wearing ripped jeans, a white t-shirt, and faded black Chucks. There’s a red cap on his head obscuring his face somewhat. Bob’s wearing a Men In Black suit.
I twist my hands in front of me, feeling my face catch fire. “Yeah, so, you heard that?”
“Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob,” Trystan mocks, then starts laughing. He’s laughing so hard he can barely stand up straight.
Bob wears a concerned look, like he's afraid I might have been hexing him. “If you’re done with whatever that was, let’s move on before he’s ambushed by fans.”
I salute Bob and grab Trystan by the crook of his elbow. He giggles and nearly trips over his feet. “This way, Mr. Scott. We have to shove you in my trunk.”
“Hey!” He straightens, finds his footing, and walks toward my car.
“Nice giggle, by the way.”
He smirks at me and tugs down his visor. “You liked it.”
“I did. It was very manly.”
Trystan chortles again and gets into my car. “Shut up, Jennings, and drive.”
“It's Dr. Jennings, to you. Don’t make me kick your disrespectful ass.” Trystan snorts and sinks back into the seat, slouching down so he isn’t as tall. It must be weird to spend your whole life hiding.