She could hear birds chirping, as if talking passionately, on a branch that brushed against the bedroom window. She now lay on her side, and if she just opened her eyes, she'd see those birds. Robins, most likely, as spring was teasing the Northeast. The area was enjoying unusually warm weather, something everyone had seemed to mention yesterday, so as to have anything else to talk about.
Maybe if she didn't open her eyes, none of it would be true.
She'd be back in her apartment, needing to hurry as she'd overslept, and might be late for work.
Perhaps the hand would disappear from her stomach, the hand attached to the man that lie just behind her, his arm draped over her waist.
That last part she wasn't sure she wanted to disappear. The events of last night were coming back to her—the abrupt beginnings and endings of conversation. He'd seemed confused when she alluded to why he left. Was it just that he wanted to hear her say the words? Those awful words, ones she'd never been quite able to say out loud.
"You awake?"
She nodded, still not opening her eyes. There was no need—he could feel the movements of her body, but was unable to see her face in the position they were currently in. It was funny, she realized now, the things that you miss about someone. His voice was thick, still laden with sleep. She'd always been able to tell if he'd been watching her sleep or actually asleep by his voice. It always gave him away. So many nights in their past he'd watched her in the dark. He'd done it on that last night, just before the accident. After he'd taken her skinny-dipping in the pond.
It was like you remember people in parts.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Good. Thank you for staying. I didn't know if you would think. . . I didn't mean to. . . This wasn't about sex."
She finally turned to face him, her eyes now open. He looked at her for a moment, as if taking in what she was saying. There'd been no sexual contact, just his arms around her. There was enough underlying sexual connotations from their contact (as innocent as it was) in both of their minds—perhaps that was what concerned her.
"I know. I didn't stay to have sex with you."
She nodded. "I mean, I didn't think that you wanted that, I just wanted to be clear."
"Can I ask you a question?" he realized that his arm was still around her waist, and he didn't want to remove it. She'd turned around under the weight of it—surely she realized it was there.
"Sure."
"Why didn't you introduce me to Connor?"
"Oh," she now looked down at his arm over her waist. He wondered if she'd say something about it, either because she was uncomfortable or she wanted to change the subject.
But she didn't.
"I didn't want to have to explain it all."
"About the divorce?"
"No about you."
"You never told him about me?"
She shook her head, closing her eyes again. "No."
He tried to tell himself that it wasn't so unusual not to discuss past lovers with new ones. But something about the pained look on her face told him that it wasn't as simple as that.
"So, what happened with you two?"
"It just didn't work out. We wanted different things."
"It seemed like he was still in love with you. Is that mutual?"
"No. That was the problem. I didn't love him like he loved me."
He wanted to ask, but didn't. The reason her marriage broke up was none of his business. Just because they were close at one time didn't give him the right to assume certain liberties.
"He wanted to have kids, and he started pressuring me about it. I finally couldn't take it anymore," she paused, "Have you been married?"
"No. I haven't been in any one area long enough to—that's not true. I haven't wanted to be in a relationship."
Both were quiet for a moment. She hadn't wanted to be in a relationship after him—and she hadn't for a long time. Connor had been different. He loved her, from the moment he first saw her, and she knew it. He was so adamant about his feelings for her, and so kind. She assumed that her affection for him would grow over time. Not into what she and Tristan had. . . she had no such hopes. But it hadn't, and she'd never been very good at lying.
"So, tell me about Africa."
"It was amazing. It was hard to go on one hand; I mean leaving Mom was hard. And now, I wish I had that time. . . But then it seemed like my only lifeline. When I first got there I relished in going out and really discovering the area. The people were amazing. I taught in a small village, elementary school-aged kids. Often times they'd invite me to their homes for dinner. The people there were so gracious—they wanted to take care of me since I was a single woman, even though I had so much more than they did."
He listened to her, completely enthralled in her story. Here was this woman that he knew so well, yet there were entire chunks of her history that he would have sworn were the tales of a completely separate person. She could probably say the same of him.
"I'd been there over a year when I met Connor. He's a photographer, and he ended up there doing a shoot for a collection he wanted to put together. Anyway, when he was done with his work, he stayed with me, trying to talk me into coming back to the States. I wasn't ready to go back, and I signed on for another term. I think I was trying to push him away then—I knew he wanted to marry me," she looked down at the last part, unable to meet his eyes.
Tristan had no words. He'd imagined that she moved on, but to know that she felt she had to go so far to get on with her life—to carve out a completely different existence—it was mind-boggling. He'd left to give her that space; he'd even told her so in the letter he'd sent her. Apparently that hadn't been enough.
"So, you stayed?"
"Yeah. He left, he told me he would go with or without me. I think he thought I'd change my mind, realizing that I had to be with him, but it wasn't how I felt. I told him as much, I was fair about it."
"So, he left you in Africa?"
"Yep. He left and went to find Mom. He introduced himself, and told her that he wanted to marry me."
"Huh."
"The next time I called home, Mom told me that he really seemed to love me, and asked if I loved him. I told her that I cared for him, but I wasn't sure it was right."
"I know."
"Wh—what? How?"
"Lorelai found me after that."
"You knew I was married?"
"No. I didn't know if it happened, exactly."
He had no idea how she'd managed to find him—he'd been in Germany until just hours before. No one was supposed to know he was home. He had a long enough leave to come home to Hartford for some time with his family. It was rare, and he decided the time off at home would be good for him. Standing now in the foyer of his parents' house, Lorelai stood in front of him. She looked concerned, and had just said that she had to talk to him, it was an emergency.
It was about Rory.
"Look, Lorelai, it's been made very clear to me that she doesn't want me in her life."
"Tristan, she might be getting married."
His attention was fully caught, and he was surprised at the strength of his own reaction even after this time had passed. His stomach clenched down and he felt it fall out. It was as if she'd just punched him instead of saying the words she had spoken.
"So?"
"Don't act all unaffected, Tristan. This is me."
"Look, it's her life. It's not my business."
"So, you don't care that she's going to marry some man that she doesn't really love because she thinks you don't care about her?"
"Why would she think that?"
"You never came back, Tristan."
He looked at her in confusion. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe she didn't know the fine details of the night—she hadn't been right there when he was told to leave. She'd been where he'd wanted to be so desperately; with Rory. At her side.
"What do you want from me?"
"I just thought you'd like all the information. She still loves you," she informed him.
"No, she doesn't. Now, if you'll excuse me," he couldn't believe her, it was too much now.
"Tristan, I am not making light of this. She is going to marry another man. Can you live with that?"
"I don't have a choice."
"Yes, you do. That's why I'm here. Look, I don't know for sure why you didn't come back. I know you were there at first, and you wanted to be with her. I could see it in your eyes, and I'm sorry that I didn't make them let you in—I was in panic mode. I just wanted to see her. I can guess what happened," she said knowingly, "But I don't know. Just know this—Rory wants you in her life. The question is, do you want her in yours?"
"It is not as simple as that."
"You're right, it's not simple. But it is possible."
He stood, speechless now, looking at her. She nodded, having said what she came to say. She wasn't meddling—she didn't want Rory to make a mistake. He couldn't put what he'd thought to be true for so long behind him.
"Okay, well, I should go."
He nodded, watching as she turned and walked out the front door, leaving him in her wake.
Rory continued to look at him, but now it was his turn to look away.
"I can't believe she told you that."
He shrugged. "Obviously she was right, you didn't love him."
She nodded, and put her hand on his cheek, turning his head towards her a bit. "You thought that I didn't want you around?"
He nodded stiffly, not wanting to cry. He wasn't a crier. Except evidently, when it came to her.
"Oh."
He didn't know. It was the only thought in her head. What she couldn't figure out was why he would think such a thing, especially after the evening they'd shared just before. They were barely two separate people anymore before the accident ripped everything apart.
"I thought, at first when you didn't come, that maybe something had happened," her voice broke, her tears not as controlled as his.
"To me?"
"I thought maybe you were in worse shape than me, or that you'd. . ."
"You were afraid I'd died?"
"No one would tell me anything, and I," she shook with the fresh tears. It was all too vivid in her memory.
"I'm so sorry," he pulled her in close to him, cradling her against his chest. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, not knowing what else to say. He knew the terror of not knowing if she were going to live. He had woken up in a cold sweat for months, hearing that nurse's voice in his mind.
She pulled back a little, the tears ceasing a bit. She looked long and hard into his eyes, at the man that she'd seen her entire future in at one time. It was all still there, but clouded over by so many roadblocks—the known and the unknown. Looking into his eyes now was like a window into the past. She needed answers.
"You said you came. What made you leave?"
He looked back into her eyes, willing her to take back the question. It all came down to this—his weakness, guilt, and broken heart. He wanted to preface his response by saying he knew now that he should have fought harder, pressed the issues more, taken whatever was thrown in his way, anything but walk out of the hospital. There was no way after she heard his words that she could accept them. He hadn't done enough.
And now he had to tell her.
AN: about the cliffhangers—if I continued on with the next portions, these chapters would run all together, creating just one large mega-chapter. It's more fun this way, as well, I won't lie. Thank you for each and every review, I'm so glad you're enjoying my angsty drama.