A/N: Hey all! Sorry for the slight inactivity in updates, there was the week I was spitting out stories and updates left and right, and then I wasn't, but I'm here to tell you I haven't left! My classes and my job have kept me busy, busy but I've been fantasizing about some updates I haven't published yet, SO with that being said, I hope you enjoy this first one!
Chapter 2 – Tobias's POV
I meet with Edgar the next morning to discuss some details about my mother's funeral. "I would like to have a wake for Evelyn," Edgar tells me. I nod.
"Would it be an open wake?" I ask him.
"It would be, I don't want to keep anyone from saying their goodbyes," he says, "but I'm afraid of if Marcus shows up." I already knew Edgar wants to keep the funeral small and private, and I also knew it is because he doesn't want my father to show up. I can't say that I blame him.
"I don't think my father would make a scene if he did," I reassure him. I know for a fact Marcus wouldn't put such a negative impression of himself out there. He wants people to think my parents split because of my mother.
"I don't think so either, I suppose," he says, "Evelyn always told me the same thing."
"If anyone knew my father best, it was my mother," I sigh heavily. Edgar nods solemnly.
"I would like to have her wake on Friday evening at the Marin funeral home, and the funeral on Saturday morning at the Gatling's Chapel." I realize then that all of my plans are set in stone as of this week—the wake on Friday, the funeral on Saturday, and Shauna and Zeke's engagement party the following Sunday.
I feel like a ping pong ball, being thrown into all different directions suddenly. I could cry, or throw up—do I even have a choice to say no to any of this? I don't. I wouldn't want to rearrange anything anyway.
"I will make a few calls and we will have all of this sorted out," Edgar pulls his cellphone out and dials a number. I wait around as he makes some other calls and soon enough it all feels too real. I know what I need to do now, though.
xxxxx
I sit in my truck outside the house I remember too well.
I straighten up, my hands shake, and I feel like all of the air in my throat is trapped. I can't remember the last time I saw Marcus. Perhaps it was before the Christmas of my freshman year—when I finally worked up the courage to tell my mother I wanted nothing to do with seeing him anymore. I remember she told me my arrangements were final that year, but the year after, I don't remember stepping foot through this door again.
I'm not even sure if Marcus is home. I could be waiting for him if he isn't—and that would make this anxiety much worse.
I shake out my hands as I pull the key from the ignition, and I try to shut the door without making any sound. I see the curtain draw back in the front room, and fire burns up my throat. I expect the front door to open up immediately, but then again I haven't come here in so long, perhaps he wants me to stay away.
I could get back into my truck and speed off. I could leave this behind and forget like it ever happened. I could leave Marcus in the dark again.
I have to tell him, however. At one point my father did love my mother. Even if he doesn't care now, I will be free of this guilty conscience.
The door is the only thing between us now. My hand feels like a ton of bricks as I lift it, and knock twice. I don't hear anything at first, and I go to knock louder, feeling a swell of irritation suddenly.
Just as my fingers graze the wood, the door swings open, and Marcus eyes my coldly.
I feel twelve years old again.
"Tobias," Marcus's voice softens momentarily. The weight on my chest is too heavy, crushing, breaking my ribs, and my lungs. It's like if I speak, my voice will be nothing. Fire rips through my chest, and I realize I have forgotten to breath properly.
"Marcus," I try to say, but it sounds wrong. He is my father—but it is hard to call him so.
"I wasn't expecting you."
I clear my throat, "I-I know... I wasn't expecting to be standing here, either."
"Why are you?"
Moment of truth. I breathe through my nose, and open my mouth to speak clearly, "Mom passed away a few days ago... I don't know how much you knew, but she was sick. Leukemia..."
"I spoke with her when she was first hospitalized," Marcus says. I didn't know my parents were on speaking terms—at least not back then. "I didn't know how serious it got."
"The wake is Friday night at four, at the Marin funeral home," I tell him, looking at the ground. Anywhere but his eyes—he doesn't sound heartless, but I can't tell if this is a mask, "The funeral is Saturday morning at eight, at the Gatling's Chapel."
"I will see what I can attend," is all he says. "I'm sure there are a few people that would prefer not to see me." I feel a flare of anger—I'll see what I can attend. Like he has no time for anything, either of us, still.
"More than a few, actually," I say suddenly, meeting his cold stare, "but I just thought the least you could do was pay some respect, if you have any." I don't give him time to say another word. I head down the front steps and I get into my truck, speeding down the road before he has the chance to stop me. Like he can still stop me.
The hardest thing I had to do is finally over, and as the anger sets in, I realize I don't care if Marcus comes or not. At least he knows, but I wouldn't care if he didn't anymore.
xXxXx
Shauna gets home first that night. She notices me at the kitchen table, and I look up at her questioning look.
"You look miserable," she states. I scoff.
"Always Captain Obvious," I tell her. Shauna rolls her eyes.
"What's wrong?" She takes the seat across from me, throwing her jacket onto the back of her chair.
"I went to visit Marcus today," I say, rubbing the palms of my hands together in front of me. Her eyes grow wide, "I can't tell if it was a mistake or not."
"What happened?"
"Edgar and I finished up the details for my mother's services, and I had this voice in my head telling me I should let Marcus know... my mother and father were in love at some point—at least I would hope so. I doubt arranged marriages in America were still a popular thing in the eighties." My parents got married in '82. Then I was born 9 months later, in the early year of '83.
"I think you did something good," Shauna says after a moment, "how did Marcus react?"
"Stone-faced as usual," I shake my head, "I think he's void of all emotions and feelings."
She smirks some, "Well we already knew Marcus was a cold-hearted bastard. Maybe it's best to just leave it the way it is—you told him and that's all you really can do. You can't make Marcus feel what he doesn't want to, or act how he doesn't want to."
"I know," I sigh, "I just can't help feeling disappointed."
"Maybe that's just how things have to be," she shrugs, "You can't change something like that."
"You're right," I say after a moment. For once, she doesn't mock me on admitting that.
"When is the funeral?" She asks lightly.
"The wake is Friday night, and the funeral is Saturday morning."
"Zeke and I will be there," Shauna nods.
"Thank you," I tell her. She smiles.
"You don't have to thank me," she says, "Zeke and I have always been there for you, and we always will be. You know that." I nod, and wonder how I ever got so lucky with good friends.
xXxXx
I have dreaded this day since my mother's diagnosis.
I follow Edgar to the casket, and I feel a wave of nausea wash over me as I look at my mother. She looks like she could be sleeping peacefully, but death and sleep are different. Even now—my mother doesn't look the same at all. Her skin is too bright with all of the make up on her. My mother is beautiful, and she always was, even when cancer took everything from her. Her hair frames her face in chestnut curls, but I know this isn't real. My mother had no hair left, and when she did it was lighter than this. Her mouth naturally curves down, it's where I got it from, but she looks like she could be smiling right now.
I feel cold, and I can't tell if it's because of the sight I am seeing, or because the air conditioning is up too high.
I close my eyes and for a moment I will myself not to lose it all in front of everyone. I think about all of the times I did have with my mother—I think about all the time I spent away from her, too. Even throughout all of the pain she endured, she always found a way to stay positive. I know she wouldn't want me crying, and it is the only thing holding me together right now.
I open my eyes and I wish my mother one final goodbye.
People file into the venue after Edgar and I have kneeled, and they begin their prayers. I have never been a religious person, but I can't help wondering if my mother is watching me up there somewhere.
The worst part about wakes is having to look every single person in the eye as they tell me they are sorry for my loss. I hate it—I feel trapped, and unsure. I know they loved my mother, and they mean well, but each person that tells me this just sounds like a record on repeat.
Edgar has always been good to my mother, but as I stand beside him I feel awkward. I feel like it should be my biological father here; Edgar has no relation to me, other than being my mother's now second ex-husband.
I have to take deep breaths as tears flow down my relatives faces'. I hate tears and I hate hugs, both make me feel uncomfortable. Tears, though natural, are too stifling. And hugs are just too trapping. I feel constricted, and I wanted to pull away quicker than they do. I hope they see it as me trying to keep the line moving.
Shauna and Zeke are next in line, and I see Shauna's eyes watering already. Zeke has always been emotionally stronger than all of us—I'm not sure how he does it, but even with Shauna's waterworks, he manages to keep his face controlled. They each hug me, Shauna holding on tight and Zeke giving me one of his best, reassuring ones. I ask them to remain standing with me so I don't feel so awkward. And my mother would want them here, they were like her own children to her, too.
The service continues on well past eight. I don't see my father once—I'm not really surprised, but I feel the swell of disappointment again, and eventually, after the last few people shuffle out, Edgar and I give our last round of thank you's.
I follow Zeke and Shauna home, where they pull out shot glasses and a bottle of Zeke's best combination—triple sec, lime juice, and vodka.
We toast to my mother.
xxxxx
I remind myself to never allow Zeke to pour me more than five shots in a single setting, especially when my last meal was the day prior to yesterday. Though it was nice to forget why I was sad for a little while.
I am only slightly hungover, but a headache begins to form in the back of my head as I stand up, and get ready for my mother's funeral.
I am not fully ready to say my final goodbye, but I also want today to be over with already. Like if I don't go, or it doesn't happen, then I don't have to say goodbye just yet. I know that is absurd, however.
We head to the chapel around seven-thirty. Edgar waits for us outside as he talks to some of my family I haven't seen in years. Friends of my mother greet me, and exchange small talk. I don't try to stay in the conversation very long, and I'm thankful when Shauna steps in.
Uriah comes up to us at some point, he gives me a gentle smile and then nearly bear-hugs me. I welcome it for once, today I need his help.
The chapel is a long, white building, with a dull pointed roof in the front and black shutters around each window. Flowers are aligned up the banister to the doorway, and my mother's portrait sits outside. People begin to head inside, and I sit beside Edgar in the front pew. Shauna, Uriah and Zeke sit behind us.
As the precession begins, the pastor speaks. I know I should be listening, there is so much put into this that I feel rude. It is only when he begins to talk about her life, that I begin to listen. Soon enough I will be up there speaking—I know my mother would have wanted that.
He finishes his speech and nods to me. I raise from the pew, feeling my hands shake at my sides. I have never been afraid to speak in front of people, but today I am overwhelmed by everything all at once.
I stand next to my mother's portrait, the casket is closed behind me today. Flowers overpower the platform around her. I swallow hard—I have nothing written, or even prepared for this moment. I told Edgar last minute that I wanted to speak, but I don't need it written down.
"Thank you all for being here to celebrate my mother's life," I start, "my mother would have hugged each and every one of you, she was always one for interaction. I think she blossomed in it, she always knew what to say. Even if she only met you once, she never forgot who you were.
My mother was an incredible person. Her life was full of hardship, but she never lost her strength. She never lost hope, and she projected those feelings onto everyone in the room with her. Unfortunately, her strength couldn't keep up forever—which is why we're here, celebrating her today," I see sad smiles and nods from her relatives, I hear sniffles and I see tears forming. I feel my throat tighten, but I have more to say.
"I didn't get to spend as much time with her these last few years," I say slowly, "Now I wish that I did have more time. I wish I had made more time—but I know she wouldn't want me blaming myself, that's just how she was. She was very forgiving, very understanding.
I'm thankful she had Edgar. She didn't fight alone, and he devoted so much time to her, my mother was truly loved. And I know she will be remembered after today, for years to come. Thank you for showing my mother how much she meant to all of you," I say, "It means a lot to her, and to me, and our family."
The service ends around eleven thirty, and we follow the hearse to the cemetery. There are already flowers and ribbons waiting when we find her spot. This is where I see more tears than the service, including my own.
Shauna hugs my arm, wiping away at her own tears. As they lower my mother into the ground, Edgar grabs a handful of dirt. I do the same, and for a moment I believe the wind will take all of it out of my hands.
I ask Zeke and Shauna to grab a handful each as well, and they do without hesitation. Edgar lets me go first, and then him, and Shauna, and then Zeke.
I look up they begin to fill the rest of the dirt in, and I notice my father has not shown up today either. I imagine he didn't show up because of what I said.
"I will see what I can attend... I'm sure there are a few people that would prefer not to see me."
"More than a few, actually. But I just thought the least you could do was pay some respect, if you have any."
I can't say that I am surprised, or even disappointed anymore. Part of me knew he wouldn't show up, whether he knew or not. Shauna believes it wasn't a mistake telling him, and maybe she's right, but I can't help wondering if it was even worth it.
xXxXx
I wish I could freeze time.
Since I have returned, I feel like time has hit the highway and I'm still stuck at a red light. I can barely process anything, and this weekend in particular has hit me like a train.
"So why did you wait so long for the engagement party?" I ask Shauna the next morning. She shrugs, she is standing at the coffee pot by the sink, in Zeke's sweatpants and a black tank top. Bumps form on her skin as she opens the fridge, pulling out the milk.
"Zeke and I were always so busy," she says, "and there is no rush to get married. Hence the March wedding date."
"Smart," I laugh, and joke, "giving yourself enough time to back out." Shauna rolls her eyes.
"If I wanted to back out I would have already," she shakes her head, "I probably would have told him no when he asked."
"So how did he propose?"
Shauna blushes, and it's a rare sight. Out of all the times Zeke and I have ever embarrassed her, she never showed it.
She clears her throat, "I think that's a question for Zeke."
"Why?" I ask, curious by her reaction.
"Trust me, he'll be more than happy to tell you," she says, taking a sip of her coffee so she can keep herself preoccupied. Odd reaction... there's only a few reasons I could think of that would make her act like that.
"I'll have to ask him," I say after a moment. Shauna looks at the ground, her face bright red, nodding. I laugh.
"He didn't ask you in the middle of sex, did he?" I scoff. Shauna chokes on a sip. I knew it... "He did, didn't he?"
"I told you to ask him," she coughs, turning away from me.
"Looks like I didn't have to," I say, laughing. Shauna shoots me a glare once her breathing is under control again. "You said yes right then and there?"
"Okay, enough questions for me! Ask Zeke," she retorts, dumping her coffee into the sink, "I need to get ready."
"Right now?" I ask, "it's only eight."
"If I don't go now, my bridesmaids will have my head," Shauna rolls her eyes, "they'll have me getting ready for hours after the party starts if I don't let them get a head start."
"Girls," I mutter, shaking my head.
"Make sure Zeke is ready before six, please and thank you," with that, she takes off out the door. I suppose I should wake Zeke up—considering Shauna will have my head if Zeke doesn't show up.
xxxxx
The night has finally arrived. Zeke and Shauna's engagement party is in full swing.
The venue is a good size, and given the amount of guests that have attended, it was well needed. The windows across the way stand tall, from the ground beneath my feet to the floor above and so on. The skyline of Chicago is visible from the third floor up above that overlooks the dining room. I can't imagine how much Shauna's parents have paid just to rent this place for the night.
The party is nothing too extraordinary, but it is good to see some old faces. Unfortunately, Eric, my old college roommate, was invited. He was a plus one; I assume he came with Tori, Shauna's old roommate. Shauna works with them too, so I guess it was to be expected.
I take another sip of the lukewarm beer in my hands. Zeke and Shauna mingle with friends, talking about their engagement, taking their time to thank those that came and those that congratulate them, while I stand back and watch the guests talk amongst themselves.
I think about Tris, and wonder where she could be. I haven't seen Uriah yet, either, so they must be arriving together. I wonder about if she were here, attending it with me instead. At least then I wouldn't be so antisocial.
Eric notices me sitting at the bar and takes the seat beside me, holding a beer himself. On an outside look, one would think we were old friends catching up. However, this is highly inconvenient for me.
"Long time no see," he grins, and I notice the piercings still in his lip, but the one in his eyebrow is missing. The hole is still visible, perhaps he only took it out for today. Part of me can't help but wonder how anyone can get over all of that metal in his face, "how long's it been?"
"Eric," I say, keeping my eyes on my friends, "Not long enough..." I think aloud.
"What a warm welcome," he replies sarcastically.
"Well, I didn't exactly wish you a warm farewell either," I state simply.
"Where's your girlfriend?" Eric asks, then feigns an embarrassed laugh, "Oh, that's right..."
"Watch it," I snap, "I'm not about to make a scene at my friends' engagement party, so this is me telling you to kindly fuck off."
"Suit yourself, Eaton," Eric says, standing up. He smirks, then shrugs. "But you know, I did happen to see her here tonight—," I almost choke on a sip, "Just wanted to give you a heads up—the back door is open if you need to run away again." She's here? Since when?
Eric knew I was leaving her behind, when I left. He knew. One day my side of the room had been nearly cluttered by all of my textbooks and school papers, and then next it was all packed away into a single suitcase and on a plane to Boston.
I sigh.
I feel a slight buzz from the alcohol a little while later and decide to stop drinking anything but water. I'm not eighteen anymore, however, I know tonight is not appropriate to get piss-drunk either.
I join Shauna and Zeke and their friends eventually, listening to stories of things that happened when I took myself away from them for four years. We are all a little bit older now, but the stories still sound like us, like them.
They ask me how I've been, I exchanged greetings with new faces, and listen politely or answer their questions about my life in Boston, my job. Some of them that have already heard the news about my mother apologize for my loss but I quickly change the subject; my mother would want this kind of day to be about Shauna and Zeke, her two other "favorite children".
I feel a clap on my shoulder, and turn to see Uriah grinning at me. He wishes a congratulations to his brother and sister-in-law, and I notice a familiar blonde standing just a few feet away.
Tris. My Tris. She is actually here, and almost standing in front of me. Her eyes look away as quickly as they meet mine, and I notice her turn away quickly. Not the reaction I wanted, but definitely the one I expected.
"Nice to see you again, man," Uriah grins, shaking my shoulder. "This is my good friend, Tris," he motions to her and she smiles politely, but I can see it's forced. Her eyes look anxious.
"Uh, we've met," I say, awkwardly. Uriah looks between us.
"Really?" He asks, "I must not have been there," he laughs.
"No," I shake my head, "I don't think so," except I know so. He was her age at the time, but Uriah didn't go to school with her—I know that for a fact.
"When did you guys meet?" Uriah asks.
"A while ago, actually," the tension is thick. Even Shauna and Zeke have kept quiet now—I don't want to make Tris more uncomfortable, but there is no easy way around this. I keep my voice low, "We... uh, dated a few years ago..."
Now Uriah looks like he's been shocked. He glances at Tris for confirmation, and she excuses herself without looking at any of us. I feel like an asshole, but I knew this would happen. I didn't expect her to jump into my arms, but I also don't want to see her run away from me.
"She never told me that," Uriah says after a moment, "You never did either."
"I didn't know you were good friends with her," I tell him, bluntly.
"She never mentioned you," he says, shaking his head, "damn, what a small world."
"Small indeed." Zeke comments, taking a long sip of his drink.
"I should probably go and find her," Uriah says. This could be my only chance—assuming Uriah drove her here, she has nowhere to run away to.
"Can I?" I ask quickly. I give him a desperate look, and admit, "I need to talk to her..." One thing I love about Zeke's brother—he has always been good at reading people, especially when it came to tricky situations. Uriah nods, and I leave the others behind.
The venue has the big room, the kitchens, and the bathrooms. However, despite those efforts, I find her outside by the parking lot. She stands with her arms crossed and her back facing the party. I don't want to startle her, but my shoes kick at the gravel and I know she can hear me.
I feel nervous all of a sudden. I feel like I don't have anything right to say, the words lodge themselves into my throat and make it almost impossible to speak. I see her fingers wipe away at her face, and then she turns to face me. Her eyes look, not angry like I expect, but instead they look distraught.
"I didn't expect you to be here," she says through a hiccup. Still at a loss for words, I look her over. She is still the same girl I remember, except her hair looks lighter and her eyes look brighter. Except right now, they could almost be silver instead of blue. "I thought you were still—,"
"—in Boston," I finish. I nod once, and say, "I was supposed to be."
"No one told me you were back," she wipes at her eyes again, "Why are you back?"
I look away, "it's a long story."
"Another long story..." she scoffs, shaking her head. I feel a momentary flare of anger in my chest, but I suppress it.
"I'm sorry that this caught you off guard," I say stern, "but I have my reasons for coming back."
"I must not have been one of them," she says, bitter.
"Hey, you know I could have acted like I never even knew your name," I snap, "I'm sure that would have hurt worse than finding out like this—,"
"—What the fuck is wrong with you?" She demands.
"What the fuck is wrong with me?" I ask incredulously, "For your information, I made it a priority to find you again. I wanted to at least make things right—,"
"—We left things in the past, Tobias," Tris shakes her head again, "and I'm really trying to forget it. I don't want to live in the past."
"You won't even give me a chance to apologize?" I ask.
"It doesn't matter now, does it?"
"I think it does," I retort, "it's a little obvious." She narrows her eyes at me, biting the inside of her cheek to keep quiet.
"You didn't have to do this here," she finally says.
"I didn't think I would get another chance." I was afraid you'd see me, and that would be the last time...
"Why are you back?" She asks again. I sigh, a heavy feeling in my chest.
"My mother was sick," I tell her, watching her face, "She passed away recently. I came back to see her before the happened. I've only been back for about a week or so." I hear her breath catch in her throat then.
"...I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't realize..."
"I know," I nod once. How could you know? We stand in awkward silence; Tris stares at the ground, and I find myself staring at her. I'm still so drawn to her, even after all this time. "Can we talk about us?" I ask quietly.
She sucks in a deep breath.
"I don't want to talk about us here..." she says after a moment. Her eyes look to mine, and I see sadness, and anger, and something else.
"Will we soon?"
"I don't know, Tobias!" She sighs, frustrated.
"Will you at least give me the chance to talk, then?" I beg, desperate now, "Tris, please... I hate how we left things. The least I can do is explain myself..."
"Not here," Tris shakes her head, her eyes welling up with tears again, "Just not here... can we do this tomorrow, or something?" I breathe a sigh of relief, and I give in.
"Tomorrow." I say, firm, "Where?" I ask. She sighs.
"I'll have Uriah give you my address," it's all she says, and then I watch her walk away, back to the party. For a moment, I feel utterly floored—it's been so long, but I'm hoping to make things right tomorrow. I am anxious about meeting at her house tomorrow, however. I am not worried about what could happen—but I am anxious about everything else at the same time.
She stays by Uriah's side all night, I notice she doesn't talk much, unless spoken to directly first.
I stay until most of the guests have left, which doesn't happen until close to one in the morning. The slight buzz I had earlier has passed, and now I just feel tired. Shauna and Zeke thank her parents who rented out the venue for them tonight. I help take down tables and chairs and decorations, catching up with Shauna's parents and Zeke's mother.
Uriah left some time ago, taking Tris home as well.
"That was interesting," Zeke comments a short while later, "how did things go outside?"
"What do you think?" I asked, shrugging, "We didn't really talk much... but I'm seeing her tomorrow."
"Seeing her tomorrow?" He asks, raising his eyebrows up and down. I roll my eyes.
"Not like that," I say, shaking my head, "trust me. She's not like that."
"I know," Zeke says after a moment, "at least you get a chance to talk now."
"Yeah, I just don't know what to expect," I say.
xXxXx
Uriah gave me the address when he came back to the venue to help clean up last night. It's an apartment building in Little Village, on West 25th street. I've never been to that part of Chicago, but it is close enough to my mother.
It's a brown brick building, with black shutters framing the windows and a dark oak wood front door. I ring the doorbell for number 3230. At first, I don't hear any other noise besides the outside world around me—then, I hear the door unlock after a moment later.
"It's open," I hear from the speaker.
The interior is clean, with a staircase straight ahead, made with the same dark oak. There are two doors to either side of me, but neither of them are apartment 3230. I start for the stairs and I hear a door open above. Tris steps out from the doorway, her knuckles are white on the door handle.
"Good morning," I say, looking her over out of habit. I remember everything about her, but somehow this woman in front of me looks different—older, stronger.
"Good morning," she breathes, stepping aside to let me in. From the doorway, I can see the apartment is a decent size. There is a large couch that wraps around the living room, taking up most of the space. The coffee table in the center is covered in books and papers. There is an island between the kitchen and the living room, and two stools on the opposite side. The room smells like apples, and something sweet. There is a candle lit on the stove.
I see pictures all around, some from high school and some fairly new. I recognize her friend, Christina, from high school in about half of them. There is another photo with her and a few of her friends, but what stands out most to me is the guy with his arm around her. I feel a flare of jealousy, but quickly suppress it.
"It's not much..." she says, holding herself. She looks nervous.
That makes two of us.
"It's nice," I say. I can still hear the noises outside, the window across the room is open; the wind breezes into the room, tossing the curtains aside. I step further into the room, and glance down at the coffee table. They look like school work, "Are you still in school?"
"Just finished, actually," she says, "I just earned my associates."
"What did you major in?"
"Psychology," she rolls her eyes, "I know it's not a real career."
"It's still something," I say, "You worked for it." She shrugs, but I notice the smile on her face stays.
"You're not here to talk about school, though," Tris says after a moment. She sits down on the couch, crossing her legs up to her chin. She looks so small.
"Right," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. My skin prickles and I feel the ease wash off of me. This is much harder now that she is in front of me. It was easy to talk to her last night, with alcohol in my system. But now it's just the real us, and all of my confidence is out the window. "I screwed up. I should have told you I wasn't coming back then, or at the very least that we were over—,"
"—I didn't want that," she says immediately, "I didn't want us to be over."
"I didn't want that either," I nod, "we had our issues, and we didn't face them. I should have told you my plans. I just wanted you to know that Boston was for you... I wanted to make a living out there, and when you were ready I wanted you to come out there with me someday." She doesn't say anything, so I continue, "When I stopped coming back, I wanted you to forget about me... I figured you had your own life out here—,"
"—So you ignored my calls and texts," she says, but she's not accusing.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly.
"Is your number still the same?" She asks.
"It is," I look over at her, and I see her shake her head.
"Mine's not," she replies.
"Did you try calling me again?" I ask, "after it changed?"
"No." Silence.
"You know why I left right?"
"For school... and your job, working nights," Tris waves her hand as she speaks, "I know you left because of your dad..."
"Right," I feel relieved that she remembers that. At least I don't have to admit my relationship with my father over again. I see her eyes glass over, momentarily. I wonder what she's thinking.
"Why couldn't you tell me any of this before?" She asks.
"I was dumb," I admit, "I don't know why I did anything that I did... I don't know why I didn't tell you..." I hear a door open down the hallway, and out steps Christina.
"Christina," Tris stands from the couch, just as she looks between the both of us. Christina stands there in a long t-shirt, her legs are bare and her hair is tossed around.
"You didn't tell me there would be company," she scowls, heading into the kitchen. She runs the tap, and a few seconds later I hear the coffee pot start up. "Anyone want coffee?"
"I'm all set," Tris and I say in unison.
"That was freaky," Christina snorts.
"Chris, you remember Tobias," Tris says awkwardly. Christina nods, a small smirk on her lips.
"Trust me, I remember." I want to ask her what she means by that, but I keep quiet instead, "Don't forget, we're meeting Peter and Will at the bar tonight."
Tris sighs, cutting Christina a glare, "I didn't forget." Christina takes her coffee and heads back into her room, leaving us to stare at each other in silence for a moment.
"Peter and Will?" I ask.
"Will is Christina's boyfriend," Tris explains, "...and Peter is..."
"Your boyfriend?"
Tris shakes her head, scrunching up her nose, "No... Peter is just a friend."
I feel relief—I imagine Peter must be the boy in the photo, with his arm around her, "So he wants to be more?"
"Something like that," she sighs, "It's not like that, for me."
"You don't have a boyfriend?" I ask.
"You don't have a girlfriend," she states matter-of-factly. I narrow my eyes at her.
"How do you know that?"
"You're not very good with girls," she says lightly. I can't argue with her—I told her once before I wasn't good at things like this; of course she would remember that.
"Clearly," I say.
"Would you want to join us for drinks tonight?" She asks, glancing down the hall. I notice Christina's door is cracked open slightly—she must be listening.
"You want me there?"
"Do you not want to go?"
"No, I'll go," I say.
"You just want to know who Peter is," she states, rolling her eyes. But then she smiles, and she knows she is right. I smile in response.
"Something like that."
