“Relax, Josie,” Tristan teased, nudging her foot beneath the table.
She loosened her posture just a bit, wondering if everyone could tell she didn’t belong here. Selections were made, food was ordered, but conversation was mostly absent. Tristan wondered why Josie was at ease with him within the confines of her apartment, but here she seemed unreachable.
Josie’s eyes scanned the bay, the black glossy surface dotted with specks of light on each ripple. Boats sailed by, returning from their sunset cruises, cutting through the water with no resistance. Josie had never before noticed the sleek lines and curves of these vessels and suddenly longed to sketch them out on her pristine napkin. She recognized her need to return to consoling habits, but with no tools available she sipped her water instead.
There were so many sets of eyes here and she felt like all were bearing down on her. Josie resisted checking the faces at each table. She knew that they weren’t here, the eyes of her longtime demons. This place was too refined for them, for her too, if she was being honest. Like a shadow that followed her even in darkness, Josie always feared running into her foster parents. She knew they still lived here, though she’d made sure they couldn’t take in any more kids. Most of the time she could ignore that they lived in the same city.
“Are you okay?” Tristan asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she offered.
“‘I’m fine’ is the biggest white lie ever told.”
“Because it’s easy. Usually, when people ask how you are, they don’t really care about the answer anyway. So they take for granted that you’re telling the truth,” Josie said. “And what is a white lie? Why white? Are there other color lies?”
“No, it’s based on the idea of opposites. White meaning good and black meaning bad. White lies are thought to be harmless and trivial, lying without ill intent.”
“Harmless. That’s a joke. I’ve told that lie hundreds of times and no one cared enough to call me out on it.”
“I care,” he said softly.
Josie shifted in her seat, her eyes scanned the restaurant again, getting stuck on a familiar face.
“I know that guy.”
Tristan turned toward the main dining room.
“Which one?” he asked.
“The Asian waiter with the glasses.”
“How well do you know him?” Tristan asked.
Josie smirked, loving how easily he was baited.
“Well enough to know that he wears boxer briefs and likes to be spanked.”
Tristan felt the possessive anger bubbling up inside and it was all he could do to not growl when the kid passed by.
“Something wrong?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“No. I’m fine,” he hissed. “We all have a past. It doesn’t matter who you’ve slept with.”
“Good, because I don’t remember half of them.”
Tristan slid closer to the corner, allowing his leg to lean against hers. Beneath the frosted glass tabletop, she watched as his hand slid from his own thigh to hers, resting just above her knee.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Josie. It won’t work.”
“And what is that?”
“You’re trying to make me jealous. I’m not a dog pissing on my territory here. I don’t need to sleep with you to prove that you’re mine.”
Josie scoffed at the idea. Of course he needed to sleep with her. How else would anyone believe that he was with a girl like her?
“Do you believe that people, in general, are good?” Josie asked, abandoning one heavy conversation for another.
“I guess it depends on how you define good. I don’t think there’s any genetic predisposition toward the idea of being good. I mean, Nazi youth were considered righteous, suicide bombers are honored by supporters of their cause. Does that make them good? I think becoming a good person has more to do with your environment, your caregivers, and society.”
“Look at my environment, my caregivers. How could I possibly be good?”
Tristan was confused by her question. Of course she was good. She was everything.
“Buddha said, ‘Neither fire nor wind, birth nor death can erase our good deeds.’ Before you suffered at the hands of those evil people, you were raised by two loving parents. Even though you may not remember it, I believe those ideas and values are ingrained into who you are.”
Josie looked down at his hand still covering her thigh, his thumb tracing a small sweeping arc across the denim. She could feel the heat coming from his palm, the slight squeeze as his fingers curled around her. It was hard to believe that she was good, but she wanted to. She wanted to be good for him.
“Tristan, there are things that you don’t know about me. Things that…”
Just as the words stuck in her throat, the waiter appeared, sliding their dinner onto the table. The sight and smell appealed to her starved senses and she forgot what she had wanted to say.
As much as Tristan wanted her to open up to him, this was not the place. He knew that Josie thought she could scare him away with her past, but she underestimated his dedication.
They ate in silence, though it wasn’t the uneasy kind. It was peaceful and amicable. The wine was flavorful and Josie never remembered tasting food so good. She wondered if the company had anything to do with it.
During dinner, Tristan tried to keep himself from staring. She was always beautiful, but tonight she was otherworldly. Even with the anxious energy, she was the most stunning creature he’d ever seen. Sometimes it still floored him that she was here, alive and in his life. He often became overwhelmed when holding her or kissing her, remembering how he’d once begged for such a gift.
“Do you ever think about what would have happened if I’d never moved away?” Josie asked.
She’d thought about nothing else since she’d learned of their connection. She imagined a different life, where she could become someone her parents would have been proud of. She could have been on the honor roll and yearbook staff. She could have gone to college and studied art. She could have ruled the world with this man by her side.
“I’ve thought about it a lot since the day you left.”
“Tell me,” Josie requested, folding her napkin and laying it on the table.
She let her fingers trace over the ink on his skin, outlining the trunk and limbs just below his cuffed sleeve. Tristan smiled at the hundreds of memories surrounding the old oak.
“The night before you moved to New York, you came over for dinner. My mom made your favorite fudge peanut butter brownies for dessert. My parents tried to make us enjoy ourselves, but you were a mess and I was really angry. We spent the whole meal sulking.”
Tristan took a cleansing breath and finished his beer. Just the memory of losing her made his chest ache again.
“After dinner, we went to sit in our tree. You wore my favorite blue shirt and the jeans with holes in the knees. I remember pretending to play with the hanging threads just for an excuse to touch you. We sat in silence for a while, ignoring the time counting down. When it got late, your dad called to say he was coming to pick you up. My mom yelled for us to come inside, but you wouldn’t budge. You clung to me and begged me to stay up there with you. You figured if you didn’t come down, you’d be able to stay in Louisiana.”
“Sounds like my logic,” Josie said sarcastically.
“An hour later, after threats from your dad and a million promises between us, we climbed down together. That was the last time I saw you.”
Though Josie couldn’t recall the scene like Tristan could, it hurt her all the same. In a way, she felt lucky that she had none of those memories. She wasn’t sure if she could have survived all the old hurt and new hurt. It may have killed her long ago.