She didn’t know what to do with the bag, but after ignoring it for days, she couldn’t take it anymore. Anger erupted from her.
“Why her?” she shouted to the empty room.
She stood and kicked the bag, watching it fly across the room and hit the door.
“She was good,” she said.
She followed its path and kicked it again.
“It’s not fair!” she shouted as she kicked the bag a third time.
This time shoes, the magazine, and a toothbrush came tumbling out of the bag. Josie dropped to the carpeted floor and sat staring at the items. She wanted to pick them up and put them away. But the thought of touching them made her nauseated.
“Josie?” Tristan called from the door. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m pissed off,” she said pulling her knees up and placing her chin on top of them.
He appeared in front of her and sat down.
“I know. It’s fine to be angry. It’s the second stage of grief,” he said.
Josie rolled her eyes and focused on the paint on her toenails. Purple. Pump Up the Jam.
“I know what’ll make you feel better,” Tristan said. He stood and retrieved her journal from his desk and lay down on his bed. “Come quiz me.”
“That won’t help,” she said.
“Sure it will. Look, I’m a master of distractions. Come on,” Tristan pleaded, patting the bed beside him.
Josie stood from her spot and lay on a stack of pillows flipping through the pages of her purple journal. Tristan lay beside her in the opposite direction, his body pressed against hers at every possible point. He lazily traced patterns up and down her smooth legs.
“I’m going to give you a hard one this time,” Josie said.
“Babe, they all have the same level of difficulty to me.”
“Fine, page one twenty-two,” she said, smiling up at him from behind the journal.
Tristan laughed and pressed a kiss against her calf.
“There’s a new girl at school. Her name is Danielle Ryan. We met in English class and instantly became friends,” Tristan recited in a high-pitched voice. “She’s really pretty and her hair is this gorgeous red color that doesn’t seem natural. I’d never ask. I found her sitting alone in the cafeteria and invited her to sit with us. Big mistake! Huge! All she did was smile and flirt with Tristan the whole time. Right in front of me. By the time I finished my sandwich, the girl was practically planning their wedding.”
Josie laughed and closed the book.
“I didn’t talk like that, ass.”
“That’s what it sounded like to me,” he said, smiling. “There’s also a doodle in the margin of a dog wearing a wedding dress on that page.”
“You remember everything,” she said. “That’s amazing.”
“You’re amazing,” he countered.
“As amazing as Danielle Ryan?”
Tristan raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if contemplating the answer.
“I guess. I mean, she had really nice hair. And killer boobs.”
Josie threw the journal at him, hitting him in the chest with a thump.
“Ouch! You wound me, woman.”
“That’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do!”
Josie sprang to her knees and tackled Tristan. She was no match for his strength, but he surrendered. The feel of her body pressed against his sent his imagination running wild.
“You know I’ll win this. Just give up,” he teased.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“Never. Danielle’s boobs would be hurt and offended if I retracted my statement now.”
Josie leaned down, bringing her lips to his ear. Their chests pressed together, their hearts beating for each other.
“Do you care more about Danielle Ryan’s tits or being inside me again?”
Tristan sat up quickly, knocking Josie back onto the pillows. He crawled over her and placed a kiss against her neck.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered against her warm skin.
She smiled up at him and ran her fingers over his hair.
“That’s better.”
“I’ll never mention Danielle and her stellar rack again.”
Josie smacked his shoulder as a smirk slid across his face. It pulled the corner of his mouth higher on the left side. It was a smile that Josie knew well. It was teasing and joyous and something that she would never grow tired of.
Later that night, when Josie was sleeping in his bed, Tristan snuck out for a smoke. He sat on the back porch, in the dark, staring out at the trees. Like the last time he’d been there, Bitsy tiptoed across the porch and took a seat beside him.
“She’s so different. So sad and hurt, but strong,” Bitsy said.
Tristan nodded and exhaled his smoke.
“She’s everything,” he answered.
Tristan felt disconnected from the moment. After everything he’d experienced, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to go back to this straight life of family dinners and holiday visits. Not until the sound of his mother crying jarred him from his inner musings. Finally meeting her glassy eyes, his brick wall fell away and he pulled her into an embrace.
“You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if we’d ever see you again, but I prayed every day that you were safe and happy. Were you happy, sweetheart?”
“‘The reason people find it so hard to be happy is that they always see the past better than it was and the present worse than it is.’”
“Tell me in your words, Tristan,” Bitsy begged.
“I was happy for a while. Fiona broke my heart, just like you warned she would. I don’t think she ever really cared about me. But now I have Josie.”
“And you’ve found your way home.”
Tristan nodded and threw his inked arm around the back of the seat, resting his hand on her shoulder.
Daniel watched his wife and son’s exchange through the plate-glass window at the back of the house. Even with the rift between them, he could sense that things were healing. The way their bodies leaned toward each other gave him a sense of relief. The warm light cast from the den painted the pair in scattered highlights and soft golden shadows. He smiled, content in the resurrection of that uniting force known as family.
22. Nadir
On a celestial body, the vertical direction below the observer’s feet.
“I want your papers turned in by Friday. Make sure to really delve into the underlying struggle between these two societies and cite your sources, people,” the instructor announced as the students filed out of the classroom.
Alex slid his pen behind his ear and tucked his notebook beneath his arm. Taking a look around the room, he still couldn’t believe that he was here. Surrounded by off-white paint and fluorescent lighting, he found it humorous that he sat among these young, impressionable kids four days a week. He’d once taken a vow to never set foot inside another cinder-block institution. This, however, would be his one exception.
It was the love and encouragement of Erin that had pushed him to do better, to be better. He wanted to be everything she needed and everything she deserved. Not to mention, for the first time in his adult life, he could be a role model. Her son, Parker, watched and mimicked his behavior. The boy looked at Alex like he was a superhero, making him accountable for his actions. Alex loved that Erin didn’t try to change him; she embraced all of his bad and his good. It had been his idea to pursue a bachelor’s degree in business management. Hell, he’d been managing some sort of business his entire life.
When Alex was younger, he had imagined what it would be like living the straight life. Punching in and out somewhere, paying taxes and collecting social security when he grew old. Though social acceptance appealed to most, it had never appealed to him. The thought alone had always felt suffocating. But when you have someone who holds you accountable, someone who isn’t afraid to question you and desire more from you, it’s all too easy to amend your aspirations.