He shakes his head in desperation, but I notice the corner of his lip suppressing a smile. At least I’m helping him relax, even if he won’t admit it.
“I’m simply stating that my family will be happy to welcome you, Tristan.”
He taps his chest with his free hand. “I do better on my own.”
“Do you?”
He gives me a sharp nod.
“Or maybe that’s part of your defense mechanism. It’s easier to isolate yourself and believe that you can be on your own,” I step closer to him, and whisper, “Because the alternative is scary. Opening yourself to friendships can bring heartache, can’t it?”
He remains still, and though I want to pull him into a hug, I don’t do it. I won’t force him to do anything, but I’ll stick around, poking at the holes in that big wall until I’m able to get through it and become a part of his life.
“Why don’t we go home? I’ll make you dinner and then you can ignore me for the rest of the weekend.”
He nods a couple of times before we continue our way to the car. Maybe this Sunday I’ll take him home to my family, and we’ll convince him that having people who understand him isn’t bad.
This might not be easy, but I’m willing to do it because… Why am I so focused on him?
Who knows, and hopefully, I won’t get hurt while I help him. It’s not like I can fall in love. God knows I’ve tried several times, I just can’t seem to find the right person, or maybe I’m not made for that.
ChapterSeven
Tristan
Ever since I can remember,Sunday has been my least favorite day.
During my childhood, I hated being dragged to church dressed as a younger version of my father. By the age of seven, I stopped wearing a clip-on tie and did my own knot. Sitting straight while the priest rattled on about stuff I never understood irritated me, but not as much as dinner at my grandparents’ house.
We had to sit on the couch for hours until the meal was ready and then eat in silence while the adults chatted about boring subjects neither Fey, Dylan, nor I understood. Once the torture was over, we’d head back home and wait for Monday.
Today isn’t the exception. It’s been a shitty Sunday.
Matthew invites me to his parents’ house for Sunday dinner. A five-year tradition, he explains.
I appreciate his invite but decline it right away.
Since Friday, he’s been in some sort of, ‘let’s save Tristan Ferdinand Cooperson from his existence campaign.’
Matt assumes I’m broken.
Okay, I’m beyond broken, but that’s something no one knows, and he shouldn’t just assume.
I don’t need to be fixed. Nothing he does will repair the damage I’ve suffered since I was a child, and I don’t want anyone to save me. Things are fine as long as he stays away from me.
There’s no way I’m going to dinner with his family. I’ve had enough of Matthew Decker to last me for an entire year. He’s not bad, but the attraction I once felt for him has increased significantly. If we continue interacting, I’ll lose my strength and give in to his advances.
After Matthew leaves, I grab my wallet and my keys and walk to the pub down the street for a burger and a beer. Two beers and an uncooked hamburger later, I walk through the streets of Seattle and find myself in front of a run-down bar, with neon signs from the last century and several code violations, called Silver Moon.
The bold, ripped bouncer stares down at me as I try to enter the joint. “ID?” I pull out my wallet and show it to him. He tilts his head toward the entrance, and I make my way in.
I refrain from explaining to him that his attitude is scaring away the few customers they could have. Actually, why are they open?
A bar on a Sunday at seven won’t gather many patrons. They should wait until nine to open the place. If I owned this shithole, I’d make a lot of changes. I come to a halt and check out the bar, where a beautiful, tall, curvy woman is pouring a few shots, opening bottles, and mixing drinks while a few customers stare blatantly.
She’s gorgeous.
Her soft facial features remind me of a princess or an angel. Once her audience is served, they make themselves scarce, and she wipes the counter. Then she proceeds to pour a shot of vodka and stares at it.