The Air He Breathes

Each Friday after I dropped Emma at her grandparents’ house, I walked into town for the farmers market. All of the townspeople came to the center of downtown Meadows Creek to sell and trade their products. The smells of the fresh breads, the displays of the flowers, and the small town gossip always made the journey worth it.

Steven and I had always come to the market to check out the fresh flowers, so when Friday came around with the fresh roses, I always stood in the middle of it all, breathing in the memories and breathing out the hurt.

During my weekly trip to the farmers market, I always noticed Tristan walking around. We hadn’t spoken since he’d cut my grass, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his sad eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about his wife and son. When had he lost them? And how? How long had Tristan been living his current nightmare?

I wanted to know more.

Sometimes, I would see him walk out to the shed in his backyard, and he would stay there for hours. The only time he came out was when he would cut wood with his table saw, and then he would go back inside and stay hidden.

Whenever he walked past me, my cheeks flushed and I’d turn away as if I hadn’t seen him. Even though I had. I always saw him, and I wasn’t exactly sure why.

Everyone told me he was callous, and I believed them. I’d seen the harsh realities that lived in Tristan. But I’d also seen another side of him that many didn’t notice. I’d seen him fall apart when he learned that Zeus would be okay. I’d seen him slowly open up about the loss of his wife and son. I’d seen a gentle, broken side of Tristan that many seemed to miss.

Currently, in the middle of the farmers market, I was so intrigued by another side of Tristan. Each week, he would walk around as if he didn’t see anyone. He was focused on his mission, which was always to buy bags of groceries and fresh flowers. Then he would disappear up the hills, stopping by the bridge where he always handed all the groceries and flowers to a homeless man.

As he handed the bags off to the guy, I was only a few feet away from him because I was heading back to the house. As I approached him, I couldn’t stop the smile that was overtaking me. He started walking in the direction of his house.

“Hey, Tristan.”

He looked my way with a blank stare.

He continued walking.

It was as though we were back to day one. I hurried my footsteps to keep up with his long strides. “I just wanted to say I thought that was really nice. It’s really sweet what you do for that man. I think it’s really—”

He shot around and stepped toward me. His jaw clenched and he narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” I stammered, confused by his tone.

He stepped closer. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want to make something clear to you,” he whispered harshly. Tristan blinked once before his stormy eyes reappeared. “I don’t want to be involved with you in any way, shape, or form. Okay? I cut your fucking grass because you annoyed the living shit out of me. That’s all. I want nothing to do with you again. So stop with the damn looks.”

“You th—you think I’m hitting on you?!” I cried out as we reached the top of the hill. He cocked an eyebrow and gave me a hell-yes-I-think-you’re-hitting-on-me look. “I thought it was nice, okay?! You give the guy food, you prick! And I wasn’t trying to ask you out or hit on you, I was trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Why would you want to have a conversation with me?”

“I don’t know!” I said, my words somersaulting off my tongue. I was truly unsure why I would have wanted to be in a conversation with someone who was so hot and cold on a daily basis. One day he was opening up about his demons, and the next he was shouting at me for saying hello. I can’t win. “Stupid me for thinking we could’ve been friends.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I want to be your friend?”

A shiver ran across my body. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the light breeze or due to Tristan intruding on my personal space.

“I don’t know. Because you seem lonely and I’m lonely. And I thought—”

“You didn’t think.”

“Why are you so mean?”

“Why are you always watching me?”

My lips parted to speak, but no reply came to mind. We stared at each other, so close that our bodies were almost linked, so close that our lips were almost touching.

“Everyone in this town is afraid of me. Do I scare you, Elizabeth?” he whispered, his breaths brushing against my lips.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I see you.”

The coldness in his stare softened for a split second, almost as if he was confused by those four words. But I did see him. I saw past the hate in his stare and noticed the hurt in his frown. I saw the broken parts that somehow matched my own.

Without thought, Tristan pulled me to his body, his lips pressing hard against mine. The confusion swimming around in my head began to fade as his tongue slipped between my lips and I kissed him back. I kissed him back, and maybe even kissed him more than he kissed me. God, I missed that. I missed kissing. The feeling of falling into someone who was holding you up from hitting rock bottom. The feeling of warmth washing against your skin as another person supplied you with your next few breaths.

I missed being held, I missed being touched, I missed being wanted…

I missed Steven.

Tristan’s kisses were angry and sad, apologetic and agonizing, raw and authentic.

Just like mine.

My tongue slid across his bottom lip, and I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeats flying through my fingertips—flying into my own body.

For a few seconds, I felt like I had felt before.

Whole.

Complete.

A part of something divine.

Tristan hastily yanked his mouth away from mine and turned away, leading me back to my current, dark reality.

Broken.

Incomplete.

Lonely all the time.

“You don’t know me, so stop acting like you do,” he said. He started walking again, leaving me standing, perplexed.

What was that?!

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” I asked, watching him walk away. “It felt like…it felt like they were still here. It felt like Steven was here. Did it feel like your wife—”

He turned with a fire burning in his stare. “Don’t ever speak about my wife as if you know anything about her or me.” He began to hurry away once again.

He felt it.

I knew he did.

“You can’t…you can’t just walk away, Tristan. We can talk to each other. About them. We can help each other remember.” My biggest fear ever was the idea of forgetting.

He kept walking.

I hurried beside him once more. “Besides, that’s the point of becoming someone’s friend. To get to know them. To have someone to talk to.” My chest was rapidly rising and falling as I became more and more upset with him for walking away in the midst of our conversation. In the midst of the most painful and satisfying kiss my lips had ever experienced. He was helping me remember what it had been like to feel happy, and I hated him for walking away. I hated him for taking that small moment of lust that faintly reminded me of the love that had been taken away from me. “God. Why do you have to be such a…such a…monster?!”

He turned to me, and a split second of misery tinged his eyes before his jaw and his facial expression hardened. “I don’t want you, Elizabeth.” He tossed his hands up in frustration and stepped toward me. “I don’t want anything to do with you.” He stepped closer. I stepped back. “I don’t want to talk to you about your fucking dead husband.” Another step closer. “I don’t want to tell you shit about my dead wife.” Step, step. Back, back. “I don’t want to touch you.” Closer. Backward. “I don’t want to kiss you.” Step. “I don’t want to lick you.” Back. Back. Step. Step. “And I damn sure don’t want to be your fucking friend. So leave me alone and just shut the hell up!” he hollered, standing over me, his voice rocketing from his mouth like a clap of thunder, making me jump with fright.

As I took one final step backward, the heel of my shoe skidded over a rock, causing me to tumble down the hill. Every bump and thump was felt throughout my body the whole way down. Minus a few bruises and a ton of embarrassment, I was fine.

Tristan was standing over me within an instant. “Shit,” he muttered. “Are you okay? Here,” he said, reaching his hand out to me.

I refused his offer and stood on my own. His eyes were filled with concern, but I didn’t care. They would probably be filled with hate within a moment’s time.

Seconds before the fall, he had told me to shut up, so that was exactly what I’d do. I gave him exactly what he wanted. I limped back home in silence, not once looking his way, even though I could see his pathetic stare out of the corner of my eye.

***

“He pushed you down a hill?!” Faye shouted into the phone. The moment I’d returned from my interaction with Tristan, I’d called her. I needed my best friend to tell me that no matter what, I was right and Tristan was wrong.

Even if I had called him a monster.

“Well, not exactly. He yelled at me, and I kind of tripped.”

“After he kissed you?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh. I hate him. I hate him so much.”

I nodded. “I hate him too.”

That was a lie, but I couldn’t tell her my true thoughts about Tristan. About how he and I had so much in common. I couldn’t tell anyone. I hardly even told myself.

“But since we are on the subject, tell me…” Faye said, and I could almost see her grin through the phone. “Did he use tongue? Did he growl? Was he shirtless? Did he motorboat you? Did you touch his abs? Did you lick his sharp jaw? Is he the size of a horse? Did you giddy up? Did you find his Nemo? Did you Grace his Frankie? Did you Justin his Timberlake?”

“I can’t handle you.” I chuckled, but my mind was still thinking about the kiss and what it meant. Maybe it meant nothing. Or perhaps, everything.

She sighed. “Come on, give me something. I’m currently trying to get laid here, and this phone call is killing my vibe.”

“What do you mean you’re trying to get laid?” I gasped. “Faye, are you having sex right now?”

“What do you mean? Like, sex-sex?”

“Yes, sex-sex!”

“Well, if you mean is there a penis currently sitting in my vagina, then yes. I guess you could semi call that sex.”

“Oh my God, Faye! Why the hell would you answer the phone?!”

“Um, because chicks before dicks? Like, literally.” She laughed. I gagged.

“Hi, Liz,” I heard Matty call from the background. Gag again. “I put you on the work schedule for thirty hours next week.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“What? No. I have plenty of time right now.”

“You’re disturbing.”

“Ow, stop, Matty. I told you not to bite that.” Oh my fucking gosh, my best friend was a freak. “Okay, babycakes, I gotta get going. I think I’m bleeding. But as for you, at least find some time to meditate and clear your head.”

“And by meditate you mean…?”

“Tequila. Top-shelf, burns in the belly, aids in bad decisions, tequila.”

That sounded about right.