As I rode the subway home, I couldn't help but smile at all my fellow commuters. I had scored a wonderful job and an apartment at the same time. My commute was going to be going down a set of stairs. Sweet.
Four
I couldn't wait to tell my parents about the job, the apartment and darling old Mr. Clemson. On the way home from the subway stop, I used the remainder of the twenty bucks Dad had given me that morning to buy some cannoli and cream puffs. Mom, Dad and I all had a weak spot for sweets and we'd celebrate with the pastries.
Up the stairs, two at a time, I went happily through the front door with my box of goodies and my news. I froze when I saw Tristan seated, back to me, at the dining table with Kwan, George, Hoc, Archie and my parents. I felt my knees and just about every other part of my body go rubbery. My heart, my betraying, treacherous heart, began to beat against my chest walls and I could feel the heat of a blush working its way from my ears to my neck. The golden curls over his collar made the tips of my fingers itch to touch them.
The rational part of me wanted to run back out the door and wait in the shadows until I saw him leave. But my eyes had been starved for the sight of him. He had transformed yet another chair into a kind of throne where he elegantly draped his aristocratic frame. It wasn't a conscious thing, it was just who he was. All eyes, including mine were focused on him. He was ever comfortable in front of an audience.
"You shouldn't taunt them," he was telling my father. "They're going to come spoiling for a fight. Let them make the first move."
"This frightens me, Tristan," my mother said.
"Jazzy, we've got all the angles covered. Tristan's thought of everything," my father assured her. "These guys need to be in jail and we're going to put them there."
I sucked up my courage and made my presence known. As casually as I could muster, I strolled over to the table and put the box of goodies down in front of my mother.
"Hi everyone," I said brightly. It sounded brittle and fake inside my head, I hoped the others didn't hear it that way. "I brought yummy things from Ferretti's Bakery." I didn't; I couldn't look him in the eye. I went to the kitchen for something to drink and nearly cried when I saw that my mother had a stack of eight plates in position next to the stove. There was a big hot casserole covered with foil, a bread basket with a cloth, and two bubbling pots--one with water and the other with Mom's escarole steaming away. It was obvious we had company for supper.
"Well, sounds like we have a plan, Tristan," my father said as he rose from the table. "I'm starved. Let's get this table set for dinner." Mom came into the kitchen and I yanked her into the pantry out of earshot of the men.
"Mother, why did you spring this on me?" I hissed.
"It was spur of the moment. Should I have called you?" She acted innocent, but I was sure the whole scene was no accident.
"It would have been nice to be forewarned."
"I didn't think it made that much difference."
"How can you say that? Of course it makes a difference."
My mother turned to me. "Raina, you came home the night after the kidnappers released me and went straight to your room. From that point on, you have not spoken one word about what happened between you and Tristan, if anything happened at all. You left me to speculate. I chose to believe that it wasn't important enough for you to discuss."
"So you assumed it was totally cool to force me to sit down to dinner at our table with him?"
"I'm not forcing you to do anything. Please yourself."
"Are you mad at me because Tristan and I stopped seeing one another?"
"No. I'm hurt that you didn't see fit to take me into your confidence. I thought we were closer than that." I saw her lip quiver and it hit me in the gut.
"Mom, I'm sorry. It's so complicated and I . . . I really didn't know what to say. I haven't even sorted out how I feel yet."
"Did it ever occur to you that I might have been able to help you sort it out?"
"Yes, it did."
"Then why not talk to me about it?"
"Truth?"
"Truth."
"I'm embarrassed. I think I really screwed up. I think I acted like a stupid adolescent."
"Well, we can't spend all night in the pantry discussing it now. Help me with dinner." She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me to her. "Just try to act normal."
I gave her a weak smile and followed her back into the kitchen. Easy for you to say, Mom. Act normal. I wasn't sure I knew what normal was anymore. The day had gone so well. My life seemed to be righting itself. And now this. I watched Tristan out of the corner of my eye as I put the garlic bread into the basket. I knew it was inevitable, but I wanted to crawl into the dishwasher and hide when I saw him approach me in the kitchen.
"Anything I can do to help?" He casually put his hand against my shoulder and the sizzle shot down to my toes. I wanted to scream "don't touch me!" Instead, I told him to take the foil off of the chicken parm. I couldn't tell if it was the oven or his body that was producing so much heat. He stood only a few electric inches from my side.
He leaned into me and I felt the warmth of his breath against me. He poured liquid words into my ear. "I've missed you. I've missed touching you."
I swallowed hard and gathered up the silverware bundles. I placed them in front of all the chairs but he followed behind me with the bread basket. He managed to graze my ass with his groin as he reached in to put the basket in the middle of the table. Oh God.
"I mean it, Raina. I need to see you," he insisted as he slowly backed away from the table. The others were taking their places. Dad sat at his end of the table. George sat at his right hand and Archie at his left, Kwan and Hoc filled the places beside George. I was trapped into sitting next to Tristan. I chose the middle, leaving Tristan to sit next to my mother.
Everyone was excited about the plan to put the sting on the union thugs. I listened, half-heartedly. I was distracted by the pressure of Tristan's hard thigh up against mine. Big as he was, it was hard to avoid touching me. Eight normal sized people were a tight squeeze at our table. Archie was a skinny little guy; he barely filled the chair seat. But Tristan filled all the space he had and then some.
I couldn't help but notice that Tristan had my parents eating out of his hand. They laughed at anything he said that was meant to be the least bit funny. They liked him. Possibly more important was that my father obviously respected him and my mother trusted him. What a strange position to be in. I almost felt like I owed it to my parents to give our relationship a better shot.