I left Tristan at the antique shop. My actions mechanical, methodical, automatic, and adrift. I wonder if the lady at the antique shop, ironically named the Hidden Treasures, is a witch. I hoped to the gods that wherever Tristan goes from there, it’s for the good.
These staccato words and thoughts… I can’t even think of normal logical sentences. Heavy emotions are flooding my mind.
How I can even write about the moment I saw my parents. These lines are not enough, these words inadequate. Mom, as usual, tried to embed me into herself, her hug that encompassing and deep. That natural connection sending sparks of life….
Dad. His hair is so white. The color of his eyes fading at the edges, artful wrinkles arranged near his eyes, lips. There is a scar on his forehead. Wonder what happened. The first time I called him dad after seven years, it was more than fifty shades of awkward. He was not sure if I will welcome him. He looked so vulnerable, sorry and hurt. I felt so guilty of punishing him for so long. We did not hug. We did not touch. We just looked at each other remembering a thousand things from a long forgotten past.
A storm is brewing between us. Which I am sure will end in a deluge of tears. I am standing precariously on a precipice. It won’t take much for me to fall.
Tristan. Mom. Dad.
God. What am I writing….
I cant stay at home. Tristan’s sound, stories, his promises and how he called my name… Too many memories. It’s burning me into ashes. Wonder where he is… How he is… What he thinks… To whom he talks… Does he miss me? Angry with me? Why do I feel like I let him down… Madness.
Finally, I told James about the meeting with Mathew and how he hinted at sabotage. For the first time, I saw him worried, as if he didn’t want to believe but he couldn’t ignore the danger outright. He did ask me if I suspected anybody. Well, I suspected everybody. But I am not sharp, not alert, not alive. I could not play Sherlock Holmes anymore. I rarely slept more than four hours, drove every day to mom’s place and sometimes to that antique shop at the outskirts, always turning back without visiting the shop. Ridiculous. But I am drawn to Tristan and his fate. Mine entwined with his. It will be the death of me.
I started getting anonymous threats at the office. Wow. My life is getting so interesting that I just want to die. But strangely, I am not scared. I almost hope that the enemy (even I have enemies… Hilarious…) catch me, hurt me. I am sure I won’t feel anything more.
The cold war with my dad still going on with Mom taking all the responsibility of buffering us. I wish I knew how to at least create a crack.
Maggie keeps calling and I keep ignoring. Poor thing. She was with me when I needed a friend the most. But I am coward. Ungrateful and feeling less. I don’t deserve her friendship. So I don’t return her calls. I hate myself.
Another meeting scheduled with Chase. I talked with Michael. He remembered. Can I ever forget? Those days were so full of Tristan. Even now, it is. The former because of his presence, the latter because of his absence.
No clue on the sabotage yet. I am just glad it’s off my shoulders. Coward. I hate myself again. Whatever I built myself into, is so soulless that it is crumbling at the lightest tension. Not so strong after all.
He was alone at home when I went there today evening. The thing between us can be best described as Ice cold silence. I swear I could hear the swish of the curtains. Curtains that Sophia helped me buy.
Dad called me Letty. It was what he called me, exclusively. No one had the right to that name. Not even mom. Hearing it after so long, the dam burst. The ice melted. We both breathed a sigh of relief.
I don’t know it Mom left deliberately. If it was a rehearsed and orchestrated attempt to make me face hard reality. I am glad that there is no longer the burden of silence between us. We updated each other. I asked about his scar. He asked about my future. Not career, strangely. I didn’t know what to answer. It’s still awkward but less than before. One step at a time I guess.
My future is a million dollar question. I guess its one day at a time as well. I mean to live for that one day. At least to see Tristan alive, in flesh, blood, and bones, once.