Page 170 of My Unfinished Heart

“It doesn’t have to be over, brother. I think we just need a better plan.”

“I can’t believe you drove all this way.” I yawn, feeling the meds again.

He gets under the covers and lies with his back facing me. I hear his heavy breath. “Well, you might think you can let him go again, but there’s no fucking way I will.”

“Maybe letting go isn’t the right set of words. Maybe we should think of it as moving on.”

“No,” he says softly. “He saved my life. I owe him. He may or may not need you, but he needs me.”

“So, you’re gonna pay him back for saving his life by guilting him into coming home?”

“No. I’m gonna pay him back with you.”

It depresses the fuck out of me to say this, but after the night I’ve had, what choice is there? “I don’t think I’m what he wants anymore.”

“Archer,” he says, his voice quiet and almost too morose to hear. “You’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Come With Me and Escape

Connor still claims I can get Tristan back, and I have to take his word for it. He says all I need is a better plan. He’s a big believer in grand gestures which, I’ve discovered, are not my strong suit. I can no longer rely on our innate chemistry, either, because it’s impossible to seduce someone long distance if he won’t take your calls.

Everyone has an opinion on the exact nature of what getting Tristan back should look like. The ideas range from Helen suggesting I write him a letter of apology and tell him how much I love him, to West’s more laid back approach of giving him a few weeks, then going back to see him. Connor of course wants me to let him go talk to him again. Or I could send him flowers every day for ten days and then buy him a puppy because Kate is both seven and totally over the top. Joey, who is also not a huge believer in grand gestures, suggests I leave it alone—if it’s meant to happen, the universe will present the opportunity. She tells me to have some faith.

The wisest and best advice, however, comes from the person I should have been talking to all along. She’s a lot like what I imagine Tristan was like when he was nine, minus the hormonal mood swings.

Eliza.

“Paint him a picture, Archer. Use oils because oils last the longest even though they’re a little more work. It makes them more meaningful.”

We’re at my kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon two weeks before Thanksgiving. Joey and Kate are making Jell-O. Connor’s in his old room taking a nap, and West is out picking up burgers for dinner.

Eliza is beating me at chess, which always puts her in a more charitable mood. I have it on good authority that she has a crush on me. She’s generally not the biggest advocate for my relationship with Tristan, so I feel like she’s really throwing me a bone here. I must be acting truly pathetic.

“A painting huh? Just for him or should it be of him?”

“Both.”

“Two paintings?”

Eliza sighs. “Of him, for him.”

“Do I mail it to him when I’m done?”

“With flowers,” Kate adds.

“Be quiet, Kate. I’m trying to concentrate!” Eliza shouts at her sister.

“Settle down there, Bobby Fischer,” Joey says sharing a look with me.

I turn my attention back to Eliza. “Why a painting?” I’m humoring her, but I’m also pretty sure she’s on to something.

She frowns at her knight as taking out my pawn would wind it up in danger of my bishop. I know she’ll end up making the move. It’ll probably pay off in her long game. “Well, I think it would show him how much you think about him—which is a lot. And it would show him that you’re trying. Which you are.” She sighs. “And it’s romantic.”

“Is it?”

She nods, taking out the pawn. Though I saw it coming, I feel like moving my bishop would be a mistake. Chess is not a strong game for me.