Page 25 of My Unfinished Heart

Tristan

He’s learning how to walk right now. Maybe this isn’t the best time. I can come help you later if you want.

I get a mad endorphin rush when I read that. I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not since that day on Mountain View, so I want this. And maybe I shouldn’t, but he’s the one person I know in Austin who doesn’t look at me like I’m some cold-hearted bastard who doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. Call me selfish, but I need that after Carrie told me that’s exactly what I am.

Thanks.

The problem with inviting him to join me for this catharsis is immediately apparent when he arrives.

Tristan shows up at the Pecos house around four in the afternoon looking insanely hot. He’s wearing skinny, knee-length gray joggers and a white tank top. Every muscle in his body is visible one way or another.

His hair is up again, revealing every inch of his face, and he has on flip-flops which he immediately slips off in the entry hall. Absence must truly make the heart grow fonder, because I can’t lie, I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to anyone physically. It’s a total body experience. Almost unbearable. I wonder if he had any idea how much seeing him like this would fuck with me.

My bisexuality isn’t a secret. Not exactly. Or not on purpose. It’s one of those things I’ve known about myself since I was a teenager, but I’ve never talked about it with anyone in my regular life before. Not Carrie. Not even West. I’ve had a serious crush on exactly one guy before, and that was in eighth grade at boarding school. That was a secret, and it ended poorly, but the memories are strong, and I think about the stolen moments I spent with him often.

More often, though, I think about the handful of times I hooked up with men in college. I’ve never had intercourse with another man, but I’ve made out with and exchanged hand jobs and blow jobs with a few. Mostly when I was drunk. Always with strangers.

When I’m seeing to my own needs, as I’ve been required to for over a month now, it’s rarely a woman I picture, but I’m not sure if that means anything.

I’ve never been in a relationship with a man, and I don’t know if that’s because I never hooked up with one who was interested in more, or if I prefer being with women. There’s still a lot I’m figuring out, but my attraction to Tristan is the least confusing thing in my life. It was more or less instant, and it’s unrelenting.

Hands on his hips he asks me, “Want me to start on Connor’s room?”

Maybe it is better if we’re in different rooms. “That’d be great. I’m doing the kitchen.”

He doesn’t go straight to Connor’s room, though. He follows me as I walk toward the kitchen. “It’s been a few weeks,” he says. “We thought you disappeared again.”

Unwilling to look at him, I walk and talk. “I did, kind of. I needed to go back to Seattle to get some things squared away. Pack.”

“I’m sorry. You did what?”

I turn and give him a questioning look. My mistake. He’s standing in the middle of the chintzy living room, bright-eyed, staring at me in disbelief. “You went to Seattle to pack?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously?”

“What can I say, Tristan? You changed my mind about some things.”

He gawks at me for another adorable moment, but then rolls his eyes dismissively. “Where are you gonna live?”

“The Mountain View house.”

His expression changes, smile wavering. “Really?”

“Is that not okay?”

His voice softens. “It’s fine. I could tell how much you liked it.”

I’m not sure how to interpret that. “I’m gonna ask Connor to live with me until he finishes school. Then we’ll figure something out.”

“So, you’ve just gone and done a complete one-eighty.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” I say, finally entering the kitchen.

Tristan follows. “He’ll be glad you’re staying.”

“I’m not sure about that.” I take a stack of bowls out of an upper cabinet. I haven’t recognized a single thing in this house besides the eucalyptus so far, and I’m glad. The bowls are plain white and good quality, but I don’t want them. I don’t want anything my mother touched.