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It was amazing that Tristan had never even met Trent and acted so much like him. Most things really were inherited.
I had always tried to force myself not to notice things about Tristan that were like his dad and me. It killed me inside to see things about him that were so clearly us when Tristan didn’t know the truth. It had been easier to make myself believe that he was my brother. It lessened the pain.
“Rawr!” Tristan hollered, playing with his toy dinosaurs, having one attack the other.
He played for a few more minutes before laying the toys aside.
“Row?” He looked up at me with wide questioning blue eyes.
“Mhmm,” I nodded for him to continue.
“Who was that guy?”
“What guy?” I asked, picking at lint on the carpeted floor.
“The guy that said hi to me?” He questioned.
I frowned, not wanting to answer. “No one. It was no one.”
“But I saw him!” Tristan cried.
“I know you did,” I said soothingly to calm him, “but he’s no one important.”
“Oh,” Tristan frowned.
“Why were you asking about him?” I pressed, wondering why the boy’s mind had ventured to think of Trenton.
“I thought he might like to play dinosaurs with me,” Tristan frowned. “Or cars,” he pointed to his basket of Matchbox cars. “I think I like cars more than dinosaurs now.”
I laughed. “Why is that?”
“The dinosaurs always eat each other,” he complained.
“Then why do you make them eat each other?” I countered with a small smile as I crossed my legs.
“They’re dinosaurs,” he looked at me like I was dumb, “it’s what they do.”
Real laughter burst out of me at Tristan’s words. Leave it to the little boy to be the one to make me feel better.
“Why are you laughing?” He asked, dumping the
basket of cars everywhere.
“Because you’re funny,” I reached over and pinched his cheek.
“Don’t do that,” he rubbed his cheek, “I’m not a baby anymore.”
No, he definitely wasn’t, and Trent hadn’t been able to see our son grow up like I had. He didn’t know what Tristan looked like when we was born. He’d missed out on everything—Tristan crawling, walking, talking. All of it.
It was my fault.
I couldn’t take back those years he’d lost with his son. But I could try to give him a glimpse.
I knew I still needed to give him more time before I saw him, though.
But I had to get him to understand.
I was prepared to accept the fact that he hated me, but I didn’t want him to hate Tristan. I wanted him to see what an amazing kid our son was. How even at this age, he was wise like his father, and curious like I had been as a child. He was a little piece of the two of us that would always bind us together.
