Seth was my future, my whole future. And at some point my present would melt into that future. I wouldn’t be able to have this simplified existence of friends and small town life forever. Things were already changing for me…. I was already changing.
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I saw the truck before I heard it, ambling down our long gravel drive, banks of snow rising on either side, blurring the lines of his white truck with the horizon. I watched him out my bedroom window, suddenly more nervous to be near him than I felt before I went into battle.
We both had the rare afternoon off, no basketball practice, no training, absolutely nothing to do after school. Before…. before things got weird, Tristan and I would have taken the opportunity to plan something exciting like a trip into Omaha for a movie or dinner at a chain restaurant, or pulling each other on sleds behind his four-wheelers.
But after lunch today Tristan had avoided me, leaving his mystery anger all that more of a mystery. I stayed in my bedroom, still watching as he parked his truck and hesitated for a good three minutes before climbing down from the cab and walking to the kitchen door. I heard the doorbell ring and my mom move to the door, but something held my feet frozen to the carpet.
Fear.
It felt like he was coming to break up with me.
Break up our friendship.
“Stella,” my mom called from downstairs. “Tristan’s here!”
“Be right down,” I hollered back and then forced my feet to move. They didn’t go where I told them to immediately. First they stopped, without my permission, in front of my vanity so that I could check out my makeup and fix my hair until it fell in golden waves just so over my shoulder. I reached for my lip gloss before making myself stop and take a breath to steady my shaking hands.
It was just Tristan.
My best friend.
My oldest friend.
I was acting crazy.
Well…. more crazy than even normal-crazy these days.
He was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, making comfortable conversation with my mom as she started pulling together dinner. Tonight it looked like we were having…. spaghetti…. again. Ooh… with frozen meatballs. This was definitely a step up as far as family dinners went around here.
“Hey,” I interrupted once I reached the last stair. Tristan’s eyes had been watching me as I made my way down the stairs, but now that I stood before him they floated over me as if gently caressing me in the most intimate way. Eventually the emerald depth of his gaze found mine again and I nearly took a step back from the intensity of it.
Lifting his shoulder in an attempt at humility he offered a quiet, “Hey,” back. “Can we talk?”
I nodded, a little taken back by how sweet I found him right now. There was this almost desperate ache that started in the deepest part of me and spread rapidly over every single one of my bones. I moved toward him, not conscious of my decision until my arms were around his neck and my head was buried against his chest.
“Hey….” he soothed gently, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. “Hey, it’s Ok. Don’t be upset. I’m so sorry, Stella, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, Ok? It’s all my fault, I was such a jerk today.”
A shudder ran over my back at the intimacy of our closeness. We hugged all the time, so when Tristan’s body responded to mine, pulling me impossibly closer to him and molding me against his chest, I was surprised at the tender affection he seemed to wrap around me. One of his hands held me tightly against my waist, his hand slid under my shirt and splayed against my hot flesh. His other hand had pressed itself against the nape of my neck, his thumb was moving up and down in the softest way.
“You were a jerk,” I mumbled against his skin. I picked up my head just a little bit. “I seriously don’t even understand why, either. You’ve never cared who I’ve gone to a dance with before….” I said pathetically, feeling ridiculous for taking this so seriously. It was just that we never fought. Ever. And he never got mad at me.
“Well, you’ve never been asked to a school dance before by your future husband,” he explained, acid painting the word “husband” as if it were the dirtiest word in the English language.
“You’re jealous?” I gasped, taking a step back and putting space in between us. Talking about Tristan’s feelings for me, while I was wrapped up in his arms seemed like a very bad idea, said the sudden voice of reason in my head.
“I like to think I’m looking out for your best interest,” he said confidently, but his eyes refused to look at me.
“Well, I’m pretty sure since my relationship with Seth was ordained by Heaven itself that I’m pretty safe to go with him to a Valentine’s Dance,” I laughed, noticing for the first time my mom had slipped out of the kitchen.
Tristan winced in response, pulling me back against his body. I could feel how every one of his muscles had tensed and coiled, the quiet desperation in which he held me.
“Don’t remind me,” he sighed, tangling his hand through my hair.
“Did you want to go with me?” I ventured, my voice sounding small and not at all like me.
“It doesn’t matter what I want, Stella. I can’t go with you. Isn’t that right? I can’t go with you to dances. I can’t ask you out on dates. I can’t….” he trailed off, running his thumb down the nape of my neck. His mouth had turned into a serious, straight line and I felt the muscles in his chest tighten. “We are just friends,” he stated, bitterness seeping into his every syllable. “I know I don’t get an opinion about who takes you to the dance…. I just…. I just thought you and Seth weren’t like that yet.” His tone had softened and the brokenness behind his words nearly shattered me.