I'm Not in Love

Remi

“This kid hassome serious skill at video games,” I say as Tristan tucks Wendy into a white plastic toddler bed.

“He practices enough—he ought to,” Tristan replies. “Jared, you should go check out Tommy’s stitches.”

“He’s not gonna be able to play video games with half a thumb.” Jared passes the Switch to me. “It’s your turn now, Coach.”

Once Jared has raced from the bedroom, Tristan says, “Thanks a million for helping out tonight, Remi.” If I thought he looked wiped out earlier, it’s nothing compared to now.

“It’s what friends do for each other.” I stand and step toward him. My inexplicable urge is to take him in my arms. Resisting is tough.

“Well, I owe you one… or maybe two, at this point.”

“Who’s counting?” I ask, forcing my arms to my sides.

“Come with me.” Tristan steps into the hallway, and I follow along behind him.

As we pass the bathroom, Jared is rambling to his mother and brother. “And then Coach Remi scrubbed Tommy’s blood off the kitchen table. It was, like, super nasty. He checked out my baseball card collection, my homerun ball, and we played video games for, like, an hour.”

“Coach Remi sounds like a cool guy.” A female voice—must be Tristan’s twin sister.

“He’s the super coolest.”

“I have a whole new identity since I met your nephew. I’m now Coach Remi,” I murmur.

“Don’t forget the nickname Wendy gave you, Emmie.” Tristan can’t help but laugh. “I should warn you that she’ll never forget it.”

Once we’re in the living room, I make an offer I hope Tristan won’t take me up on. “I guess I should go now, seeing as my duty as professional blood scrubber and video game observer is done.”

“Stay and meet my sister.” He pats the back of the couch. “Sit down—I owe you a beer.”

I make myself comfortable against the arm of a couch that is littered with children’s books. I stack them on the coffee table in a neat pile. “So, Wendy likes books about lambs…” Talk about stating the obvious.

“Uh, yeah. And I like them too.” He grabs a couple of cans of cheap beer from the fridge. “I mean, not specifically books about farm animals—I just like children’s books.”

He sits beside me—far closer than most friends would—and hands me a can. “You keep surprising me, Tristan.”

“How so?” He takes a long sip, and I do the same.

“You want to be a teacher; you appreciate children’s literature… and you are apparently uncle of the year.”

“You got that right—I need to get him a shiny ‘super uncle’ trophy,” Tara states, emerging from the hallway in wrinkled pajama pants and a baggy white T-shirt. “I have absolutely no clue what I’d do without him.”

“Let me grab you a beer, Tara,” Tristan offers.

“Don’t get up, bro—I’ve got it.” She goes into the kitchen and then quickly returns to the living room with a beer can in hand, stands too close to the couch, and stares down at me. “You are Tristan’s new friend?”

“I guess so,” I reply. Friendship wasn’t my original plan, but here I am.

“Coach Remi, it’s truly nice to meet you.” Tara reaches down to shake my hand. “It’s about time Tristan started to put some effort into his social life. I don’t think he’s hung out with a friend since I had Jared.”

“What choice did I have?” Tristan asks. “We were only sixteen, and Mom—well, she’s always been too flighty to give you much help.”

“God knows I got almost zero help with Jared and Tommy from Jared, Sr.,” Tara adds sourly. “And Ryan does even less for Wendy.”

I assume Jared, Sr. and Ryan are the fathers of her children.

“But you have me.” Tristan points to himself with a thumb. “Always have and always will.”

Tara’s sigh is so heartfelt, it would bring tears to the eyes of a more compassionate man. “I’d have never been able to get my high school diploma, let alone my online business degree, without you. Soon, Wendy will be in school, and I’ll be able to get a real job, and—”

“And you won’t need me so much?” Tristan asks softly.

I’m smack in the middle of an extremely personal conversation between siblings. I should excuse myself and head for the door, but I’m too busy analyzing their every word—trying to unravel the mystery that is Tristan. The soft-spoken, family-oriented, nude model who says he wants to be my friend.

Tara plops down on the other side of him and grabs his hand. “Shit, Tris, I’ll always need you, and we both know it. But maybe when I have a decent job, you can work at a preschool until you get your education degree.”

“I can wait,” he assures her and then turns toward me. “That was TMI, huh, Remi?”

“No, not at all,” I say, though his statement is true. I have gained far more knowledge than I have a right to about Tristan and Tara’s difficult circumstances.

Tristan leans toward me and utters beneath his breath, “Now you understand why I can’t make any promises to a man.”

I have never asked him for promises, but I know what he means. His life can’t afford complications either.

“No secrets, boys,” Tara demands. “I’m totally starving… You up for turkey sandwiches?”