I'm Not in Love

CHAPTER13

Remi

Goal, accomplished.

I set out to distance myself from Tristan and the Wilder family, and I did so with far more effectiveness than I anticipated. It was too easy to stop in its tracks whatever was happening between Tristan and me. The cold shoulder—a mere four days of silence—worked like a charm. I’m off Tristan’s radar. Too bad he’s not off mine.

I’m supposed to be wallowing in relief. Why do I feel like I lost something special?

The weekend seemed lonely and endless. I put a huge dent in a half-gallon bottle of vodka over two nights, and then last night—to sober up—I dragged Dacia to Kala Kitchen for Thai food. We ate until we couldn’t manage another forkful, but it didn’t fill the emptiness inside me.

All by itself, the arrival of Monday morning should have whisked me from my bleak existence into the hustle and bustle of classes and (purposefully limited) student interaction. As I walk across campus to the Clayton Arts Building, though, I can’t get my mind off Tristan.

Impulsively, I pull my cell phone from the back pocket of my khakis and make the call. “Hey, Tristan.”

“Remi?”

“The one and only.”

“Uh, what’s up?” His tone is frigid.

I shiver. “I have some news… for Tara.”

“I’ll give you her number—you can call her directly.”

“I also have some paperwork for her to sign. You know, for a job.” This is an admitted stretch of the truth. There will be paperwork for her to sign, but I don’t have it in hand. Tara will need to go to Remington Plaza Corporate Headquarters to take care of those details. “Maybe I could drop by your apartment tonight.”

“Jared has a soccer game. Wendy’s feeling better, so we’re all gonna go.”

“Then I’ll meet you at Dexter Park. Five o’clock, right?”

“I guess so.”

“See you then.” I can work with lukewarm.

* * *

Remi

As I driveto the park for Jared’s soccer game, I try not to let myself analyze the specifics of what I’m involving myself in. Of course, whenever I try not to think too hard on a topic, it’s like an invitation to do just that. And facts are facts… Four short days ago, I extricated myself from this tangled web of friendship or romance—or whatever the fuck it is—with Tristan, and I’m now throwing myself right back into the snare.

AndI’m wearing a stupid grin because I’m glad—no, I’m thrilled—I’m doing this. I’m happy with Tristan and Tara and the kids. Could it be that happiness is not as far from my reach as I thought? Maybe being happy is rather simple: a feeling of belonging, coupled with easy breathing in the presence of others. Punctuated by a constant, possibly ridiculous, urge to smile.

I fit in too well with the Wilder family, stupid grin and relaxed breathing included.

At the risk of quoting sappy romance verse, when I’m with Tristan, my heart pounds. My knees go weak. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. My fingers tingle with the need to touch him.

This is quite obviously more than simple happiness; could I be falling in love?

Shit… I wipe the perspiration from my brow because there I go, scrutinizing the minutia of my emotional condition when I’m with Tristan. It’s better to close my eyes to those details and plow aimlessly forward.

After pulling into the parking lot by the field, I check my hair and teeth in the rearview mirror. Not normal Remi behavior. Something is happening to me. I can literally feel my perspective on life changing—loosening and then sliding over the edge of a certain cliff I’ve managed to avoid for eons and plunging into the abyss. Yes, I care about what Tristan thinks of my appearance. I want him to find me as attractive as I find him.

And I rather desperately want to fix what I broke by ignoring him last week. Because I also care about what Tristan thinks of me as a man. I admit—though it pains me greatly to do so—that I haven’t given a single consideration to anyone’s opinion of me since my parents died. I care now, likely too much for my own emotional safety. Still, I’m doing this.

I race across the field to join the family that makes me feel like part of the world.

“Coach Remi, you’re here!” Jared splits from his team to meet me mid-way to the parking lot. “Like, I knew you’d come!”

“Emmie!” Wendy squirms out of Tara’s arms and scrambles after Jared. “Mommy made me leave Bah-Bah Lamb Baby at home!”

Tommy isn’t far behind. “But Little Wenny, you can’t get your brand-new lambie all dirty before we go trick-or-treatin’!”

I scoop up Wendy. “I’m sure that Little Bo Peep wouldn’t want to take a dirty lamb with her on Halloween night.”

Out pops her lower lip. Wendy is the pouting princess, and she’s adorable.

“And sweetie, Bah-Bah Lamb Baby needs to rest up for his big night,” I offer.

“Bah-Bah Lamb Baby is a girl, just like me.” Of course she is.

“You gonna help Coach Wells at the game today? We’re playing the Meteors, and they, like, totally kick butt.” Jared isn’t interested in Wendy’s stuffed animal woes.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand if Coach Wells wants me to.”

“He does, Coach Remi. He wants to crush the Meteors too.”

Still carrying Wendy, I head back to the sidelines where Tara and Tristan wait.

“Hi, Remi. Thanks for coming to Jared’s game,” Tara says.