Page 2 of My Unfinished Heart

He blows out a nervous exhale and quickly sits, scooting his chair closer to mine, giving the illusion he’s on my side.

“Phil Haskell.” The attorney introduces himself to Tristan, leaning to shake his hand as well.

“Tristan Chase,” he says.

“Tristan Chase,” I say, trying to decide if it rings a bell. Sort of? I’m picturing water for some reason. But also, his eyes are sort of the color of a swimming pool in the summer.

He nods. The expression on his face is poised and receptive, but his red-rimmed gaze is heavy with the weight of what’s brought all of us together today.

“How long have you known Connor?”

He turns in his chair to face me, his knees grazing my outer thigh. He folds his hands in his lap. “Um. Since elementary school.”

Haskell interjects. “Why don’t I give you two a moment?”

When I nod, he excuses himself and escapes into the air-conditioning.

Alone now, I stare at Tristan beneath the scorching sun. The bright morning light makes his wavy, shoulder-length hair gleam like spun gold. He’s not currently crying, but it’s clear he has been. Just in case, I hand him the napkin I have clutched in my fist.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“We’ve met before?” I ask.

“Not formally. I mean, there was one time you splashed water at me in a pool when I was a kid, but we weren’t technically introduced…”

The image and impressions piece themselves together. “Was that you? I actually do remember that.” I had few enough interactions with my brother growing up that the memories of each time remain fresh, but not the names of his friends, I guess.

Our eyes meet solemnly. Something clicks. It’s not recognition. It’s more like a connection, and something more I can’t put a word to. It’s also not a feeling I’ve ever had with a stranger before, so it’s hard to call it anything. He gives me a tentative smile, which makes me wonder if he notices, too. I give him a closer, longer look. I definitely don’t recognize him, but he’s something to look at. Every feature on his face seems sculpted almost to exaggeration, but then it was like the artist managed to show some restraint, leaving him unusually beautiful. Very attractive.

His small smile trembles before he glances away. “Are you confused about the will?”

His question draws me back to the brutal reality. Sole heir.

“How did you know?”

“I overheard a little. For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s a mistake. Your mom and dad were getting a divorce. With the way things were since Christmas, I wouldn’t be surprised if your dad cut her out entirely.”

How could this guy possibly know all that? Although, he’s probably wondering why I don’t. “Then what were they all doing in a car together three days ago?”

Tristan presses his lips together, and his eyes well up. This time his chin trembles, and he bites down on his full lower lip. I except him to cry, so I am not at all prepared for what actually happens. In an instant, his arms are around me, and he’s trembling with the effort to keep his tears inside. My face is covered in the golden haze of his hair as I try to figure out what to do with my hands.

Unsolicited hugs and I don’t do well together. I find them unnatural and suffocating. Unwelcome. Tristan’s hug isn’t any of those things. It’s like rain on parched earth. My body wants to soak it up, but my hands have no idea what to do.

Ultimately they settle on the middle of his back.

I’ve had a lot of upheaval these last three days since I learned my father and mother were killed in a high speed car accident. My brother Connor was the only survivor of the collision. He’s in a coma now, in the ICU, “critical but stable,” whatever that means. I arrived in Austin last night after a nine-hour journey from Seattle with multiple stops and fell asleep on the couch in my brother’s hospital room.

The lawyer’s been blowing up my phone since he first got in touch with me, trying to find a time to meet, and now this. Another person consoling me over the loss of people I’m not mentally or emotionally capable of missing.

“I’m so sorry,” Tristan mumbles against my shoulder.

I’m not sure if he’s apologizing for the loss of my parents or the hug. “Thanks. It’s okay.”

As a rule, I can’t stand being touched by strangers, but since he seems to really need this, I don’t move away. The truth is, I don’t mind it. He’s somehow managed to fit himself against me like a weighted blanket, settling into the hollower places and warming the rest. Allowing my head to rest on top of his, I take a deep breath that smells like a hospital with a hint of coconut.

Through Tristan’s loose, frizzing waves, I notice Haskell’s hesitant approach. I give him a slight nod, wanting to get his part of the day over with. I pat Tristan on the back, a signal that I’m done.

He sees the lawyer and tries to pull himself together, and I’m so busy watching him dry his face, I don’t notice he’s also reaching for my hand. His grip is sudden and tight. He needs this. I’m no longer so sure Tristan’s reasons for sitting here have all that much to do with how he can help me. I’m fucking numb.