Page 77 of Off Script

“Mom?” Tristan croaked. His eyes flitted over her, wondering if she was, in fact, real or if he was in some weird dream. But there she was, standing by his fireplace with one of his picture frames in her hand.

“This is a nice photo of you,pequeño. You look happy,” she said. The photo was one of Tristan smiling exuberantly as he accepted an MTV Movie Award.

A rush of rage spurred by betrayal coursed through Tristan’s body. He made his way over and snatched the picture out of her hand, placing it back on the mantelpiece.

“What are you doing here? How’d you even get in?” he asked.

“The code on the door wasn’t that hard to guess,” she admitted.

So much for smart locks being the way to go. Tristan had specifically had one installed because it seemed like a better choice than someone picking a traditional lock. Apparently, that point was moot if you weren’t creative enough. His mom had easily deduced he’d picked the premiere date ofGarcia Central.The night it aired he’d looked up at her, tears in his eyes, and told her it was the happiest day of his life.

“I know it’s strange for me to come here, but I needed to see you.” His mom went on in the wake of his silence.

“You need a kidney, right? Is that why you called me?” He scoffed.

“No me hables así,” she said tersely. “I understand that you’re upset with me. You have every right to be. But I’m still your mother and you will respect me.”

The sheer audacity of this woman made Tristan furious. It was one thing to leave a cryptic phone call without any explanation. But to show up at his house unannounced? She’d lost his respect a long time ago, and her dramatic entrance now wasn’t helping. If she wanted parental courtesy, she’d have to work for it.

“Okay, I won’t talk to you that way if you don’t scold me like we’re talking about a lost bike or a math test I cheated on.”

A series of emotions flickered across his mother’s lovely face before she locked them behind a more passive expression. Whether the look in her eyes had been one of sadness, shame, or regret, Tristan wasn’t sure. After being away so long, it was as if the features he’d once known so well, and what they meant, were foreign to him now. Whatever she was feeling, she kept it in check and continued calmly.

“You’re right. I didn’t come here to reprimand you. I came to explain.” His mother sat down on the couch, motioning for him to sit beside her. He gaped at the gesture, the act so simple and yet equally insufficient.

“It’s abouttwelve yearstoo late for explanations, Mom. The first year after you left, I waited every day for you to come back, for you to explain. But you never did.”

“Mijo—”

“Don’t mijo me. I was fourteen! ¿Y dónde estabas, Mama? Tell me, where were you?”

“I didn’t want to leave you, but your father insisted.”

Tristan shook his head. He thought back to his father’s misery and depression after his mom’s disappearance. Toxic recollections filled his mind. Ones of coming home from long days on theGarcia Centralset to find empty liquor bottles overflowing the trash can. His dad passed out on the couch or too out of it to ask how his day was. How Tristan’s paychecks became a big source of the family income. But while his dad had his faults, he had still been a good man. He never would have forced his mother to leave. Tristan’s dad mourned her absence for years and died brokenhearted. Tristan’s dad never had a chance to fully reconcile things with his family. Tristan shook his head in disbelief at his mom asking for the same chance.

“You’re lying. You’re trying to make yourself look better.”

“Why would I come all the way back here, and dredge up this pain, to lie to you?” She stood up and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“Tristan, leaving you killed me, but I’m here now. I want to finally tell you the truth.”

“Vete,” Tristan hissed. It was cruel, banishing his mother from his house. But if he didn’t, he would break. He’d end up sobbing like the lost boy he’d been so long ago. He refused to go there. She didn’t deserve his tears.

Isabella sighed, sensing his resignation. Nevertheless, she locked eyes with him, not letting him escape.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll go. But despite what you think, I love you, Tristan. Always,” she said.

And with that, she left.

All over again.

The door closing behind her was like all the air being let out of the room. Tristan took in a shaky breath, finally sitting down on the couch. But as he tried not to freak out over what had just happened, his thoughts transported him back to the day his mom left. Tristan hadn’t been home to witness her exit. Like the coward she was, she snuck away in the middle of the afternoon when Tristan was busy on set and his dad was at work.

At this point,Garcia Centralhad won critical acclaim for its first season and they were in the middle of producing season two. Tristan still loved every minute of it, relishing in the new scripts that came out. In their shoot that day, he’d gotten to dress up as a pineapple as part of a scheme the brothers had cooked up. As the loud resident jokester, Tristan had owned it, doing perfect pratfalls and nailing his signature catchphrase: “¿Por qué yo?”

Later on, he waited for his dad to pick him up so he could go home and tell both his parents all about it. Since his dad wrote for another show on the network, they carpooled together. That morning his dad had been surly as all get out, barely acknowledging his mom when they left and refusing Tristan’s request to listen to the radio because he had a “headache.”

But regardless, Tristan assumed his dad would still pick him up. However, the time ticked by, and his dad didn’t come. It wasn’t unusual for either of them to work long hours, but when his dad was running late, he usually texted. As Tristan waited in the lobby, his oldestGarciabrother, Rafe, and his mother, Mrs. Sanchez, hesitated when they saw him loitering there.

---