Page 9 of What About Us
“It’s always something though, isn’t it?” His voice rises a little with his words. “I’ve been trying to reach you for almost three days. She was really sick, Tris. Like scary fucking sick.” His voice cracks a little on the last sentence, and I can tell he’s close to losing it. He’ll never let her see it, though. She’s already done too much damage.
She says something, and I can see his jaw clench. He rubs his forehead like he might have a headache.
“Really, Tristen? Of course, I was paying attention,” he says, his tone turning defensive. “I couldn’t have known. It just happened.”
I can just hear her now, blaming Hudson for something he has no control over. I’d love to get this woman alone in a dark alley.
What he’s saying is true. Her symptoms were nonexistent, until they weren’t. It was nothing like mine when I was younger; I didn’t see any signs with her. I would have said something otherwise. We’d already spent a week together and everything seemed normal. Until it wasn’t. That is the thing with diabetes: if you’ve seen one person with it, you’ve seen one person with it. It doesn’t always manifest in the same way twice.
“That’s great coming from you, Tristen. You haven’t seen her in two years.”
He lets out a huff as she says something else.
“Your parents are more than welcome to see her. I’ve never kept her from them, you know that.”
More silence as Tristen speaks.
“Yes, I’ll be working, but Jameson is here. It’s not like they can't stop by. If your parents want to see her, all they have to do is contact me.”
Another long sigh. “Just because our daughter is sick doesn’t mean shit stops needing my attention. I have a business I’m trying to run, in case you forgot about that, too. And yes, she’s here for the week, and then we’re flying back home for Christmas.”
Another pause, and then, “Tristen, I’m not doing this with you.”
Suddenly, he pulls the phone away from his ear and I can see that she’s hung up on him. He sighs and tosses the phone onto the coffee table, before scrubbing a hand over his face and flopping back against the couch.
“Goddamn,” he says, angrily.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He starts and looks up at me as I come into the living area. “Hey,” he says and nods. “Just Tristen being Tristen. You know, the usual.”
I nod and step over his feet to sit next to him on the other side of the couch. Pulling a blanket off the back, I drape it over our legs and turn my head to look at him.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask, setting my hand on his knee and giving him a reassuring squeeze.
He shakes his head as he stares at the lights of the Christmas tree. Just beyond that, I can see that it’s started snowing through the glass door to the balcony.
He takes my hand and drops his head back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s always been so fucking easy for her to blame me. For everything.”
I squeeze his hand and then rest my cheek against his bare shoulder. “I know.”
“Everything is always about her. I never wanted her to give up dancing. I never once told her she couldn’t see Paige. But every time I talk to that woman, she somehow makes me feel like shit; like it’s my fault she isn't with her daughter.”
“I know that, too.” How can someone just walk away from their kid? It’s not like she’s mentally unstable, or physically incapable of caring for her daughter. She’s just selfish. It’s completely fucked.
“And now, she’s pissed at me because I won’t wake her? She just spent two days in the hospital, and all Tristen can think about is how inconvenient it is to call back tomorrow.”
I watch as his chest rises and falls. I hate that he’s hurting, but all I can do is listen. I don’t know how to make things easier for him. I wish I did.
“Do you want me to whack her?” I ask and he chuckles, a little smile tipping up one corner of his mouth.
“Nah. You’d be a shit assassin, babe. You’d probably trip and shoot yourself in the foot or something.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “That’s fair.”
His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks again. “How do I do this? How do I be everything she needs? Especially now.” He lifts his head and turns it to look at me. His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red. The sadness there crushes me, and I can't imagine who in their right mind could ever leave this man. I’ll never understand it.
“You alreadyareeverything she needs,” I tell him. “You’ve been doing it her whole life.”
