Page 83 of I Could Be Yours

“How did you stop that from happening?” Even if Essie takes a chance on me, I could fuck it all up. I’ve done it before. I need to figure out how to keep it from happening again.

“The first couple of times I failed.” Tristan’s jaw tics. “But every time I shut down on Bea, I caused her pain. The worst part was, at the time, I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I was so focused on myself and my own feelings that I couldn’t take her’s into account the way I needed to. I put up walls because I didn’t know what to do with my feelings for her. They were too much, and I was overwhelmed.”

“But you fixed it, right?” I’m desperate for some kind of magic recipe for relationship success.

“Yeah, with a lot of self-reflection and therapy.”

“But then you have to talk about the bad stuff.” Essie offered to listen, but I took her up on a distraction instead. Because talking about my mom hurts, and sex with Essie does not.

“Yup, and it absolutely sucked at the beginning. The first few sessions were rough, especially when I realized how tough I’d made things for Bea, and how I was damaging our relationship by avoiding the difficult things. I broke a few hockey sticks working out my feelings. But Bea and I made a lot of progress, and that made it easier to keep going.” Tristan’s voice is raw with emotion.

“So it’s not as hard now?” I should stop digging at these wounds, his and mine and Dad’s, but I want what Tristan has.

“Most of the time, yeah. Bea and I both have bad days, but we work through them.”

He’s so sure in his conviction that Bea’s worth the pain. He believes in her, and she believes in him. Could I handle therapy if it meant someone as kind and full of love and light as Essie could be mine?

Dad’s eyes bounce between us. “I should have made you boys talk to someone when you were younger.”

“You did. I lasted one session. I told her to go fuck herself, and then I told you to do the same.” Tristan takes a long pull of his beer.

“I should have made you try again,” Dad presses.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Dad.” Tristan shakes his head. “I doubt I would have gotten much out of therapy as a teenager. I was too wrapped up in being angry.”

“You might have been less angry.” Dad looks down at the table, posture stiff. “I know I haven’t been the best relationship role model.”

“We were all just trying to survive,” Tristan says, tone gentle. “You were raising three boys on your own.”

“I had a lot of help,” he says pointedly.

“That kept me out of trouble for the most part. Plus, look at how close we are.” Tristan ruffles my hair. “My genius brother’s my best man. My little bro is probably going to steal my spot on my team in a couple of years. It all worked out the way it was supposed to.”

“I’m proud of you. Both of you.” Dad motions to the cliff. “And the one out there making questionable decisions.” He squints. “Where the heck are they?”

“They’re at the top.” They’re impossible to miss. Sam and Isaac are both massive, and Brody and Chase, while still holding on to the narrowness of youth, are tall and muscular.

Chase approaches the edge and immediately steps back and puts his hands on his thighs. Brody runs his hand through his hair. Isaac and Sam do some knee bends. Sam steps up first, runs to the end of the diving board, and does some wild flip-twist-somersault as he flies through the air. He lands in the water with a graceful splash and pops up a few seconds later, fist pumping.

“Wow. That’s…wow,” Dad says.

“The guy goes on twenty-kilometer hikes for shits and giggles,” Tristan explains.

Sam climbs out of the water on our side of the bay and shouts something that gets lost in the wind.

Chase is up next. He looks a lot more apprehensive. He walks to the end of the board, makes the sign of the cross, and jumps. He looks like a terrified dart as he plummets feet first into the water. When he pops out he’s gasping for air. He coughs and sputters and slaps the waves, awkwardly swimming to Sam who cheers him on.

As soon as he’s on the ladder, he vomits into the water.

Me, Dad, and Tristan exchange looks.

“I hope Brody fares better.” But I have my doubts.

We all turn back and watch as our brother steps up. He’s stoic, assessing the jump. Even from here I can sense his unease.

Tristan frowns. “He doesn’t have to do it.”

“He’s gonna do it,” I say.

---