Lola
Sunday, January 7, 1996
Hartford, Connecticut

Lola’s gaze browsed the different choices of milk on display. Soy? High in protein, she thought to herself. Two percent? My favorite. Soy or two percent? Soy or two percent? Lola snorted as she grabbed the carton. She knew she was going to go with two percent before she even walked into the store to pick up the milk.

Still inwardly chuckling over her theatrical dealings with dairy, Lola turned and bumped into someone. She backed away instantly when she realized the body she collided with was male.

“Oh my goodness,” Lola exclaimed with a swipe of her hair to get it off her face. “I’m so sorry.”

The man chuckled and when Lola’s vision was clear of hair she was able to see the man that she recognized as the father she saw waiting outside of Morgan’s school almost two months ago. He was attractive. Then she kicked herself for thinking that. She made no promises to Tristan, of course, but still. They were kind of in a semi-exclusive relationship and she shouldn’t be having-oh, hell. He was still ridiculously gorgeous: taller than Tristan, broad shouldered with brown hair and bright blue eyes.

George Clooney who?

“I’m sorry,” Lola repeated. “I’m-.”

“Louise Ellison,” he said smoothly. Then he flushed and Lola was besotted. “You’re a hot topic of conversation at Sunday playgroup.”

Lola smiled tightly. “Am I? Well, I’m glad I can be a source of entertainment.”

He took his cap off and rubbed his dark hair before replacing the cap. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. Braden Walters.”

Lola raised an eyebrow. “As you’re not part of playgroup gossip, I suppose it’s fair that I know nothing about you,” she said coolly.

He blushed again. “Would you be willing to find out?”

Lola’s eyes involuntarily zeroed in on his left hand to find it ringless. She brought her gaze back to his amused gaze and smiled coldly-and shrugged. “No, thank you. Excuse me.”

Lola moved around him and walked briskly to check out with her gallon of two percent milk and forced all thoughts of Braden Walters out of her brain. Though, truthfully, he didn’t do anything wrong, she told herself. All he did was mention that he knew more about her than she of him because those stupid Pygmalion housewives had nothing better to do while their children played than gossip about her.

Lola humphed as she handed over a bill to pay for her milk. It didn’t matter to her anyway.

One thought crossed her mind as she pulled out of the market’s parking lot: exactly what were they saying about me?

Tristan was already in her kitchen when she walked into her house five minutes later. He was at the stove and the aroma of whatever he was making was making Lola’s mouth water. They’d agreed after what almost-but didn’t-happen in Barbados to have dinner that evening. Lola’s heart was pounding even as she placed the milk into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of wine to go with their dinner.

In an effort to keep things casual, Lola leaned on the counter and watched as Tristan sautéed vegetables in her skillet. “I didn’t know you cooked,” Lola said lightly.

Tristan rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Yeah. Your mom actually taught me so I wouldn’t live on takeout.”

Lola’s easy smile was wiped clean. “My mother taught you?”

Tristan looked up from the skillet and smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I know you hate her but she offered and I figured it was a good idea to have a home cooked meal when Morgan was there because Isabella is even more useless than I am in a kitchen.”

Lola opened her glass cabinet and took out two wines glasses. She avoided Tristan’s gaze as she said, “I don’t hate my mother.”

Tristan snorted. “Don’t they talk about lying in that bible you read?”

Lola turned back furiously. “Don’t tease me, Tristan,” she snapped and immediately wished she could take it back. Her mother got under her skin but that was no reason to take it out on Tristan.

Tristan didn’t look at her as he nodded. “Right,” he muttered as he shut off the stove.

“Tristan,” she said quietly.

“No, it’s okay. I deserved it.”

She helped Tristan carry their meal to her kitchen table and she held his hand as she said grace. She bit into her chicken after taking a sip of her wine and her eyes widened. “My mother can’t even cook this well!”

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck again. “Yeah, I may have taken a cooking class at the Y too.”

Lola blinked in surprise. “Wow, Tristan.”

“Going back to work tomorrow?” Tristan asked in an effort, Lola knew, to change the subject.

Lola nodded and took another bite. “I’m going to meet the new teacher tomorrow. I think he teaches AP European History and Religious Studies.”

Tristan nodded. “Nerd.”

Lola grunted. “Big deal. I like knowing stuff and I like my teachers to know stuff too.”

Tristan smiled at her. “What, like another interview?”

“Actually,” Lola told him. “The headmaster hired him personally, so.”

Dinner went on casually and for that Lola was thankful. She could feel the anxiety grow in her as dinner wrapped up and they ended up in her living room with a cup of coffee and a bag of popcorn. She knew that the teasing was going to end soon and they would have to talk seriously about their relationship but she didn’t want to talk about it. After their interlude in Barbados, she avoided talking about what had almost happened between them by kicking Tristan out of her room so she could dress without distraction. When midnight hit, it was Tristan that she shared her first New Years kiss with but as they kissed again, Lola said a little prayer: Lord, I have no idea what you planned for me but please help me to follow your schedule and your plan instead of doing what my flesh wants so badly.

Lola didn’t dare invite Tristan back to her room. The next morning Tristan tried to talk to her about it again but she avoided that conversation by telling him she needed time to think and suggesting the dinner that evening. She let him in earlier and in an effort to prolong the inevitable she decided that just had to have milk that very instant and rushed out to buy some.

She didn’t even like milk.

“Hey, earth to Lola,” Tristan poked her arm.

Lola blinked and looked at Tristan. They were each on an end of her couch with their feet tangling in the middle. “I’m sorry, I kind of blinked out for a second.”

Tristan smirked. “Yeah, I noticed.”

She threw a kernel at him.

“We going to talk, Lola?” Tristan asked after a pregnant pause.

Lola blinked. “Uh-.”

Tristan’s jaw tightened and he placed his mug of coffee on her coffee table. “I should go.”

“No,” she reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, let’s talk.”

The anxiety began to leave but the palpitations had just begun.

Tristan sat in front of the couch on the floor and leaned on the coffee table. Lola, meanwhile, stretched out and used a throw pillow to hold her head up as she stared at him. Their hands somehow found each other and Lola found Tristan’s brush on her thumb comforting.

“What are we doing?” he sighed a minute later.

Lola took her cue to begin rubbing her thumb along his palm. “Being immature and stupid.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

Lola sat up Indian-style and placed her hands on her thighs. “I’m thirty. You’re thirty-three. Don’t you think this entire situation is too high school? We’re grown-ups, Tristan. It’s time we start acting like it.”

Tristan’s eyes took on a wicked gleam and he placed his hands on top of hers. “Grown-ups, you say, Louise?”

Lola raised an eyebrow and smiled despite it. She gently tossed Tristan’s hands off of hers and reprimanded him, “Not that grown-up.”

Tristan eased back with a smile. “Ah. I see. Teasing is beneath you, Louise.”

“Ugh, Tristan,” Lola threw a pillow at him. “You’re being retarded.”

“Your butt’s expanding,” Tristan replied evilly.

Lola launched herself at him and heard Tristan’s mug fall off the table and roll onto the rug beneath it. The two wrestled on the ground until Lola pinned Tristan and glared at him. “Take it back,” she demanded.

Tristan snorted. “That would require lying, Louise, and I’ve been trying to become a better Christian. You don’t want me to backslide, do you?”

Lola’s mouth dropped open. “You jerk!” she punched him in the gut and took a great satisfaction in hearing his grunt.

Tristan rolled them over and he straddled her hips. He grinned like a schoolboy. “From the last time were in this position, I’ve got to say that your hips have expanded as well.”

Lola kicked upward but Tristan was quick enough to roll them over again. “You’re a real ass, Tristan,” she muttered before climbing off of his and settling back on the couch.

Tristan laughed gently. “I was trying to loosen you up. I could hear your palpitations from here,” he told her as he sat back up and leaned against the coffee table again.

“I don’t know what I want or need anymore, Tristan,” Lola told him truthfully. “I thought divorce was the solution to our problems and-.” Lola cut off and stared at her bare ring finger.

“Lola?”

“Why the hell did you cheat on me?” Lola cried angrily as she looked back up. “We were fighting, yeah, but-did you want to hurt me that badly? Did I disgust you so much that you had to go-.”

“No!” Tristan exclaimed and took her hands again. “No, Lola. Of course not. I didn’t set out after our fight with the intention of cheating. I barely remember that night. It-.”

“No,” Lola moaned. “I don’t want to hear about that night, Tristan.”

Tristan squeezed Lola’s hand. “We have to, Lola.”

Lola tried to take a deep breath to calm down the rushing of her heart.

“I went there that night to vent a bit. She was getting ready for bed so she was in this…red, night thing,” Tristan concluded quickly. “Anyway, we started with tequila but I moved on to beer after a few shots and-.”

“Tristan, please,” Lola cried, looking at everything but him. “I can’t hear this.”

“You have to, Lola,” Tristan urged her. “Look, she kissed me. I blacked out after and all I remember was waking up naked on the couch.”

Lola yanked her hands from Tristan’s and raised them to her eyes and she tried to stop the flow of tears. “God, Tristan! Couldn’t you have gone to Tommy’s or something? Why did you have to go there?”

Tristan
Sunday, January 7, 1996
Hartford, Connecticut

Tristan had a feeling that the question was rhetorical but he answered anyway. “Tommy was out of town.”

Lola snorted. “Of course,” she muttered.

“Lola-.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, forget it.”

Tristan nearly growled in frustration. She was the most annoying-. He took a deep breath and stopped that train of thought. “You are so-.”

“What?” she challenged him. “I’m what?”

Tristan decided not to answer that question instead changing the subject. By the end of the night, Tristan was laying on the floor while Lola laid on the couch, still talking. When one topic ran out, a new one quickly took place. They never talked this much, Tristan realized. At least never so seriously, he mended.

“Tristan?”

Tristan grunted. There had been a pause in which they both collected their thoughts.

“You have to do the DNA test,” Lola told him.

Tristan tried to block out the rest of the sentence the moment he heard D but it was futile. “Hell, Louise,” he snapped.

Lola sat up and glared at him. “Don’t you ‘Louise’ me, asshole! You need to do the freaking test, damn it!”

With a groan, Tristan sat up. “I can’t, Lola. I can’t.”

Lola stared at him through wide eyes. The blue was so brilliant and reminded him of water of the Barbados ocean. “You have to, Tristan. I need to know.”

Tristan looked down and tried to avoid her eyes. He knew he’d be a goner if she stared at him for a second longer. “Lo-.”

She’d climbed off the couch and settled at his feet and lifted his head. “Please, Tristan.”

He was gone.