Broken Pieces
Page 115

She waved a hand at him. “Of course I remember. I’m agoraphobic and depressed, but my memory works just fine.”
Tristan tensed up but she smiled. “I’m kidding, son. Lighten up.” Turning to Mateo, she continued, “I’m Rhonda. It’s so nice to meet you, too.”
Just as she’d done with Josiah, she pulled Mateo into a hug, only it didn’t linger as long. “Nice to meet you, too, senora.”
“Oh, don’t call me ma’am. Please, use Rhonda.”
Mateo stepped back. “Rhonda.”
She eyed Mateo again, then Josiah, before her eyes landed on Tristan. She didn’t pull him into a hug like she had with his guys, but smiled instead.
“I made roast and potatoes. It should be done any minute. Make yourselves at home and I’ll get it finished.”
Mateo finished washing his hands first before asking, “Need some help? Setting the table or somethin’?”
She nodded once, reminding Tristan of himself, before she showed Mateo where the plates and silverware were. Mateo set the table while Josiah spoke with his mom as she finished dinner. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to get a word in. Tristan wondered if this was how they spoke when on the phone, each of them rambling on and on about anything they could think of.
His chest somehow felt both tight and relaxed at the same time. He couldn’t describe the mixed emotions going through him, so he excused himself to the bathroom.
He splashed water on his face as though that would wash away the feelings he didn’t want to focus on. The fact that Josiah and Mateo were standing in his mother’s house.
The fact that he was glad they were.
When he went back into the other room, his mom had just pulled the roast out. “Here, Mom. Let me cut it for you.”
She handed him the knife. Less than five minutes later, the four of them sat at her too-large kitchen table. The most it had ever sat was three, on the rare occasions Tristan ate with his mom and Isabel, who had gone out for the evening.
“So, Mateo. Tell me a little bit about yourself?” she asked as they ate.
From across the table, Tristan saw Mateo seize up. It was such a simple question, but one Tristan knew Mateo wouldn’t want to answer. The urge to protect Mateo surged inside him, though he knew Mateo didn’t need it. Not him. Mateo protected people, not the other way around. Still, Tristan found himself cutting in. “He’s known Josiah since they were teenagers. He’s...very important to us both.” And then before his mom could question him on it, Tristan added, “He takes incredible photographs. Maybe he’ll show you sometime.”
“Nah, it’s nothin’. I’m not that good.” Mateo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Yes you are, Teo. They’re beautiful. I keep trying to tell him he should do something with them, but it’s not working. Maybe you can talk him into it,” Josiah told her.
“You should,” his mom said. “My son isn’t easily impressed, and I have a feeling Josiah might not be, either. No one ever thinks they’re good at something, but if these boys say you are, well, I’d bet you are.” She reached over and patted Mateo’s hand, then grabbed Josiah’s. Tristan’s breath caught. His heart thudding to a wild, almost happy beat as he watched them.
“I’m so glad to meet you guys,” she said again.
In that moment, Tristan knew he’d done something he’d always wished he could do. He’d made her truly happy.
Two hours later, they all sat in the living room. Josiah sat next to his mom on the couch, Mateo in a chair next to it, and Tristan on the other couch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his mom talk so much, if ever.
“Was Tristan as quiet as a child as he is now?” Josiah asked her.
She laughed. “Oh, God yes. It’s always been work to pry words out of his mouth. I used to tease him and say it was like he’d swallowed an old man.”
“What?” Josiah laughed.
“Maybe you should have that checked,” Mateo teased.
Damned if Tristan didn’t find himself chuckling, too. “If either of you give me hell about that, I won’t hesitate to take action.”
“I think I’m going to need you to explain that one to me.” Josiah still laughed.
“It’s like he’s an old soul,” his mom said. “Tristan has always been older than his years. He’s always been serious and quiet.” The air in the room thickened. “He’s always taken responsibility for things he shouldn’t.”