. gun street girl .

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Of course she didn't have a lawyer on speed dial. A fight for their child was the last thing she wanted, but she could now see it going that way. Her parents were still together and seemingly very much in love, the looming divorce was something she was unfamiliar with. She hated the idea of tugging Forrest between them. She despised the very thought of him becoming a bargaining coin or a tool to get back at each other. Though she knew neither of them were like that, she feared for that future. He swipes a fry and it could almost be mistaken as playful. But it's definitely done to annoy her, which actually comforts her momentarily and she doesn't bother to do anything about it. When he mentions Forrest not wanting to see her, she's immediately hurt and looks it. This along with being forgotten had been her greatest fear. Her little boy who she had left so pure and full of wonder had turned resentful towards her. Tess turns away, her cheeks flushing and her mind willing her body not to cry. “Do you think he wouldn't?” her voice cracks slightly and she shakes her head, “don't answer that.” She clears her throat and fishes out her wallet from her purse, pulling out of couple of tens and leaving them on the bar. “I think it's been twenty minutes, you should get back to work,” she finds a business card with her details and places it in front of him, “this is where I am, just call when you're ready.”

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He sees the hurt his words have induced and he's not vindicated by it. Instead, he wants to wrap her up and tell her it's all fine, that it was just a blip and things can be normal. But he's hardened to her. Hardened by nights of Forrest crying and asking where his mom was, and how hard it was to say he didn't know. Hardened by the time he had to tell Forrest's new teacher what had happened in case Forrest acted out. Hardened by having to tell his mom about it, a woman who thought Tess walked on water. As her husband he wanted to make things better for her, as her soon-to-be ex husband he wanted her to know the hurt she'd caused. "I'm not going to work, that's what I was emailing about," he said, wondering if she'd even noticed that he hadn't given his phone a second glance, despite the multiple callers flashing up on the screen.  "Sit down, won't you? I'll order you a beer that doesn't suck," he said as she stood, turning her card over between his fingers without looking at her. It stung to see a zip code that wasn't far from his office... she must have memorised his routine and gone out of her way to avoid him. It hurt tremendously. Clearing his throat since he seemed to have a lump in it, he finished his whiskey, wishing it was just water. He put the card down on the table, freeing his hands to fiddle with the wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand, twirling it around his finger and watching as it caught the light. Finally he looked at her, straight in the eye. "Is there someone else?"

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Tessa stands and runs her hands over her hair, composing herself to leave. Like his day, hers too had been cleared for this. She wasn't banking on it being a picnic, she expected it to be difficult but it was somehow more difficult than she imagined. She felt as though she was on an emotional roller coaster. One moment she was trying to act empathetic, the next she was readying to defend like a lioness, then she wanted to fall into a crying heap. Right now it was the latter. But she reminded herself that emotions were good, feeling meant that she was moving forward. After so long of feeling numb, the hot tears that brimmed her lower lash line was almost welcoming. She eases herself back into her seat. Leaning her arms against the bar and her head on her forearms, turning her face away from him because it's too much to handle. When she looks up, she catches the ring on his finger. How hadn't she noticed that? Hers is off, it's sitting in a little seashell on top of her jewellery box. She took it off the day she left but she sometimes let it roll in her hands, missing the touch of it. But seeing his makes her feel like she's going to have a stroke. It makes her feel sick. “No, when would I have time for someone else? Mommy and Me?” the suggestion of infidelity bothers her. How could he even think that of her? Did he really not know her? She finds herself laughing while still brushing tears away, “I can't believe you forgot me.” She doesn't mean it so literally, she means that this is the first time he's made time for her in years. This is the first conversation that hadn't been about him. She presses her hand to her head, “no, there wasn't anyone else. It was the opposite.. I don't know how to explain it, I don't know how you still can't see it.”

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It's so strange to see her stiff. Even when she was trying to disguise her true feelings, years of companionship had led Tristan to learn all her little tells and he could usually decipher what she was thinking. But now she was difficult to read. It was obvious that she was upset, but he had expected a pantomime begging for forgiveness, some display of penance for all the harm she'd caused. He got the sense that she regretted the way she went about leaving, but not leaving, and that hurt all the more. Hadn't absence made her heart at all fonder? How could she have slept next to him all those nights, her mind surely full of thoughts of escaping? Had he really been that bad? He knew he was a workaholic, but he loved his son and he tried his best. He was no Don Draper, he'd had no real interest in betraying his family. Ordering two beers, he leaned back in his seat and looked at her as she looked away. There had been a part of him that thought he would never see her again, and this part of him was happy to be wrong, even in these trying circumstances. Her response doesn't offer him much comfort. Was it really just a scheduling issue that stopped her from straying? "I never forgot you," he said, not catching her drift. It felt like she had started speaking a different language, even in the months before she left. "I don't know how you can expect me to see it. You're talking in riddles, you never talk to me about anything, you haven't for years," his tone is more defeated than accusatory. He holds out a napkin for her to wipe her eyes with. "Do you want some more food?" These gestures were new to Tristan, small displays of empathy that he'd learned from finally being a hands on dad. "We can get some water too, two beers and you'll be buzzing."

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She founds it frustrating to explain herself. How did he not know how bad it was for her? There's obviously guilt for that too, that she found being a mother was so hard. She'd always felt that she was trying to stuff herself into a mould that she could never possibly fit into; that had made her depressed. She would go to these Mommy and Me meetings in attempt to meet people, and she just couldn't keep up the talk. These women found satisfaction in the smallest things and she was ashamed that she didn't get the same delight. Tessa spent a lot of time wishing she was someone else and thinking that Tristan wished the same of her. When she'd tried to talk about it, she just ended up feeling sad and selfish. There was no where to go with it. She was a bad person for trying to be a certain person but a worse person for wanting more from life. “I tried so hard to talk to you,” she shakes her head, her eyes looking up to stare at the bottles behind the bar. “So hard. But you didn't listen, you just pretended like everything was fine. How could you not see that it wasn't?” She repeats herself, lifting her hand to deny his offering of a napkin. “It wasn't okay. I had no one.” She shakes her head, “I'm not hungry.. I'm not thirsty.”

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The slow crumbling of Tessa's neutral facade made her more sympathetic. It was easy to be angry at the absent Tessa, and Tristan had deleted pictures of them in happier times in a bid to remember her as negatively as possible. Though he defended her to their son, and even sometimes third parties who'd dare to discuss the topic with him, he found it exceptionally difficult to defend her to himself. His personal sense of loss was so grievous that he couldn't see past it, but with her in front of him, it was more difficult to see her as the villainess he'd painted her as in his mind. She was obviously broken, a fact he should have been aware of, but where before her brokenness was off putting, now he wanted to help. Raising Forrest alone had been a crash course in how not to be a selfish asshole, but though he'd come a long way, he still had no idea how bad he was to begin with. He nods as she speaks, though his first instinct is to disagree. He tried to cast his mind back, to remember times she might have said something along those lines... most of his memories of Tess were happier times, and when he imagined her in the last few years, he just saw her as Forrest's mom. He supposed that was part of the problem. "Here, your mascara's running," he said, insisting on the napkin even though she swatted it away. The bartender brings the beers and Tristan asks for some water, as well as some more fries and onion rings too. Instinctively he'd moved his chair closer to her, his arm across the back of her chair as she hunched over the bar. He wanted to hug her but that seemed like too much for either of them right now, so he just remained close, not touching. "I'm sorry," he said softly, two words he couldn't remember ever saying before. As difficult as it was to say, he didn't regret it once he had. Clearing his throat again, he had to force the next few words out. "I should have listened."

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Things had shifted in Tristan during the past few minutes and Tessa hadn't been blind to it. She'd thought so badly of him for so long that he forgot he could be kind and aware. The Tristan she fell in love with was the one who known her for only two weeks but had brought her soup and sat with her when she had the flu, only to get the flu himself. The one she fell out of love with was dismissive and too busy to pay attention to what was happening at home. Bad Tristan forgot her. This was the softer version of him and it made her more upset because she'd forgotten how to handle him. She takes the napkin and dabs her puffy eyes, sooty marks come off and she sighs. “Embarrassing,” she remarks, avoiding both him and the bartender. When he moves close, she wants to back away and crawl back into seclusion. He radiates around her and her body is uptight but she stays put. She hears glass hit the surface and she doesn't look up or say thank you. “I love him so much. I didn't leave because I didn't love him, he was my whole world.” Tess rests her cheek on her arm and finally looks at Tristan, “I was so burnt out, I felt so tired, I was such a bad mom. I know I shouldn't have felt like that, I'm sorry for it.”

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It was easy to slip into dad mode now. When Forrest was acting up (and he had been frequently), Tristan had initially responded to it the same way he would anyone else acting up, with exasperation, a flared temper and a refusal to compromise. But this got him nowhere, the kid ran rings around him, and eventually, one day, he gave up the fight and told his son that he didn't care anymore, he could act up as much as he liked. Surprisingly, Forrest calmed much more quickly. Once the child started to calm, Tristan instinctively softened, managing to coax out a sensible response. Since then he'd adopted the mantra that it was easier to catch flies with honey, and though his patience could still be tested, he was a warmer person than he had been before she left. He watches her pat her mascara away, shaking his head a little as she says it's embarrassing. Taking a long sip of his water, he passes her hers, though he resists the temptation to tell her to drink. She wasn't actually a five year old, after all, she could do what she wanted. "I know you do. He does too." He glances at his phone for the first time since sending that email. Nice Tristan wants to reassure her that she's not a bad mom at all, but this is a stretch even for Nice Tristan, who'd say it if it weren't for how much her absence had hurt Forrest. Instead, he picks up his phone. "Do you want to see some pictures? I've become one of those obsessive parents who takes pictures of literally everything their kid does, then bores people to death with them.'

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Contrary to what she believed at the time, Tessa had been a very good mom. Her judgment on herself had been harsh and distorted by her depression, she'd led herself to believe that Forrest would be better off without her. This of course wasn't true, she realized that now. As a mother Tessa had been caring and attentive first. Forrest wasn't easy to care for. She didn't know how he was so picky considering his parents weren't. But one minute he'd want something and if you gave it to him, he was suddenly offended by it. There would be tears over a PB & J sandwich, and tears over The Wiggles. Tessa had figured out how to soothe his flare ups, but that didn't stop them from being so exhausting. There were more sweet moments than sour though, Forrest had been her everything. She still missed the way he'd wake up and come into bed with her. She'd kill to snuggle up with him and the very thought made her heart hurt. The glass of water is cold in her hand and on her lips, but it's refreshing. She didn't realized how hot she'd gotten or how worked up she actually was. She must look terrible. She forced herself to breathe slowly. In through the nose and out through the mouth, counting in her head. It was a trick her therapist had passed onto her and it usually worked in bringing her back. A little more composed, Tessa sits up from her heap and nods. She comes closed to peer into his phone, the blue light reflecting on her skin. He'd gotten so big, she didn't even recognize most of his wardrobe. “He's so big,” she comments. She's sad but smiles, “he's really growing into a mini you.” Tristan's traits dominate Forrest. Tess swipes with her index finger, her eyes taking in memories she missed out on. She lands on a selfie of the two of them and it brings her a little joy, “that's my favourite one.”

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It was easy to sum up the main difference that came into play once Forrest had been born, and that was the way they saw each other. Tristan started seeing Tessa as Forrest's mom, he was frustrated by and jealous of the baby. They'd been a unit for so long and had always been besotted with each other, Tessa had brought out a romantic side to Tristan that no other woman ever had. He thought she was angelic. From the day they first met and she quipped back and forth with him, the former playboy's eyes were opened to a world of commitment, a world where being with one person forever didn't seem bad, seemed incredible in fact, so long as the one person was Tessa. He couldn't get enough of her, her vibrancy and her zeal, her commitment to the world around her and also her killer sense of humour. She brought so much joy into his life and he couldn't wait to marry her. But Forrest had changed her priorities, as he should. An especially demanding child though he was, any child would have had the same effect - leaving Tessa with less time for Tristan. It never once occurred to Tristan that he too had less time for her, though he had sacrificed his time to work and not to the more noble cause of raising their child. Their neighbor Rebecca had done much to put this into perspective for him, and as he watched Tessa's eyes light up at the sight of Forrest, he felt guilty for leaving the burden solely on her shoulders. "This was just this morning," he said with a smile, showing a picture of Forrest covered in shaving foam, imitating his dad. "Physically, yes. Personality wise? All you," he says, with genuine fondness. He laughs at her favourite. "Me too! He's become obsessed with selfies, he's gonna have Instagram in no time." He pauses, forcing himself to say more. "He talks about you every day."

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The bartender says something as he sets down a serving of fries and onion rings. Tessa tilts her head up and says thank you sweetly, she feels more confident in her gratuity now that she's not so worked up. But the bartender gives her a cautious look and she's ashamed she's given herself away. Her earlier claim of being fine had proved bullshit. She wasn't fine. She had been steadily going downhill since this morning. Despite working in difficult regions, when the focus was on her it was different. She felt ill-equipped to handle it. She smiles at the bartender and turns her attention back to Tristan. She laughs at Forrest's beard of foam. It's a real laugh than bunches up her features and her smile doesn't fade as it does. “Stubborn,” it was definitely a trait that she and her son shared. Forrest had to be fooled into doing things he didn't want to do and she had been very much the same. She shakes her head at the idea of him having an instagram account. As so much of her childhood was spent without screens and in her imagination, the idea of having such a childhood surrounded by technology was a weird one. “I miss him,” she repeats, biting her lip thoughtfully. “You seem like a good dad... I mean, I haven't seen you in action, but Rebecca said you were.”

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Seeing Tessa thank the bartender is reassuring, it was most unlike her to ignore service people. It was a habit he'd had to retrain himself on, so used to being out with her and having her gush on his behalf. Waiters and bartenders loved her and not just for her beauty, she had a warmth that seemed genuine, was genuine, and people often picked up on it from even small interactions. Her leaving had been a shock move not only to her family but to everyone who'd ever met her, so selfish for one so selfless. As Rebecca had said to Tristan, everyone had their limits and she was way beyond hers. He was trying to understand. She repeats that she misses him and it elicits conflicting emotions. One is understanding and sympathy, since Tristan could barely last a day at work without craving the company of his tearaway child. However, another is trepidation, a feeling that she doesn't deserve to see him just because she wants to, not after everything. He hates having to be the person making decisions, though he was at work - home was a release, somewhere he used to let Tessa reign and do as he was told. The burden of choice and responsibility is a heavy one, heavier than it is at work because it effects them all so much more. He's mulling over what to say, whether or not to suggest arranging a meeting, when she says something that gives him pause. Pulling away from her, he slips his phone into his pocket abruptly. He pulls his chair back to where it was, moves his arm from behind her, essentially creates a cavern between them where there had just been closeness. "You've seen Rebecca?"

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As she mentions Rebecca, Tessa knows that she's disrupted the moment. As Tristan pulls away, so does she. While it's easy for her to explain why she left, it's more difficult to explain why she was here and why she hadn't reached out sooner. In truth, there wasn't any good reason for it. She wasn't depressed or not feeling herself or running, she was just plain scared. There were moments where she felt empowered and that she could approach Tristan. On multiple occasions she even got as far as their subway station. But then nerves took over and she'd head back the opposite direction. The blonde headed woman waited for the perfect moment but it never came. Today was dreary and those heavy clouds reflected the last thing from perfection. She pulls her bare hands through her hair, wishing that it were longer so she could toss it in a bun. She'd always do that when thoughtful. Half her life was spent with her hair pulled up. It's too short though, so it falls across her face and she turns to push herself straight on her seat to take a drink. There was nowhere good to start. “I met her at the park,” she feels like she has too much explaining to do. She wishes she could just split open her mind and gift it to him, help him gain clarity over her mess of a brain. “I kept procrastinating this, which sounds bad because it is. I went to the apartment.. just to our stop. Your stop. I just couldn't make it farther, which makes me a coward. I was worried I'd see something I didn't like, or that you see me and run,” she laughs, taking another sip. “Which you did. So I called Rebecca a couple of weeks ago. We met at the park and just talked. She's easy to talk to, she's a great friend. She said that you were doing really well and so was Forrest. That it was hard but you settled in, that you're attached at the hip. That felt good. I mean it felt awful too. But when we were together I thought you'd never click and it's... I don't know how else say, but I'm glad you're happy. ”

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Tristan was right back to his resentful self. The full reality of this exchange hadn't hit him yet and likely wouldn't for a few hours after the event, when he'd had a chance to mull it over in his head. He was relieved to see her, but depressed by how rejuvenated she seemed. He understood her motivation for leaving but not how she ultimately did it, and especially not why she stayed away for so long. The fact that she had met Rebecca placed him firmly in a resentful mood. The fact that Rebecca knew more about his wife than he did had taken some getting over in the first instance, but now he felt like he and Rebecca had bonded too, making their clandestine meet up a double betrayal. Pulling away, he turns his body away from her, taking a long sip of his beer. He doesn't look at her as she speaks, instead distracting himself with a greasy onion ring, tearing it in half and smothering it in ketchup. He wanted to get up and leave. "See something you didn't like?" he repeated, tearing into another onion ring. "What, like your son? Like me not being a total shitshow of a parent, like you apparently thought I was?" He's chewing angrily, unaware of how comic this is. If he was less angry he'd agree that it was better she didn't show up when Forrest might be around, it wouldn't be fair on him, or indeed on Tristan. "Did it feel good because you thought I'd fuck it up?" he harps on, wiping his fingers on his suit trousers, ignoring the fact they're Tom Ford. "Because you know what's worse than an unintentionally shitty parent, Tessa? One who intentionally leaves their kid with the shitty parent."

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She had forgotten how much of a child Tristan could be. She understood why he was bothered, of course she did. She would be inconsolable in their positions were reversed. But he was a child in the way he did it. While Forrest didn't take it out on an onion ring, his movements were just as tight as his fathers. The little boy's arms would fold and he would stomp on over to his toy box and start throwing toys on the floor. The onion rings felt like Tristan's toybox and Tessa couldn't even react with negativity or give into his tone. She instead watches, taking sips of her beer as her husband dunks the fried food and shoves it into his mouth. “Hey,” she's soft, her gentle eyes trying to meet his erratic ones. “Hey, no,” she replies to the accusations, her hand falls on his knee for a second and she strokes his kneecap with her thumb before she realizes what she's doing and moves her hand away. “That's not right, you know it's not right,” she remains calm. She lifts the beer to her lips and takes a long sip. Her body turns to face his, “I didn't want to see you'd moved on, which is selfish and I address it as that. You have every right. It felt good to know how much of a great dad you are. And I know, that's definitely worse.”