. gun street girl .

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The weather hadn't changed since they'd been in the bar, but it seems significantly brighter. They're smiling at each other and laughing with each other. She couldn't have guessed it going this way. She really thought he was going to keep storming away and she'd have lost it forever. Now she's playing games in the street with him, it almost feels like they're repeating their first date. Only she's going to make a guess and say they're not going to end up tangled in sheets. "I'll give you ten bucks if you can make it till four,” she grins before she takes a moment to think that over. That seems dicey, “actually, maybe check it. Just in case someone's lost an eye.” She smiles back at him, thinking about he multi-coloured bath. Forrest used to pretend he was some sort of sea creature and it never lost it's novelty. “Extra bubbles, not too hot. You must have been fucked with the bedtime routine,” she's hit with a wave of nostalgia which makes her head spin. “I didn't think of that,” she's frowns at him and shakes her head, “I'll buy express mail. There's something about a letter which makes you feel appreciated.”

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To any onlookers, they must just look like an ordinary couple. Albeit one where only one half decided to wear their wedding ring. Her concern makes him concerned and before she can finish her sentence he's retrieved his phone, scanning through the notifications for anything troubling. Nothing from Forrest's school, his mom or Rebecca, so they seemed in the clear. He resisted the temptation to open emails, instead stuffing the phone back into his pocket before he could change his mind. "We're in the clear." He laughs at her running through the bathroom routine, it had taken his mother rushing over from Houston for him to learn many of his son's quirks, all of which his mom knew from Tessa. Bathtime was particularly hellish, though now he could picture the two of them tackling it together, maybe even making it into a fun experience. She talks through the letter and he's glad she's not put off by his alarmist clinginess. "Sounds good. You can write me letters from New York, too. Where are you staying?"

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Three months into being away and she'd been granted a moment of clarity. Clarity that was soon smothered by ideas that her husband and son were dead. She called her mother in the early Australian hours to check that everything was okay and everyone was still alive and well. Her mother was a family woman and lived for her kids, so her entire end of the conversation was spent scolding Tessa for leaving the way she did. Her mom was her contact to that world. It ensured her the peace of mind that their world wasn't completely going to shit and no one was dying with out her. “Brooklyn... Flatlands. It's a little shabby, it's meant to be temporary,” she cringes thinking of her hole of an apartment, “I'll move to Manhattan soon and get a penthouse overlooking the city. Shouldn't be too outrageous.”

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Despite his earlier thoughts that a garden would be nice, the truth was that Tristan loved their apartment. It had so many memories, it was so luxe... it felt like a reward for all the hard work he did, and whilst the rent was a burden, it was one he felt worth carrying. As well as the obvious things, he had also wondered how Tessa could leave such a nice place, though he knew she wasn't that fussed by material things. He thinks about her in a shitty little apartment and it makes his heart hurt. Tempted to suggest she comes back, he reigns himself in, distracting himself with a laugh. "You should move closer to us. I can help you out with deposits and whatever, and I'll make sure your stuff is ready to collect by Tuesday."

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In all honesty Tessa had loved the apartment she'd helped design. It inhabited so many of the things that weren't just her, but them. The apartment was a representation of family, it held too many memories for her to completely hate. It was the place Tessa and Tristan had chosen together when they realized they were going to have a baby. It was where she stood in the hallway looking at Tristan with fright when her water broke. It was where they brought Forrest home, and where they happily began being 'The Wilsons'. It only started being bad near the end when the walls became stale and she became stir crazy. When Tristan suggested she moves closer, she immediately shakes her head. “No,” her voice is blunt and certain. Her legs slow to walk beside him, “I don't mean 'no' like that.” She doesn't even know what 'like that' means, she just doesn't want to hurt his feelings. “I don't want to rely on you,” she bites her lip and shrugs beneath the heavy coat, “I did that for too long. It's not cool.”

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He looks at her, brow furrowed in confusion, as she refuses the idea. As she explains he shakes his head, going to cut her off but letting her finish. "That's bullshit," he says with blunt honesty, his tone firm. "There's a reason assets are divided equally in a marriage, and house work is work that you undertook so I could work in an office and swan about in Bali. I couldn't have climbed the corporate ladder without you, I came home to a clean house and a cooked meal every day, you raised our kid. My wage exists because you took up the housework, I wasn't working to support you living a lavish lifestyle," he's ranting and he knows it, but he so wants her to understand what he's saying. Though he was far from a mute, Tristan wasn't a big talker. The type to have to be prompted to speak at a dinner party, he resented people who filled the air with inane chatter, preferring brevity. There were two exceptions to this rule and that came in the form of Tess and Forrest, both of whom he could listen to the chatter of all day and never get bored. "What I'm saying is I owe you big time, at the very least financially. The least I can do is stump up a deposit so you can live near the son you raised."

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Tristan's outburst is surprising and she's so taken aback that she doesn't say anything for a couple of moments. There's few things that strike such passion in him, and she's digesting the fact that this is one of them. She'd never consider being a housewife work or a trade for her partner's steady income. But what he says puts things in perspective. She'd given up years of her career for their family, though it sounded morally wrong being compensated for that made sense. “I'll think about it,” she can't say much, saying much more would commit her to it. “I'll keep an eye on listings and if anything out of my price range feels right then I'll let you know.”

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He nods, appreciating that it's a big decision to undertake on a walk with your recently estranged husband. He feels winded from talking so much, he doesn't know how other people do it. But everything he said was true, he had realised this while she was away and he found himself working two jobs, Marketing Manager and Dad. "You'll need two rooms... remember how stunned we were when we first started looking?" he asks, smiling at her. The trauma of looking for an apartment was one of the things that had forced Tristan to go from a solid employee to a dedicated overachiever, clocking all the overtime he could in the hopes of getting enough money to make his family comfortable. Looking back, he can also recognise there was some guilt there - if Tessa was going to have to give up on her passion, he at least wanted her to love the place she lived. "We should probably sell the place."

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“I remember us losing our minds,” Tessa smiles up at him. Her eyes briefly catch him and she realizes she's comfortable here. Not that there was many a moment where she was completely uncomfortable with Tristan, but near the end they'd been far from themselves. Right now it felt like the old Tristan and Tessa. “Is that something you want?” she asks, genuinely curious. The lavish apartment had probably seriously gained bank over the past five years and while they'd benefit from the sale, it'd be difficult to find something quite like it. “I was lying when I said it was gaudy. For a while I could only think of how negative it's walls were. But the longer I was away, the more I thought of the good memories. What's that about absence making the heart grow fonder?”

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In the early days of their relationship their time had been filled with walks like this, long leisurely strolls through Manhattan while they talked about anything and everything. As two out of towners the city had seemed magical then, full of promises for a bright future together. It hurt his heart to think of their younger, more optimistic selves, of the girl from Australia who'd never had a bowl of Lucky Charms and the boy from Houston who'd had his first ever real crush on the woman who'd end up his wife. The thought of telling his younger self that she would one day walk out on him was too much to bear, so much so that he has to look away from her as she smiles that old familiar smile. "I stopped thinking about what I wanted about eight and a half months ago," he admits, kicking a stray Coke can. "Now my life's ruled by necessity, and gaudy or not, I can't afford that place if I change jobs. Fuck, even if I don't." Feeling guilty for being so morose, he smiles sadly at her. "I guess I see it the way you saw it before you left. I'll mourn it after we leave."

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•

• • He speaks and she listens. It's easy to forget how much time has passed. Though it's been ages since they actually spent time together, it almost feels like no time has passed. She connects with him on a different level. Although for a long time she thought that Tristan looked at her as only his house wife and mother of his child, she was now remember that he was her person. He saw more in her than she saw herself. How did they let themselves go? “It won't be that way,” she shakes her head. The walls were just real estate and she knew that wasn't what she missed when she was away. “You don't like it for the bad things that happened. You'll miss it for the good but you'll make more memories as you move forward. They'll be better ” •

•

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Tessa doesn't discourage him from selling the place and it surprises him how much of a blow this comes as. The apartment was the most physical manifestation of their life together, covered in knick knacks they'd picked up on family vacations, the chart of Forrest's ever increasing height that was painted on his bedroom doorway, the spot where Tristan had sliced his hand open and needed to go to A&E. Every inch of that apartment held memories, and whether they were good or bad, Tristan as sad at the idea of seeing them go. "I know," he finally agrees, knowing she's not actually rejecting their history. "Plus it's a long walk to Forrest's school. You could take him sometime this week, if you wanted."