Vidal Funeral Home and Crematorium

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Sometime it was easy for Solange to forget that Tristan was, in fact, her boss. He really wasn't that much older than her for one thing and he certainly didn't act like any boss Solange had ever had before. All of this lead to a tendency for her speak to him in ways that would more than likely get her fired any other place. When she had started 8 months ago that had partially been her reasoning. If he fired her, she would have still held up her promise to her grandmother but be free of the job. But he'd kept her around for whatever reason and it had just become a part of how they acted around each other.

Right now though, she was more than happy to acknowledge his authority if he could provide them with a solution to how awful they were currently feeling. Hangover cures were not exactly something her grandmother had thought to teach her about. She didn't usually drink, and when she did it was usually very moderate. Never had she had a hangover that was this bad.

“Bacon,” Tristan suggested and Solange just looked at him for a long moment before turning and burying her face in her arms on the desk in front of her.

"Bacon?" she asked, voice muffled from where she lay on the desk. "Do you seriously just happen to have bacon laying around the funeral parlor?" She thought about it for a moment. The idea actually sounded quite appealing and she looked up at him, half hopefully. "Do you?"

“Or… I dunno. Electro-ade?” he said, sounding confused and she shook her head slowly, trying to follow him. “Y’know, sports drinks or whatever. To pump good stuff into your bloodstream. Electrolytes. A hang-over is just glorified dehydration and mild alcohol poisoning.”

She looked at him, face falling just a bit. "I don't suppose you have sports drinks around here either," she asked, not holding out much hope. She let out a long sigh, rubbing her still throbbing head. "It looks like there is going to have to be a run to the store for some supplies. For bacon and sports drinks..."

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange looked totally disheartened. Tristan raised both eyebrows and shrugged. What else could he do? He was so sorry he didn’t have bacon and sports drinks at work. He ran a funeral home; not a restaurant. Those were two businesses that just did not mix well.

"I don't suppose you have sports drinks around here either," Solange said with a sigh. Tristan shook his head. Which he instantly regretted as a wave of nausea hit him. He gripped the edge of the desk tighter. “It looks like there is going to have to be a run to the store for some supplies. For bacon and sports drinks...”

“Great,” Tristan said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his hearse and offered them to her. It was an ultimate act of trust, to hand Solange the keys to his baby. But the way he figured, these were desperate times. Solange could definitely be trusted in dire straits. “The service ends in ten minutes. If you drive really fast, I can stall them until you get back and we’ll only be maybe fifteen minutes late to the burial site.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She knew it was ridiculous of her to think he might just have bacon and/or sports drinks tucked away somewhere. But come on, why would he suggest those things if it just meant someone was going to have to go out and get them?! She'd been hoping for a remedy that could be made from whatever they had on hand but that probably wasn't going to happen.

At the suggestion of running to the store all Tristan said was “Great.” He suddenly pulled the keys to the hearse from his pocket and held them out to her. For a long time all she could do was stare at them. “The service ends in ten minutes. If you drive really fast, I can stall them until you get back and we’ll only be maybe fifteen minutes late to the burial site.”

She blinked a few times. "What?! I'm not going! You go," she said firmly, pushing the outstretched hand back towards him and folding her own arms over her chest. "These little remedies were your idea so you should be the one to go and get them! I can stay here and stall the family."

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan was really, really glad Jacqui asked him to hire Solange in the first place. There were days when he was walking through the cemetery where she was buried after a service had ended and the mourners had dispersed, that Tristan stopped by his former secretary’s grave to ask her what the hell she’d been thinking, telling him to hire her granddaughter. But today, after the service was over, Tristan would probably stop by to thank Jacqui because, really, what would he do without Solange? He’d be left to battle this hangover all alone and he probably would have settled on sulking in his office in between services, instead of coming up with cures.

But Solange pushed Tristan’s hand away.

"What?! I'm not going! You go," she said, crossing her arms. "These little remedies were your idea so you should be the one to go and get them! I can stay here and stall the family."

“Oh. Yeah. That’ll go over well,” said Tristan.

Solange had her degree in psychology which seemed all well and grand for helping people who were coping with tragedy. But, frankly, Tristan didn’t think a degree in psychology was as useful as years training and working as a grief counselor. There was something very different from theory and practice. In theory, Solange could understand the steps of grieving; in practice, Tristan was the one who sat quietly beside mourners, letting them cry at him or handing them Kleenexes. A fancy degree wasn’t a substitute for experience. Solange had a perpetually harried air about her that didn’t calm Tristan ever; and he thought of himself as a pretty mellow guy as a general rule. Imagine what kind of number she’d do on the nerves of others.

“Why don’t you just—“ Tristan started. He was going to say ‘do what I tell you to for once’, but the doors to the viewing room swung open and six pallbearers were marching the Lestrade casket down the hall. Too late. They were out of time. Tristan clenched his teeth. “—come with me? To the funeral. You can sit in the passenger’s seat of the hearse and then we’ll go to the store after the burial.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She was not about to be the one who had to go out and have the bright sunlight kill her eyes and then drive all the way to the store and pay for the purchases herself. It had been his idea in the first place and she saw no reason why Tristan couldn't do it himself. He'd probably feel a lot better without her behind the wheel of his beloved hearse anyway. She could handle the family just fine while he was out.

“Oh. Yeah. That’ll go over well,” Tristan said, dripping sarcasm.

She tried to glare at him, but it hurt to do so, just like everything else. Instead she settled for coaxing an eyebrow at him. "And just is that supposed to mean," she demanded furiously.

Obviously Tristan was in a bad mood himself due to the hangover. “Why don’t you just—“ he began, but was cut off by the foyer being flooded with mourners. Instead he spoke to her through clenched teeth. “—come with me? To the funeral. You can sit in the passenger’s seat of the hearse and then we’ll go to the store after the burial.”

She let out a sigh and glanced at the group heading towards the hearse now. She supposed it was a fair enough compromise. Neither of them got to stay in the darkened funeral parlor and rest. "Fine...let's go," she muttered. She grabbed her sunglasses and shoved them on before grabbing her purse and following the procession out the door.

[blueeyeddevil]

OOC: New scene!

Solange de Grace

Solange was convinced she would find a way to make it through this day. If she could just keep her mind on work then she could do it. It had been hard enough for her to get up and get dressed and come into work in the first place. The last thing she needed right now was to have a mental break down here in the lobby. Especially not while there was a service going on. She didn't want to make things worse for the grieving family by causing a scene. She was a professional. She could do this.

For once, work was turning out to be a pleasant distraction. She definitely did not want to dwell on the night before when Caleb had called, completely out of the blue. She'd been so in shock at seeing his name come up on her phone that she didn't know what to do except answer. His voice had sounded the way it always had, gentle and soothing. They had gotten talking about old times and old friends and before she knew it she found herself asking him why he had called.

"Solange, I miss you! It just isn't right the way things ended between us. We were more than that," he'd said. "Is there any way that we could start over?"

Telling him no had been the hardest thing she had ever done. It felt like her heart had been broken all over again. They had hung up not long after that and she had cried herself to sleep. She was angry too. All through their relationship Caleb had been the one who was most hurtful when it came to their fights, he'd been the one unwilling to come to Paris to be with her. What right did he have asking her to start over? And yet, a part of her wanted to, desperately. She knew she had made the right choice but it was so hard to live with it at this point.

So for now she tried to stay focused on the service and do her job. She was helping to prepare, setting the flower arrangements up nicely and making sure the hymns they'd requested were ready in the pews. Solange had been surprised. This time the girl, Nicolette Lisle wasn't all that much older than her...maybe 30? Apparently she had died of some kind of cancer. Tristan had done a good job though. She looked lovely. But Solange couldn't help but overhear someone talking to Nicolette's mother..probably an aunt.

"Is Aaron coming to the service?" the aunt asked.

"I'm not really sure," the mother replied. "Things didn't end well between the two of them and Nikki never did take him back."

"She shouldn't have! He wasn't there for her...not when she needed him most," the aunt said indignantly.

The mother nodded in reply. "Yes, but it's such a shame. He did love her dearly. It'll kill him that she's gone," she murmured.

Suddenly Solange couldn't take any more. She finished with the flower arrangement she'd been working on and hurried out, eyes stinging. She made it as far as the lobby before she found herself sinking back against the wall, hand over her mouth as tears streamed down her face and she wrapped her other arm around her, needing to somehow hold herself together.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

If Tristan had to see one more person around his age on his embalming table, he’d kill himself. That was a joke, since most of the dead 25 to 30 year olds that passed through Vidal Funeral Home were suicides. A self-inflicted bullet wound to the head there, a pair of slit wrists here... It was sad, in the remote sort of way that death was sad in general. But also inspiring, to know that in the morning, Tristan would wake up and have a life to live. It wasn’t always the best life, but he was thankful for it. Thankful he didn’t have that sense of hopelessness, emptiness; thankful for his graveyard humor, thankful to make a living. Thankful that the lives and deaths he touched could put things into perspective for him.

There was an old Monty Python song that Tristan found himself whistling on days like today, while he disinfected his embalming room and changed from his medical scrubs into his suit. “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. He was not a wildly optimistic person, but there was a line in there that stuck inside his brain: life’s a laugh and death’s a joke, it’s true. You couldn’t let the job get you down. Or you really would end up on your own embalming table.

Nicolette Lisle was the young woman whose service had Tristan trying to put life into perspective. She had been thirty years old and from what Tristan gathered, her family had expected this for a long time. Cancer. At least it was a somewhat original death for a thirty year old.

“We knew she was sick,” Madame Lisle said. “We had her in treatment. We did everything right; the doctor said she had at least a year… And then… How were we supposed to know she only had three months?”

Simply put: no one could know when their number was up. And that was something people sometimes comforted themselves with. There was nothing that could have been done, so we can’t beat ourselves up. Other times, people felt powerless by this. What do you mean there was nothing we could have done? It was a sticky situation, one that Tristan had spent the better part of the day tip-toeing around. He was an observer to death as much as any mourner. He had no special insights, only platitudes and tissues to offer. Mostly, he sat silently beside crying family and friends, letting them unload their burdens on him as if he could actually take them away and dispose of them.

He was so used to tears and wailing. They were the most common reaction to grief. True, he’d seen grief do stranger things to people. He’d once caught a widow and her brother-in-law making out in the supply closet at her husband’s funeral. Other times – especially after a lengthy illness – there was a sense of relief among the loved ones. Uncomfortable jokes and reminisces were passed around; people smiled bittersweet smiles and sometimes laughed. But mostly, grief’s language was that of tears.

So the whistling stopped once the suit was on and Tristan milled about with the people who were grieving. He didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh. Instead, he reassured cousins and friends of the dead woman that their feelings were important, that he was listening, that she was in a better place. Sometimes, he felt like he was making a difference. Today, he was going through the motions. He wondered if this was how people who worked in box offices felt when they said, “Thank you, enjoy the show!” They didn’t mean it, but they didn’t not mean it, either.

Tristan only knew that as somber as he looked, as comforting as he sounded, that he was still Tristan and he still had an up-tempo showtune rolling through his head. He couldn’t let the grief of others – of strangers – get under his skin like it had a year ago, three years ago, five. Or he’d have none to spare for those he loved.

Partway through the service, though, Tristan had to excuse himself from the company of the mourners in order to tend to daily business. He disappeared into his office to return a phone call from the morgue, assuring them that he’d be by in the evening to pick up paperwork. But as he was returning to the service, a woman leaned against the wall in the lobby caught his eye. He took a deep breath, about to plunge back into the sea of tears to do his daily rescue swim.

But Tristan stopped walking towards the woman when he realized who it was. Solange’s face was wrenched into such a perfect portrait of pain that Tristan couldn’t help but stare for a long, silent moment.

And inside of him, something screamed.

He’d never seen her like this – never seen her cry before, never seen her look this broken up. He’d seen her sad before. And angry. And happy. And hungover. He’d thought he’d seen her at her absolute best and her absolute worst before now.

Clearly, all that had been the tip of the iceberg.

Tristan walked to her and crouched in front of her. He pulled a package of Kleenex from his breast pocket and took one in his hand. Then, feather-light, he touched the tissue to her cheek. The tears bled through the Kleenex quickly, wetting Tristan’s fingertips. And a lump lodged itself in his throat, the kind you can’t just swallow away or clear with a cough.

“Solange…” he murmured. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Fate had a seriously twisted sense of humor sometimes. It was bad enough that it apparently had decided it would be funny to have her ex call her up out of no where last night and confess that he still wanted them to be together. But now now it was just being plain cruel by having the dead girl's love life mimic her own! Was it somehow trying to tell her she was making a mistake by not taking Caleb back? Was there a chance she was? Was it too late for her to change her mind? So many questions were racing through her head.

Somehow she had to pull herself together so she could finish this day out. She took shallow breaths as she tried to calm down and wiped furiously at her tears with her thumb. But no matter how hard she tried tried the tears just wouldn't stop coming. She finally just gave up and let them come as she closed her eyes. Maybe if she could get all her crying out here then she wouldn't find herself crying in front of the Lisle family.

She was a bit startled she felt the soft tissue brush her face. Her eyes flew open to find Tristan kneeling there in front of her. Honestly he was one of the last people she wanted to see her like this, all broken up. “Solange…” he murmured. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

For a moment she could only cry harder as everything came to the forefront of her mind. "She's me," she sobbed. "Nicolette is me!" She took a deep breath and calmed herself a little, still sniffling a bit. "Okay that made no sense..." she said with a tearful laugh, still wiping her face with the sleeve of her purple blouse. "It's just...I'm starting to realize how much of an emotional train wreck I really am and it's horrible!"

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan didn’t expect Solange to talk to him. In all likelihood, she’d bat his hand away and tell him it was none of his business. Rule Number One of Funeral Directing was not to touch a mourner unless they touched you first. So Tristan was now mentally kicking himself to actually touching Solange’s face because all of his training had flown out the window when the mourner – or whatever it was you could call her – was Solange.

Solange. His secretary. Whose face he probably shouldn’t be touching anyways because of workplace etiquette. She’d probably say she didn’t need him, even though out of all the crying people Tristan had seen today, she was the only one he genuinely wanted to comfort. She looked like the only one who genuinely needed it.

But instead of smacking him away, instead of demanding to be left alone with her sadness, Solange began to cry harder.

"She's me," Solange sobbed when she finally spoke. "Nicolette is me!"

Tristan leaned back on his haunches, confused. It was a strange sentiment to hear at first. He waited for Solange to collect herself. With a shuddering breath, she began again.

"Okay that made no sense..." she said, laughing without amusement. She dragged the sleeve of her blouse across her face. Tristan held the package of Kleenex out to her. Instead of taking it, she continued to speak. "It's just...I'm starting to realize how much of an emotional train wreck I really am and it's horrible!"

Tristan sat down. He didn’t want to say it – because it was almost always the wrong thing to say to someone who was crying – but he knew exactly what she meant. There were days and nights when he’d tended to a half dozen bodies – old folks, kids, people his own age – that left him feeling a sharp hollowness. Days and nights when he couldn’t shake the fear that someday, he’d die alone or unloved or painfully. Days and nights when everything seemed so f*cked up and meaningless and empty. You’d see yourself sometimes in a dead girl’s eyes; a dead man’s jawline. Or you’d hear something of yourself in the stories swapped by survivors. That was the cruel nature of the job.

But Solange, unlike Tristan, hadn’t been called to do it. And it really was a calling. Not a job. The funeral industry was for a certain type of person, a person comfortable with death. Almost on friendly terms with the Grim Reaper. Almost.

Unless, of course, this was Solange’s way of telling Tristan that she had cancer.

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

“If it’s any consolation, you are the most organized train wreck I have ever met in my life.” He wasn’t joking. Solange was the glue that kept this place together; the one who kept things from spiraling out of control, and kept Tristan’s go-with-the-flow management style from landing them in the red. “What’s actually bugging you?”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Maybe she was even more of an emotional wreck than she even thought. Fist of all she was sitting her crying her eyes out in the hallway of a funeral home. It wasn't normally such an odd thing to see but it was when you were the secretary and dealt with sad situations day in and day out without breaking down like this. She certainly didn't feel up to her usual sarcasm. And her thoughts were a completely jumbled mess. All she had managed to get out at first was that she and Nicolette were the same person.

She tried unsuccessfully to explain herself to Tristan while also kind of trying to avoid telling him the whole truth. It would probably seem ridiculous to him that she was this upset over a phone call from an ex.

He sat next to her and rubbed the back of his neck. “If it’s any consolation, you are the most organized train wreck I have ever met in my life,” he said, making Solange give a humorless, choked little laugh and roll her eyes a bit. “What’s actually bugging you?”

She glanced at him for a moment, debating on telling him or not. She could imagine telling him and then receiving a bored look that said "Thats it?" She supposed though that if she were going to tell anyone, it might as well be Tristan. They had made a game of sorts out of sharing relationship horror stories the other night. He had seen then what Caleb had meant to her so he might actually understand.

She gave a long sigh, running her fingers through her hair. "You are going to think I'm the most pathetic human being on the planet..." she muttered. "Caleb called me last night...my ex. It was so random. We talked and suddenly he's asking if we can have another chance....and I said no. Again. And now I'm not sure if that makes me the biggest idiot alive or not."

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

He was going out on a limb, asking what actually bugged Solange. Maybe it was exactly what she said: that she was an emotional train wreck of a person. But Tristan had enough experience with histrionic women – that was to say grieving widows, daughters, sisters and what have you – to know that “I’m fine” meant “I’m a god*mn mess and it’s probably your fault” and “I’m a mess!” was something much more specific. He leaned his head back against the wall, waiting for Solange to answer him, if she would at all.

"You are going to think I'm the most pathetic human being on the planet..." Solange mumbled.

Tristan said nothing. He instead raised both of his eyebrows. It was a stiff competition for “most pathetic human being on the planet”, but Tristan had a lock on second place. First went to the homeless freegan guy who dumpster dove behind his old apartment and subsisted on a diet of other people’s leftovers and beer. Solange was not pathetic. Sad, yeah. Annoying, sometimes. But not pathetic.

"Caleb called me last night...my ex,” Solange said, as if it needed clarifying. As drunk as Tristan had gotten after their dance at Batofar, he hadn’t forgotten their conversation. He hadn’t forgotten “Mister Popularity” Caleb, who rocked Solange’s world back in Cambridge before revealing his true colors as *sshat Extraordinaire when Solange most needed him. “It was so random. We talked and suddenly he's asking if we can have another chance....and I said no. Again. And now I'm not sure if that makes me the biggest idiot alive or not."

“Good for you. He’s the prick who wouldn’t wait for you when Jacqui passed away. If he wanted a second chance, he should have gotten on the first train to Paris the week you left.”

Holy sh*t, Tristan thought as he realized that the firm, commanding baritone belonged to him. He hadn't stuttered or gotten sarcastic or anything. Instead, he leveled his gaze at Solange with more confidence than he'd ever shown around her. He blinked rapidly.

"I mean..." he mumbled, scratching the bridge of his nose and shrugging. "You know what I mean."

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

Solange certainly felt a little odd spilling her guts about her ex boyfriend to her boss. She and Tristan seemed to be doing more of that in the last couple weeks than they had in last 8, going on 9, months that she had been working for him. It felt a little strange but also kind of nice; again, in a slightly odd sort of way. She supposed it was only fitting that since they saw each other on a near daily basis that they at least make an attempt to get along.

She found herself explaining about how Caleb had called her the night before and how she had rejected him yet again. Again, she had the slight fear that Tristan was just going to poke fun at her for crying over something so ridiculous.

“Good for you. He’s the prick who wouldn’t wait for you when Jacqui passed away. If he wanted a second chance, he should have gotten on the first train to Paris the week you left.”

Tristan's voice was firm and assured as he spoke. For a moment all she could do was look at him, the tears stopping in her shock. He suddenly blinked several times before scratching at the bridge of his nose.

"I...I'm honestly not sure how to take that," she murmured with slight confusion. "I think it might be the nicest thing you've said to me. You really think that?"

"I mean..." he muttered ineffectively. "You know what I mean."

She gave a long sigh and leaned her head back against the wall. "I suppose I do," she said with a shrug. "But if that's true and I did the right thing then why am I feeling like such crap right now?! You'd think I'd feel happy or relieved or something, but all I feel is just this awful regret and I hate it! Why do exes still get to have so much hold over you?!"

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Of course he really thought that. Of course he really meant it. If he hadn’t have meant it, he wouldn’t have said it. At least, not like that. The visible shock on Solange’s face told him why he didn’t say things he meant around her very often. On Day One, he’d branded himself as being a little socially inept and a lot sarcastic. And it didn’t matter that he really thought Caleb was a prick. It didn’t matter that Tristan had this weird urge to jump on a train to Cambridge and tell this Caleb that if he ever gave Solange cause to cry like that again, he could make it look like an accident and hide the body in a place no one would ever think to look. And it didn’t matter because Tristan knew the instant he said it that even though he meant it, he didn’t know where those words had come from. They were just kind of there. Without permission, without consent. Without reason.

And they freaked him out.

Not much freaked Tristan out. He’d seen bodies in the most horrific shape. He’d roamed the streets well after dark so he could get a headstart on an illegally painted mural. But it bothered him that he was talking to Solange the way he just had. And it didn’t matter because the things Tristan said to Solange didn’t matter. Who did he think he was, anyways? He was her boss. Her slightly pathetic boss. He always would be, until Solange decided she’d had enough of him and said “au revoir” to Vidal Funeral Home. She wasn’t supposed to mean all that much to him. He wasn’t supposed to care that she was crying about an ex. He certainly wasn’t supposed to want to pummel the ex with his bare fists or wrap his arms around Solange and tell her that she was worth so much more than anything Caleb had to offer her. She deserved better than anything Tristan could offer her, too, come to think of it.

But all that didn’t make the words untrue. Solange deserved better – infinitely better – than a lame hook up from across the Channel. Tristan was a guy; he understood guys. And if Caleb had called in the dead of night, claiming he missed Solange so badly after a year, that was what it was. A hook up. A one-night stand. A booty call. Whatever the cool kids were calling it nowadays. It was an hour from Paris to London by train. Caleb wanted Solange to come to him. If he wanted a second chance – a real second chance at having something worth having – he would have taken the train himself. Tristan knew it; Solange had to know it, too, somehow.

"I suppose I do," Solange said with a sigh and a shrug. "But if that's true and I did the right thing then why am I feeling like such crap right now?! You'd think I'd feel happy or relieved or something, but all I feel is just this awful regret and I hate it! Why do exes still get to have so much hold over you?!"

Tristan shrugged. If he knew the answer to that, he’d write a book and be super rich and famous right now. He’d be making rounds on daytime television, telling men and women across the globe how to let go of lost loves and make a new start. Hell, even if he wasn’t doing all that, he’d have moved on ages ago from his last break up. Instead it had been four years and Tristan professed to have moved on. And he had. But now he had this weird sort of infatuation with Solange or whatever it was that made him so desperate to earn a smile from her. He was probably the last person to give out advice about moving on and letting go. He sucked in his cheeks and exhaled.

Someone had once told him this – not Laurence, maybe a psychologist during his childhood, or Gwen recently – but things hurt because they mattered. If it didn’t matter, you wouldn’t care. End of story.

“Because they suck,” Tristan said. “They turn you into a different person – whether you like it or not – and then they’re gone and you’re stuck with these feelings you didn’t ask for. And you’ve never been this version of you without them before, so it’s like being stuck as imitation you until you get into the swing of things and then you fall in love again. It’s this god-awful cycle that doesn’t stop until you die, get married, or like yourself enough to be alone.”

But Solange was a whole person with or without Caleb. Preferably without. Tristan had met her relatively soon after the break-up must have been. And, yeah, she’d been sullen and bossy, but she was definitely a whole person. One who could hold her own, one who didn’t need Caleb or anybody to complete her or take care of her. She stood on her own two feet.

But before she’d died, Jacqui had asked Tristan to watch out for Solange. Maybe she’d meant ‘watch out’ as a warning. ‘Watch out for Solange. My granddaughter’s a real firecracker and she’s got these big baby blues you won’t be able to say ‘no’ to.’ But Tristan had always assumed she meant take care of, protect. Maybe this was what she meant? ‘Watch out for Solange. She’s a big, tough girl, but she really does need people more than she lets on.’

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

It struck Solange just how strongly Tristan seemed to feel about this situation. He spoke in a very assured and confident voice. There was no sign of his usual sarcasm or teasing in the words. And yet he seemed to believe she had made the right choice and deserved better. It was probably the closest thing to a compliment he had ever given her. It surprised her because she knew there had to be times she got on his nerves with her own sarcasm. Honestly there were times she wondered why Tristan kept her around.

She hadn't really been expecting an answer to her question about why exes (at least the truly meaningful ones) retained such a major hold over you. It was just an unspoken fact of life that when you seriously dated another person that a certain percentage of your heart was subject to forfeit upon the break up and would slowly be returned to you as time went on. Still no one could quite pinpoint why that was and how to prevent it.

“Because they suck,” Tristan said rather bluntly. “They turn you into a different person – whether you like it or not – and then they’re gone and you’re stuck with these feelings you didn’t ask for. And you’ve never been this version of you without them before, so it’s like being stuck as imitation you until you get into the swing of things and then you fall in love again. It’s this god-awful cycle that doesn’t stop until you die, get married, or like yourself enough to be alone.”

Solange sighed heavily. He certainly had a very good point. A part of her had definitely changed while she had been dating Caleb. She had become a more adventurous and outgoing version of Solange de Grace. In a sense that new version of her had died when she and Caleb split up. Of course it was going to hurt.

"They really do suck..." was all Solange could offer up. "It just seems like the ex never gets stuck with the new version of them when its all over, you know? They always seem just the same as they've always been and it isn't fair. And it really isn't fair for them to want to change you all over again just when you're finally getting back to being you."

She groaned and wiped her tears away with her fingers and glanced back up at Tristan. "I'm sorry. I'm a mess and I'm just dumping it all on you," she said. "Just...thank you for...for understanding." Telling him thank you still felt very strange to her.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange sighed. They were doing that a lot today. She’d sigh; he’d sigh. But what else could either of them do? At least Solange wasn’t crying anymore. She wasn’t “cheered up” per se, but it was progress. Tristan truly was the kind of guy who would take whatever he could get. And he knew in this moment that there was little else he’d be getting out of Solange besides these heavily aspirated sighs. He wondered what it meant that he’d sit here and gladly take them, as long as she was talking to him.

"They really do suck..." Solange agreed. "It just seems like the ex never gets stuck with the new version of them when it’s all over, you know? They always seem just the same as they've always been and it isn't fair. And it really isn't fair for them to want to change you all over again just when you're finally getting back to being you."

Tristan said nothing. A year ago, he would have agreed. But when he’d seen Aimee at the hospital a few months ago, he knew that there was no way she hadn’t changed in the last four years. Clearly, she’d reached a point in her life where marrying and having a family seemed the thing to do. She’d changed, all right. A complete one-eighty from the day she walked out of Tristan’s life. But he was himself: as whole as a guy like him could be. Maybe in this case, he was the proverbial “ex” Solange was talking about.

Or maybe it was a guy thing.

It wasn’t fair, whatever it was. It wasn’t fair that Solange felt this miserable, this warped by some guy who had laid her spirit to waste like this. Life in general just wasn’t fair. He wished he had more comforting words for Solange’s sake. She wasn’t crying anymore, but it certainly wasn’t smiling that she was doing. If they’d had anything remotely close to a physical relationship, Tristan would have hugged her.

"I'm sorry,” Solange said. “I'm a mess and I'm just dumping it all on you. Just...thank you for...for understanding."

Tristan could not help himself. Even as Solange wasn’t smiling, a crooked grin played out on Tristan’s lips. She’d apologized and thanked him all in the same breath. It may not have seemed like a big deal, but it meant something to Tristan. His heart twisted in his chest, caught somewhere between a leap and a contraction of hurt. He couldn’t explain that – now would be a fine time to have a heart attack if that’s what it was.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes crinkling up. “Don’t mention it.”

She probably wouldn’t. Tristan certainly didn’t expect her to.

“But if you need anything, you know where to find me.”