619 Boulevard Raspail : Tristan Vidal's Apartment

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

The week Torben and Gwen left for the Netherlands had been the busiest of Tristan’s life. He’d been forced on a blind date with an odious stranger, screamed at for it by Solange who then kissed him, and officially started dating her the day after. And work, of course, never let him have a moment’s peace. For the last three weeks, he and Solange had been as busy as ever serving those in mourning and those being mourned. So today, he’d pulled his “I’m the boss” card for the first time in their relationship to decree a late start this morning. They were going to run themselves ragged otherwise and – if possible – spend too much time together, or at least too much time together in somber work clothes, doing somber work things. It probably wasn’t healthy.

And Tristan hadn’t realized how much he needed the sleep.

What other free time he had these past few weeks hadn’t been spent sleeping. Instead, he’d been restless and filled his time with errands, volunteering, and screwing around with the piano that came with his apartment. It felt like something was missing, despite the crammed nature of his current schedule, and it didn’t take much soul-searching to know that he was anxious for Gwen and Torben to get back to Paris. They should have been back yesterday, but Tristan hadn’t heard from them. It was a weird emotional place to be in – torn between anxiety about his friends and excitement about his budding love life with Solange – and it was all going to do Tristan’s head in eventually.

So the sleep had been nice. Really, really nice. Despite the jolt of horror he felt when he looked at his alarm clock at it said “8 AM” instead of “5 AM”. He’d hurriedly thrown on his suit and yanked his hair into a ponytail. It wasn’t until he reached his car that he realized that he had nowhere to be until noon. He wouldn’t have even realized that, except he’d left himself a note in the driver’s seat that said, “Go back to bed, Tristan”.

He didn’t know what to do with free time. Usually, he wasted it. But now that he was up and about, Tristan found himself readying for the day with slow deliberation. He’d showered and changed into comfortable clothes. He was brushing his teeth for the second time when the doorbell rang.

He kept brushing his teeth as he ambled to the door. People didn’t visit him at home often, simply because he was always working. As he crossed the living room, his heart twisted with sudden worry that his mother might have found his new address. He had a few hours of free time, but Tristan was almost certain that a few hours was nowhere near long enough to do damage control. And then a happier, more comforting thought crossed his mind: that maybe Solange stopped by with an invitation to breakfast. His hair was wet, he had a bright red toothbrush clenched between his teeth, but she had seen him looking worse before. He pulled open the door and almost swallowed the toothbrush in surprise when he saw Gwen and Torben standing there. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stashed the toothbrush in his back pocket.

“You’re back!” he said, wrapping Gwen up in a hug. He didn’t hug Torben because they’d only hugged once and it had been really awkward. “When did you get back? How was the Netherlands?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

To be honest, Gwendoline didn’t expect Tristan to answer. It was a long shot that he would even be home. Most of the time, Tristan was at work. Gwen wondered why he even got a new apartment if he was just going to use to store all of his things.

But to her surprise, he answered the door, red toothbrush in his mouth, toothpaste foam making him look practically rabid. He wiped away the froth and stashed away the toothbrush before pulling Gwen into a rib crushing hug, which she returned, her skirt pulling as Leopold clenched it tightly with his fist.

“You’re back!” He said at last. “When did you get back? How was the Netherlands?”

“One question at a time!” Torben said, pushing the Tupperware into Tristan’s hand as the hug ended. “Gwen made this for you.”

“The Netherlands were beautiful,” Gwen said with a giggle. “Not that we saw much of it. We were extremely busy. We got back last night.”

Torben edged his way into the apartment. “And the crepes Gwen made aren’t the only thing we brought.” Torben said, shoving his hands into his sweater pocket.

From behind her, Leopold reached up for Gwen’s attention, and she bent at the waist to scoop him up, stepping inside next to Torben. Shyly, Leopold nestled his head into the crook of her neck and she swayed soothingly for him, pivoting at the hip. “Tristan, we’d like you meet the new center of our universe. This is Leopold.” She turned her attention to Leopold. “Can you say ‘bonjour, Tristan?’” She asked, waving his hand at her friend.

“Bonjour, Tristan,” he said softly, rubbing his brown eyes.

“He doesn’t speak much French yet, and he just woke up,” Torben said with a smile.

Gwen’s chest swelled with pride and joy at the sound of Leopold’s voice. He had barely spoken since they’d picked him up, and hearing him talk was the most beautiful sound in the world. It reminded her of Torben. When they had first met, they barely spoke the same language, but their souls spoke a shared language that brought them together. Even today, Torben was less than loquacious, preferring to only speak when he felt that what he had to say was important.

Like father, like son Gwendoline mused with a smile while Leopold played with her messy hair.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Gwen hugged Tristan back. And for the first time in months – two months, to be exact – it was a truly happy embrace. Preceding the cremation ceremony and after, there’d been a sort of anxiousness lingering over Gwen; she and Torben had been waiting to hear about their pending adoption. Even when they left for the Netherlands, she and Torben hadn’t known for sure what – or who – would be waiting for them. If anyone was waiting for them.

But right now, Gwen was relaxed, warm, happy. Much more like the Gwen Tristan was used to. That had to be a good sign.

“One question at a time!” Torben said when Tristan and Gwen broke apart. Then, he thrust a Tupperware into Tristan’s hands. “Gwen made this for you.”

“You’re the best,” Tristan said, smiling and motioning for them to come in and join him for whatever it was Gwen had brought.

“The Netherlands were beautiful,” Gwen said with a giggle. “Not that we saw much of it. We were extremely busy. We got back last night.”

That explained a lot. But not why Gwen and Torben hadn’t entered the apartment yet. Torben was actually the first to inch his way inside; Tristan stepped further aside. But Gwen didn’t budge.

“And the crepes Gwen made aren’t the only thing we brought.”

Tristan’s heart gave a little jolt of excitement. He looked back at Gwen, not daring to hope that Torben meant what Tristan thought he meant. They’d gone to the Netherlands in the hopes of adopting a child. But Tristan had assumed they were going to adopt an infant. Babies were usually the first to be adopted out of the system, anyways. And if they’d been given an older child, surely that would have been the first thing Tristan would have noticed—

But Gwen bent at the waist and scooped up an angelic-looking little boy who could be no more than four. He had a mop of brown hair and a little upturned nose. He also looked incredibly sleepy. Tristan’s smile grew, looking at this kid. If anyone in the world was cut out for parenting, it was Gwen and Torben.

“Tristan, we’d like you meet the new center of our universe. This is Leopold,” Gwen announced. Tristan bent a little at the knees, so that he was closer to eye-level with Leopold. He had large, dark eyes that looked much like Gwen’s. It struck Tristan how easily Leopold could have slipped into Gwen and Torben’s gene pool. “Can you say ‘bonjour, Tristan?’”

“Bonjour, Tristan,” Leopold mumbled.

“Bonjour, Leopold,” Tristan said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“He doesn’t speak much French yet, and he just woke up,” Torben said.

“That’s all right,” Tristan said quietly. “He’s perfect.”

Tristan didn’t talk about it often, but he’d been adopted by his uncle when he was about nine years old. Leopold was lucky to be adopted so young and by two people as ready to be a mother and father as Gwen and Torben. He joked that Gwen and Torben were like the parents he’d never had; but even if that wasn’t strictly speaking “true”, Tristan felt tethered to Leopold instantaneously, the way maybe an older brother, cousin, or uncle or something would feel.

“Bring him in, Gwen, and I can heat these up.”

He gave the Tupperware of crepes an indicative shake and walked into the kitchen and dining room. His apartment wasn’t exactly childproof, so as he moved, Tristan picked up sharp objects that were lying around and stacked them up on top of the Tupperware – his keys, a pair of scissors, an exacto-knife he’d left on the hall table on moving day and never put away – and he stuck them in a drawer beside the stove.

“Make yourselves at home,” he told Gwen, Torben, and Leopold. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

She watched Tristan’s face, looking for any demonstration of opinion that may etch itself onto his face. To her delight, his face melted into a gushy smile as his eyes fell on Leopold. He bent lower to better see him and Gwen could feel Leopold relax in a way he had yet to with even Torben. He clung to Gwen and didn’t turn away from her kisses. With Gabriel, he chortled and played. But with Torben, he tensed up, even as he relied on him for translations. One day, he would warm up to his new father. Torben was as ready for parenting as she was; he was the first one to cry when they had their first miscarriage and the first one to seek help when they’d had their last one. She had seen him interact with children before and saw that their presence brought out the child in him. It was only a matter of time before Leopold warmed up to him.

But for now, she watched Tristan talk to Leopold, getting on to his level and treating him like an equal and not like the three year old he was. She gave a sweet smile. When Torben justified Leopold’s lack of confidence, Tristan’s eyes softened more and in a quiet voice, he said, “That’s all right. He’s perfect.” And despite all of Gwen’s protestations about perfection, she agreed. Returning to his full height, Tristan turned on his heel. “Bring him in, Gwen, and I can heat these up,” he motioned to the crepes, picking up any sharp objects that lay helter-skelter around the house and any plausible choking hazards that may look tastier and more interesting than the crepes.

“Make yourselves at home,” Tristan said from the kitchen as Gwen set Leopold down. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“You know,” Gwen said, as Torben, always reluctant to take people up on polite offers, shook his head. “I think we could all use waters. It’s been a long few nights and I don’t think any of us have really rehydrated after the flight.”

Gwen reached down for Leopold, but grabbed nothing but air instead. Frantically, she spun around, looking for him, finding him, at last, by the large terrarium. She reached out to stop him, worried the large cockroach would either look like a tempting toy, or scare him. But instead, Leopold turned around and cheerfully squealed “Vriend!”.

Gwen looked to Torben for a translation, who had his hand over his mouth. Gwen was unsure if he was covering a laugh or a gasp. “Friend,” Torben translated with a proud smile. “Ami,” he corrected.

“Ami…” Leopold whispered, face pressed to the glass as he watched the cockroach intently.

“It seems my son has taken a liking to your Isolde, Tristan,” Gwen said—she just understood the joke!—with a giggle. Maybe this move wasn’t going to be so hard, after all.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan opened the Tupperware to find that the crepes were still warm. He was relieved, since he knew next to nothing about reheating crepes. He would have used the microwave, which would have sent Gwen into a frenzy. Once, when Tristan had commented on the lack of a microwave in the Fontaine-Blau apartment, Gabriel had put his hand over Tristan’s mouth and hissed, “We don’t talk about it” in his ear.

“You know,” said Gwen, “I think we could all use waters. It’s been a long few nights and I don’t think any of us have really rehydrated after the flight.”

Tristan reached up and pulled down some glasses from the cupboard. He turned on the sink and began to fill them with tap water. And then a sharp, gleeful squeal startled Tristan, who quickly set the glass he held down on the counter. He turned to look at the source of commotion to see that Leopold had his face pressed up against Isolde’s terrarium. He wondered if the noise Leopold had made meant “cockroach” or “ew” in Dutch.

“Friend,” Torben said, translating. “Ami.”

Tristan had been right about only one thing all morning: Leopold was perfect. Any kid who liked Isolde was okay in Tristan’s book. Most people thought it was weird that he kept a cockroach instead of a cat or dog. “Unhygenic,” Laurence had said, even though Isolde was cleaner than any alternative Tristan could think of. He smiled, pulled some plates down from the cupboard and scooped the crepes onto them.

“It seems my son has taken a liking to your Isolde, Tristan,” Gwen said. And then she started to laugh. Tristan stared at her for a moment, picked up the waters, and carried them across the room in one trip, balancing them precariously in his arms.

“He can hold her if he wants,” Tristan said, handing Gwen and Torben their drinks. “I don’t think cockroaches are exactly a choking hazard.”

He knelt on the floor beside Leopold and offered him the water. He looked back at Gwen and Torben and asked, “He can use a glass, right? I don’t have plastic cups…”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Tristan balanced precarious glasses in his large hand and gave them to Gwen and Torben each. “He can hold her if he wants,” Tristan said as Gwen sipped her water, hearing Torben beside her, chugging his down as if he had just been rescued from the desert. “I don’t think cockroaches are exactly a choking hazard.”

“Oh, could he?” Gwen asked. “I think he’d love that.”

Tristan went to Leopold and knelt beside him, offering him a glass. “He can use a glass, right? I don’t have plastic cups…”

Honestly, Gwen had no clue. It wasn’t something she thought of getting when she thought of getting a kid. She thought to get him a bed for his once abandoned bedroom. She thought to set aside to take him clothes shopping this week. She thought to get him no tears shampoo. But she did not think to get him child-proof cups. Well, parenting was all trial and error anyway, was it not?

“We don’t really know, actually. Come here, darling,” she said to Leopold, who carefully carried the water to them. She set him on her lap and helped him drink. She felt like a ventriloquism act with a glass of water and a puppet. Only this puppet had a brain and a heart and soul and her wrapped around her every finger. With the cumbersome glass, he sipped, only a little bit of water spilling down his front. He didn’t seem to care, though, as he drank, his eyes drifting to the terrarium time and again with curiosity. He put the glass down in Gwen’s palm and approached Isolde once more. “Ami,” he said lovingly, “le chat est sur la chaise.”

Gwen stifled a laugh, not wanting Leopold to think she was laughing at his very serious attempt at rudimentary French. Torben, however laughed outright, choking on his water. Gwen nudged him with her elbow and shot him daggers with her eyes. He was not going to make Leopold like him any more at this rate.

“Tristan,” Leopold said, cupping his hands. ”Hold mi ami?”

It was truly amazing what he was learning at what speeds. Gwen couldn’t even wrap her mind around Dutch which was the fraternal twin to German. Maybe children’s brains worked differently. Maybe they worked more like sponges and less like machines: able to soak up all that’s around them and reiterate it with such retention. There was no saturation point with children—at least not so far with Leopold—whereas adults forgot things more quickly. She felt utter pride bubble up in her. Leopold would know French in no time, for sure.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan had never been around kids under the age of five ever in his life. And even then, the last time he’d been around five year olds, he’d been five. At the art center, the students were between ages eight and eighteen. They were moody, mouthy, and spoke fluent French. They also weren’t anywhere near as precious as Leopold, who was the first kid to actually earn the title “precious” in Tristan’s book. If Leopold accidentally dropped the glass and it shattered, Tristan would not forgive himself for landing the kid in the ER on his first day in France. So Tristan asked if Leopold could drink out of a glass.

“We don’t really know, actually,” Gwen said. “Come here, darling.”

Leopold tottered over to Gwen, glass in his hands. It looked like the glass belonged to a giant; Tristan wasn’t sure if he should have carried the glass for Leopold. Instead, he stayed knelt on the ground beside the terrarium, watching as Gwen plucked Leopold up and placed him in her lap. The kid seemed to manage with the water all right. Tristan looked back at Isolde and smiled at her: Look at your new friend. But, of course, Isolde was neither psychic nor sentient enough to process Tristan’s thought.

Leopold eventually hopped off of Gwen’s lap and wandered back over to where Tristan and Isolde were and stared in the terrarium again.

“Ami,” Leopold said tenderly to the terrarium. “le chat est sur la chaise.”

Tristan looked over at the chair, just to make sure a cat hadn’t made a home under it. That had happened all too recently in his embalming room and somehow, Tristan didn’t think Solange would adopt yet another cat that he’d irresponsibly gotten ahold of. Fortunately, there was nothing there.

“Tristan,” Leopold said, cupping his hands. ”Hold mi ami?”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Tristan said. He stood up and opened the top of the terrarium. Isolde had nestled herself inside a recycled toilet paper tube. Tristan carefully coaxed her out and the roach held still in Tristan’s palm. Her spindly legs tickled against his skin. Then, as fluidly as he could, Tristan knelt beside Leopold.

“Be gentle… Doux… Gentil…” Tristan said, extending his hand to Leopold’s, hoping that Isolde would crawl over into his little hands of her own accord.

No one else ever really held Isolde. Aimee, even though she’d purchased Isolde, was always mildly squeamish around the giant cockroach. Tristan still hadn’t told Solange that Isolde wasn’t a cat. And Gwen and Torben just hadn’t. He didn’t know how Isolde would take to a new person. But after a few still seconds, she scuttled over into Leopold’s hands. Isolde looked enormous. Not “enormous for a cockroach” but actually giant. He smiled over at Gwen and Torben over the top of Leopold’s head.

“Tell me more about your trip.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine

Gwen watched as Leopold’s large, orb-like eyes begged with Tristan for him to hold his beloved insect. Personally, she really had no inclination to hold Isolde, whereas Torben had once talked incessantly of how he one day wanted to put the cockroach in his hands but did not like running the risk of being told no. So Gwen watched on in giddy curiosity as two of her favourite young men conversed, language barrier and all.

“Tristan, hold mi ami?” Leopold asked in his fragile, high voice that reminded Gwen of a champagne flute.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Tristan’s baritone voice boomed and Gwen giggled at the sheer absurdity of the two sounds in combination. It was an adorable juxtaposition—the small Leopold who still held to the abundant vestiges of baby fat and the tall Tristan who looked like a human string bean. One with a voice like a dove, the other like a bass drum. “Be gentle… Doux… Gentil…”

”Doux Gentil…” Leopold parroted back as Isolde crawled cautiously along his palm. “Friend, friend, gentle friend,” he sang and Gwen wondered how it was that he had not come from her womb. How was Leopold not grown from her seed? How had she not carried him for nine months? How was it that he fit so well into their souls, but was the product of another man and woman?

But Tristan’s voice pulled her out of her wondering with “Tell me more about your trip.”

“It was very…”

“Stressful,” finished Torben, wiping his beard dry.

“But worth it. Amsterdam is absolutely beautiful. When Leopold’s older, we might take him back for a visit. But like I said, we didn’t see too much of it. We had interviews and classes.”

“And tests.”

“Right. I got a little worried because we didn’t do stellar on the test, but the interview went relatively smoothly. When they took us to the home for kids, and we met Leopold, it was magical. That’s all I can explain it as.”

“Tell him about the dream, Gwen,” Torben said, but when Gwen moved to speak about it, Torben jumped in. “Gwen talks in her sleep… a lot. And two nights before we got Leopold, she kept saying his name over and over.”

Gwen bit her lip. She was certain it sounded silly, like something out of a soap opera or some attempt at esoteric melodrama. “Oh, I’m sure Tristan doesn’t want to hear about that…” But Torben wasn’t listening.

“And at the home, they told us our new foster child was named Leopold and my heart just stopped. It was like fate. Like Leopold was meant for us.”

This was the first time Torben had spoken so passionately about the entire process. All the emotion he shared was in secret glances at Gwen, but if he was excited or responsive in any way, he surely didn’t speak about it. Gwen smiled at him as an uncomfortable happiness sunk in and Gwen watched Isolde scurry up Leopold’s shoulder and he laughed cheerfully in the way only small children could.

“And that’s about it,” Torben said, the moment shattering. “Long, stressful, and worth it. How have you been? How are things with Solange?”

Like every meeting with Tristan, the subject turned to his secretary, as if Torben couldn’t inquire about Tristan’s well-being without attaching Solange to him, as if they existed as one. Gwen sighed. Torben always fixated on things he wanted to become a reality. If only he could separate Tristan from his coworkers for one moment. It wasn’t like he and Solange were a couple or anything, despite her and Torben’s best intentions.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Leopold repeated the French words for “gentle”. Tristan hoped that meant the kid understood them. If Gwen’s son squashed Isolde… Well. Tristan choked up a little at the thought, but he didn’t know what he’d do. There’d been a time, not so long ago, when Isolde had been the only girl in his life. These days, that wasn’t true, but even though a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach was incapable of affection, she’d wormed her way into Tristan’s heart, filling the spot most people reserved for a dog or cat.

“Friend, friend, gentle friend,” Leopold sang, drawing a smile to Tristan’s lips. He sat down on the floor and pulled his long legs to his chest, relaxing just a bit. Isolde was in no immediate danger, being held by Gwen’s son. And the way Leopold was singing, it was more than evident that this kid was Gwen’s son. He’d fit right in, all right.

Tristan asked about the trip, genuinely curious and looked up at Gwen and Torben, who were seated.

Gwen spoke first. “It was very…”

“Stressful,” Torben said, cutting her off. Tristan laughed. So Torben.

“But worth it,” said Gwen reprovingly. “Amsterdam is absolutely beautiful. When Leopold’s older, we might take him back for a visit. But like I said, we didn’t see too much of it. We had interviews and classes.”

Tristan listened as Torben and Gwen alternated, back and forth, talking about the week they’d had. The tests that didn’t go so well and the interviews that did. And then Torben said something odd:

“Tell him about the dream, Gwen,” said Torben. “Gwen talks in her sleep… a lot. And two nights before we got Leopold, she kept saying his name over and over.”

Tristan had heard a lot of weird things in his life, but he’d never been given to believe in psychics. The future was not predetermined, not mapped out. It was more like a tangle of possibilities that all led to the same, inevitable fate: death. You just had to hope you picked the nicest, longest, most interesting tangle. But if anyone he knew was a psychic, of course it would be Gwen.

“Oh, I’m sure Tristan doesn’t want to hear about that…”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Tristan said. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Sitting beside Leopold on the floor made him feel like a big, dumb kid, waiting for story time. Something he’d never really done as a child. He glanced over at Leopold, who was still content to play with Isolde. Lucky kid’s life tangled up with Gwen and Torben’s nicely.

“And at the home, they told us our new foster child was named Leopold and my heart just stopped. It was like fate. Like Leopold was meant for us.”

The passion in Torben’s voice hung in the air thickly. Torben was Tristan’s idol, his artistic god. He was also the driest, least emotive person Tristan had ever met in his life. It seemed that all of Torben’s happiness, sadness, pain, excitement went into his art and that there was nothing left over for his words. To hear him talk that way was kind of like magic. Tristan looked over at Leopold, who was giggling happily. Isolde nestled on the little boy’s shoulder like a pirate’s parrot. Tristan smiled. If this kid could make Torben’s speech as expressive as his art, he was definitely meant for the Fontaine-Blaus.

“And that’s about it. Long, stressful, and worth it.” Torben finished lamely, again sounding like the deadpan Austrian artist Tristan was used to. It was both a comfort and a let-down.

Tristan watched Leopold still, worried that Isolde might take flight at any second. Catching her would be a pain. But the roach started to inch up Leopold’s neck. Tristan crawled over to them and peeled Isolde off of Leopold.

“Friend is going back home,” he told Leopold. “She’s sleepy.”

Not true. Tristan just didn’t want her to end up on Leopold’s face and leave him scarred for life. He struggled to his feet and plopped Isolde back into her terrarium. She went back inside the toilet paper roll and Tristan couldn’t see her in the shadows. Leopold came to stand beside him, pressing his fingers to the glass and peering in like a worried parent, watching their baby sleep.


“How have you been?” Torben asked. “How are things with Solange?”

Tristan exhaled, almost laughing as he did. He put both hands on the top of his bandana and held them there as if massaging a headache away. Torben always asked the same question; Tristan always gave the same answer.

“Awful,” he said, this time lighter and more sarcastic than ever. Warmth crept up his neck and he turned to face Gwen and Torben. “After you guys left for the Netherlands, she ripped me a new one – I thought she was gonna murder me – for making her have feelings for me and then yanked me around, kissing me until I couldn’t breathe. And then we didn’t talk for the rest of the day.”

A huge smile overtook Tristan’s face and he rubbed the back of his neck. Just thinking about that first kiss – and the kisses that had followed since – made him more than a little delirious with happiness. It blew his mind that Solange was his girlfriend, that she’d made the first move. That they’d managed to go without fighting since being together, that it felt as right and natural as it did.

That in a few hours, he’d get to see her; that when they went out for lunch, it was a real lunch date now.

“We actually didn’t start dating right away,” he said. “Those first twenty four hours were absolutely agonizing because I didn’t know what we were. But… Well… I asked her to be my girlfriend the next day. At the cemetery, actually, which probably puts me in the running for ‘Most Cliché Funeral Director Ever’, but, well… We’ve been together for two weeks and five days. Go ahead. Get the “I told you so”s out of the way.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Gwendoline Fontaine


Tristan let out a dry laugh as soon as the question mark in Torben’s sentence fell into place. Gwen half expected him to answer flatly with “terrible”, and half hoped he’d tell her they were getting married in six months and wanted Gwen to make the cake. And, as luck would have it, the answer she got was in the ambiguous middle space between the two.

“Awful,” Tristan said, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his words and Gwen leaned in for a better observation until she and Tristan were face to face. “After you guys left for the Netherlands, she ripped me a new one – I thought she was gonna murder me – for making her have feelings for me and then yanked me around, kissing me until I couldn’t breathe. And then we didn’t talk for the rest of the day.”

Gwen’s face fell with surprise before a wide, animated grin stretched, cartoonlike onto her face. By the blush that crept up into Tristan’s cheeks, Gwendoline could tell this story would have a happy ending. And then, a large, crescent moon smile waxed onto Tristan’s mouth and Gwen knew she was right in her thinking.

“We actually didn’t start dating right away. Those first twenty four hours were absolutely agonizing because I didn’t know what we were. But… Well… I asked her to be my girlfriend the next day. At the cemetery, actually, which probably puts me in the running for ‘Most Cliché Funeral Director Ever’, but, well…” Tristan said and Gwen nudged Torben, the silent romantic in the ribs playfully. Surely he enjoyed that factoid. “We’ve been together for two weeks and five days. Go ahead. Get the “I told you so”s out of the way.”

Torben didn’t hesitate. Between the bursts of boisterous laugher that punctuated what would have been a sweet moment, he managed to say “I told you so!” Torben said, sounding less condescending and more like a kid making a wish on a magic genie.

Gwen laughed, too, but more sweetly. “I think it’s interesting how you know exactly how long you two have been together.” She turned to Torben. “I mean, how long have we been together?”

”I don’t know,” Torben mumbled. “Twenty years?”

“See? Yeah. Seems about right.” Back to Tristan, “well congratulations, love. I’m so happy for you.”

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Torben’s laugh was an alien sound to Tristan still. He hadn’t expected to be laughed at for going out with Solange. He half-expected someone to laugh at her for dating him, since Solange was wonderful and he was Tristan. But either way, anyone laughing at them was not supposed to be Torben. Torben, who had been pestering Tristan about Solange since the first time he visited the funeral home. Torben, who asked if Tristan had proposed to Solange once, even though he and Gwen had no intentions of ever getting married. Torben, who Tristan had thought was his champion in his quest to win Solange’s favor.

Tristan’s smile started to fade. Torben didn’t laugh at much and it confused the hell out of him.

“I told you so!” he said gleefully. It was only when the words were actually out there that Tristan realized there was absolutely no condescension or malice behind Torben’s reaction. He sighed, releasing a held breath that he couldn’t remember holding. Gwen laughed, too, but it was a familiar and happy sound.

“I think it’s interesting how you know exactly how long you two have been together,” she said, then, turning to Torben, Gwen asked, “I mean, how long have we been together?”

”I don’t know,”Torben mumbled.“Twenty years?”

“See? Yeah. Seems about right.”

Tristan thought for a moment, wondering if it was weird that he knew how long he and Solange had been going out. Maybe his counting was wrong – did they count Valentine’s Day? Or Batofar? Or the half a dozen lunch dates that weren’t actual dates? Truthfully, it had been two weeks and five days since they termed what they had as “dating”, but to anyone from the outside looking in, they could have just as easily have been dating for a month, two months, three. He’d ask Solange later how long they’d officially been together and say that Gwen wanted to know, so that maybe it didn’t seem too odd that he had a count going.

“Well congratulations, love,” Gwen said. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Tristan mumbled. He looked back at Leopold and smiled. “We’ll have to introduce her and Leopold to each other sometime, since I have the feeling they’ll both be sticking around for a while.”

[The Exodus]

OOC: Date night! BIC:

Tristan Vidal

Tristan balanced the cans of spray paint on top of the upright piano and took a step back. As long as they stayed in their little pyramid, the cans looked like an avant-garde decoration, instead of overflow from having too much stuff in too small a space. For the last few minutes, Tristan had been trying to figure out what to do with those possessions that didn’t have homes in his new apartment. Most days, he picked through a maze of art supplies, musical instruments, and coffee cups without caring how messy everything was. But tonight, Solange was coming over and Tristan refused to let his girlfriend know that his apartment usually looked less like a bachelor pad than it did a very large locker. There was still a stack of homeless sketches on the coffee table, done on the backs of junk mail and take out menus. A large canvas leaned against Isolde’s terrarium as the paint dried on it. The dishes were all clean, but there was a stack of them drying beside the sink, gleaming in the fading, early evening light.

Tristan was almost never home. He preferred the funeral home to his apartment. No surprise there, of course. At work, there were things to do and people to see. At home, there was a television that never got much use and a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach who spent most of her days napping inside an old toilet paper tube. When Tristan had time off, he spent it scouting for new tagging locations or else with Solange anywhere she wanted to be. For some unknown reason, tonight she wanted to be at his place, watching movies and eating take out.

It had been her idea that they have a night in at his place. It was only fair, Tristan supposed, since he’d seen her apartment before and she’d never seen his. Still, he wondered what was so enticing about his place over hers. It wasn’t like he had better taste in furniture or something.

Honestly, it made him nervous, having Solange over tonight. He didn’t know if she was planning on staying the whole night, or just for dinner and a movie. He didn’t know if this was some sort of test. All Tristan knew was that he didn’t want to let Solange down. So he ordered dinner from a little Chinese takeout place a couple blocks over, bought and chilled a couple bottles of wine, and tidied the apartment until it was as clean as it could get.

When the doorbell rang, Tristan’s heart lurched. Two months into their relationship and Tristan still wasn’t used to feeling this cocktail of sensations. He had all the usual symptoms: racing pulse, fretting with his hair, stomach cramps, dopey grin. He opened the door wide. And to his disappointment, there was a young delivery man with a bicycle standing there, holding a large bag of food. Tristan reached for his wallet and paid the guy. And just as the delivery man started to walk off the elevator made a soft “ding” sound that alerted someone’s arrival. Tristan peered around the corner in time to see Solange step into the hallway. Tristan’s smile went back into place and he held up the take out bag.

“Perfect timing,” he called out to her. “Just finished making dinner.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

As fun as it was to go out her boyfriend for a date night, she couldn't help but feel a little exhausted after the long week they'd had. It was Friday night and all she really wanted to do was just relax and spend some time with Tristan. Honest it hadn't occurred to until after suggesting ordered in dinner and a movie as his place that she'd never actually been to his place. It would be interesting, she was sure of it. Seeing the other person's place was a pretty big milestone in a relationship.

Tristan had said he'd take care of the food so she figured she would supply the dessert. She found herself riding the elevator up, holding a Tupperware container of snicker-doodles, just like her grandmother had use to make all the time when she was younger. She had run across the recipe in the apartment not too long ago and figured if anyone would appreciate the effort of homemade cookies, it was her boyfriend.

She stepped out on Tristan's floor, passing a young delivery man with a bike. A bright smile spread across her lips and a lightness filled her when Tristan's face suddenly peered around the corner. He held up the bag of delivery that the guy she'd just passed had probably left. “Perfect timing,” he told her. “Just finished making dinner.”

She laughed and shook her head as she approached him. "Well, who knew you were such a culinary genius? You paint those 'fake' take out boxes too? Very creative," she teased, standing tiptoe to press her lips to his for a moment.

She followed him back to the apartment, giving a smile as she glanced around. There was stuff almost everywhere but it gave the place a sort of cozy, homey feeling. And with all of the artwork around and things like a stack of spray paint, it was just clearly Tristan's place, she couldn't help smiling.

She draped her coat over the back of a chair, before joining him in the kitchen where they set to work putting the food on plates. "Very nice place," she commented approvingly, though she knew he hardly needed her approval on his apartment. "It very...you. And obviously I like that sort of thing." She grinned before placing a kiss to his cheek.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Solange’s laugh echoed through the hall as she walked from the elevator to the front door of Tristan’s apartment.

Well, who knew you were such a culinary genius?” she teased. “You paint those 'fake' take out boxes too? Very creative."

When she reached him, Solange lifted up a little on her toes for a kiss. Tristan wrapped his arm around her back, careful not to put the bag of takeout against her coat. When they broke apart, she followed him into the apartment without a word.

“Make yourself at home,” he told her, gesturing to the main room and walking over to the kitchen. Thanks to the open floor-plan, Tristan could still see Solange. And the whole of the apartment. It looked worse from the kitchen counter. The sunlight hit Isolde’s terrarium in a way that illuminated a few, stray dust particles in the air. Tristan dried two plates with a dishtowel, holding his breath and waiting for an outward sign of Solange’s approval. She said nothing. Instead, she slipped out of her coat and draped it over the back of one of the dining room chairs. Then she came into the kitchen and picked up a takeout box to help set the table.

"Very nice place," she said. Tristan smiled over at her. He could breathe again. If there was a test of some sort, he’d just passed the first portion of it. "It’s very...you. And obviously I like that sort of thing."

She placed a soft kiss on Tristan’s cheek. He grinned and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to him.

“I’m glad you approve,” he said. Then, teasing, he added, “If you didn’t I’d have to move again. And I just finished unpacking my last box.”

He kissed the top of Solange’s head and gave her one last squeeze before releasing her and moving to the refrigerator. He opened it and pulled out the two bottles of wine he’d bought for tonight.

“Take your pick,” he said, holding them out to Solange. “I’ve also got sodas and the ever popular water.”

[blueeyeddevil]

Solange de Grace

She gave a delighted little giggle as he pulled her close to his side, his arm strong and warm around her waist. Again she found herself comparing Tristan and Caleb. Caleb would have never been up for a night in. He always wanted to hang out on the town, be around people. Tristan seemed to perfectly fine with it being just the two of them for the night. For that she was incredibly grateful. He just seemed to understand her in ways Caleb never had bothered to.

“I’m glad you approve,” he said with a grin. “If you didn’t I’d have to move again. And I just finished unpacking my last box.”

"Hmmm...only two months in and I've already got that kind of power. That could be dangerous," she mused jokingly as she leaned in close with a wry grin of her own. It turned more genuine though as he placed a sweet kiss to the top of her head.

She watched as he moved over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of wine. “Take your pick,” he told her. “I’ve also got sodas and the ever popular water.”

"Well, the water does sound tempting," she said. "But I do think a nice like this calls for some white wine, don't you think? It pairs well with foreign food." She gave a little laugh as she turned to head to the living room.

"Where are the movies? We need to pick something to watch," she said. "Preferably something with gunfire and explosions."