The Bright Side

Chapter 13 - Part 4

TRISTAN

I'm at the front desk and check the reservations. It's the middle of the afternoon and most of the guests are out. It's an exceptionally sunny and warm day for October and there won't be much to do for now. I don't know what to do with myself and the lack of immediate occupation makes me restless. Every few minutes or so a pulse of adrenaline makes my muscles feel tight and it's accompanied by only one thought: Sky. I grab my mobile from underneath the counter and scroll through the pictures we took in London. The one where I'm wearing his beanie and he my snapback is my absolute favourite; his smile is so bright and even though he's not even looking into the camera his beauty is stunning. The one I took without him noticing when he walked ahead and talked back to me over his shoulder. I watch the clip he shot on Westminster Bridge when I climbed the banister and in the wobbly lower right corner of the screen there's my hand holding onto his. Oh, boy, the feel of his hand. I push the phone back under some papers and try to refocus on the reservations for the next few days. There's an elderly couple from London that will check in tomorrow. It needs only that one word to make me feel like there's a button being pressed inside of me again and that draws up images of his face and the remembrance of his touch. I miss him like hell. There's not a minute that goes by without him invading my thoughts, without the pull I feel towards him taking my breath away. Just thinking his name makes my heart flutter.

"What up, bruv?" Rory appears behind me and takes the little reservation booklet for the restaurant. "Party of fifteen tonight?"

"Can't you read, dickhead? It says twenty-five." I tap my index against the numbers.

"Can't you write? That's a one," he exclaims.

"If that's a one, then I'm the Queen."

"In that case, Your Royal Highness..." His words fade into nothing and when I look at his face again, he's staring at a point behind me with an expression that would surely be suitable if Santa Clause himself had just entered, shouting 'I'm real!', but I can't hear anything but Mum bustling about in her office getting ready to leave.

"Hi."

A familiar voice, a too familiar voice, a voice that sends shivers down my spine and makes all my hair stand up within a second, disrupts our bickering. When I turn around my gaze instantly finds turquoise eyes within the most stunning face I've ever seen right across the counter. He's wearing a black coat with a million pockets and a dark blue shawl with stars in different sizes and shades of blue around his neck and it only makes his eyes shine brighter. Maybe it's just the withdrawal, but he looks more beautiful than ever to me.

"Bye, boys," Mum chimes as she hurtles past the counter, her steps have a knocking-off time-easiness to them. Nobody reacts to her, but she doesn't seem to notice and disappears through the wide-open double oak door.

"I..." Sky begins. "I... wanted to give you your stuff back. You know. Your CDs and stuff."

My heart is beating so hard that I can hear it. I can feel Rory's stare burn into the back of my head, urging me to respond, but my mind is frozen.

"Um. Yeah. That's it." He places a small pile – the sweater I gave him on the night of our first kiss, a few CD cases, some screws – on the counter and then pats it with his now free hand, his dark blue nails reflecting the spotlight from the ceiling. Beautiful.

"Ok." He rubs his hand over his neck; his features show an ace Sky Face. I don't think anyone but me would notice the subtle way his eyes flicker across the room, revealing that he's tense. He can't fool me.

"Yeah. Alright." He pats the counter once again and then takes a step back towards the door.

I don't want him to leave. My brain is trying to come up with something to say, something that will make him stay, to keep him from going away – great, so now I'm rhyming.

"Take care, Tristan. See you around Christmas maybe." He takes another step backwards. "Bye, Rory." One more step and he turns around to disappear through the door. My eyes follow him as he gets on his board and takes up speed until he disappears behind a lorry and is out of sight before I know it.

"What the..., Tristan!" Rory snaps me out of my stare. "What was that?"

"I don't know!"

"Why didn't you say something?"

"I don't know!" All I know is that I want to run after him and fling myself at him. Like right now. "Damn!"

"For crying out loud!" Rory drags a lazy hand down his face. "You want to be with him, don't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then what on earth are you waiting for?"

"I don't know!" I'm about to panic. "He's leaving for Oxford tomorrow morning!"

"You've got to be shitting me!"

I check the clock across from the counter. It's four in the afternoon and I only have fifteen hours left before he leaves for Oxford. I don't want him to leave without knowing.

"When are you off today?"

"Midnight! I just got here!" My voice sounds all off, croaky and distorted.

"Goddammit, Tristan. You're the biggest idiot I know, I swear," Rory mutters and rearranges his chef hat. "I'm going back to the kitchen." He turns around and I follow him right up to the entry of the restaurant.

"What should I do?" I grab his sleeve to make him look at me. He shakes his head to himself and gapes at me before he answers me, speaking slowly and clearly as if I were behind. Which I am, but not in that way.

"Finish work and then Go. And. Get. Him."

"Right." I have no idea how to do that, but since it's only four I have the whole evening to figure it out, I guess.

"Guests." He nods towards the lobby and nudges me.

People are waiting at the front desk and I see to their needs without the least bit of interest in them. I do what I do every day, but I'm not really there. I run around and do the maid's work, too, and I watch hundreds of different scenarios of how I'm going to go and get Sky and how he will react inside my head. The hours seem to stretch indefinitely, no matter how much I get done and no matter how hard I concentrate, the clock doesn't move forward. Which isn't all that bad, because the prospect of going and getting him also scares the shit out of me. How am I going to get over myself? Basically, I get thrown around between the two poles that are insecurity and impatience the whole evening. Up and down. Left and right. My mood swings are likely to cause me whiplash. And then it's finally twelve and I'm free to leave. I play out time a bit to steel myself. I hover around at the desk, I change into my normal clothes, I brush my teeth in the staff room, I even floss. It's half past twelve by the time I'm ready to go.

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