The Other Fish in the Sea (47 page)

“You’re kidding? Does he always do that?” Jeff asked in genuine surprise. I really don’t have any idea why he’s so surprised though.

I thought about the answer and then said, “Yeah, pretty much…although normally he’s not
nearly
as determined to keep me as he seems to be tonight.”

If you’re having a hard time understanding why I’m having a hard time moving, let me explain; Picture being wrapped in a horizontal-ish bear-hug. I’m kinda propped up in the bed but Tristan’s arms are around my waist, his head is on my chest and he’s got one leg over both of mine so half of his body is essentially on top of me. My arms are free and I can probably free one leg, but really, I’m not goin’ anywhere until he wakes up or consents to let go of me.

“Why don’t you just wake him up?” Melissa asked. No kidding, why indeed? Duh.

“Good luck with that. Remember, I was lifting his eyelids and pulling his leg hair that time I found out about his sleep-talking thing. Dude never even flinched,” Jeff said, standing up to stretch. So there goes waking Tristan up…I’m just going to be grateful I don’t have to pee anymore.

Aw crap…why does that always happen? You’re fine until someone mentions it, but inevitably the second you think of the sixteenth letter of the alphabet, you gotta go.

“What are you doing?” I asked when Jeff walked over to me and tried to lift Tristan’s arm.

“Helping you. Jesus, he’s really got a hold on you… Anyone got a crowbar handy?” He said with a laugh when his first attempt to remove Tristan’s arm from my waist resulted with Tristan’s body subconsciously tightening around me, reiterating its unspoken message that he has no intention of letting go of me for a while.

“I told you,” I said with a giggle when I felt Tristan’s body relax again and Jeff just stared down at us, contemplating his next maneuver.

“Okay, let’s try this again or you’ll be stuck here all night. Hmm…I think we need some leverage. Hey Pete, you pull his shoulder, Brandon, you get his leg and I’ll pry his arm up and shove him…if we do it all at the same time, we should be able to give Camie enough room to slide out.”

“Are you serious, dude?” Brandon asked and gave Melissa’s butt a little tap, prompting her to realize he was getting up.

“Yeah, he’s not about to let her go. It’s like rigor mortis sets in, you’ll see…”

The guys got in position with Kate and Melissa watching in fascination. I think Jill is still grumpy because she’s still on the floor and hasn’t popped her head up once to check out this hilarious form of escape we’re endeavoring to accomplish. Jeff counted to three and they pushed, pulled and pried, giving me just barely enough room to wiggle myself free. Once I was finally out from under him and standing next to the sofa-bed, laughing, Tristan…well, he woke up.
 

“What the fu—? What’s goin’ on?” Tristan asked, confused, irritable and so darn cute I wanted to crawl back into the dragon’s embrace; thereby ensuring he’d hold me forever.

“Dude, you had a death-grip on Camie...it took all three of us to rescue her,” Jeff told him with a chuckle.

“Oh shit…sorry, Baby, you okay?” He asked, running a hand through his mop of hair that shows no signs of gray hair as of yet.

“Oh yeah, I’m good. It was funny, that’s all,” I reassured him.

“Trist, it was…you were completely relaxed until she went to move away or someone tried to move you, then you’d hold onto her like your life depended on it.”

“Huh. Have I done that before?” He asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Uh-uh. Not like that anyway,” I told him with another giggle. Really, he’s so adorable when he’s sleepy.

“Weird…what time is—aw shit,” Tristan said, noticing the time. Then he looked at Pete who was just shaking his head back and forth, informing Tristan there was no Sharpie mustache. “Alright, what did you dickheads do? No Sharpie, I’m still dry
and
clothed, my hair’s not braided or shaved…leg hair and eyebrows still there too…what the hell?” He asked in confusion as he crossed off all the typical pranks he could’ve been victim of. I would have been
beyond
pissed if anyone came near his hair though, just FYI.

He yawned again and was just starting to stretch the muscles in his neck.
Then
, it hit him. “You mother fucker! I cannot
believe
you, you fucking cock sucker! You know what? I don’t even wanna fuckin’ know…Jesus Christ, you’re
such
a dick! We’re no longer friends.” Tristan threw the sheet off of him in what looked to me like massive indignation as he grabbed his pillow and got up, all the while ranting, raving, and railing at Jeff who was just laughing at the verbal abuse his best friend was raining down on him. “Oh, son of a fucking
bitch
! Where is she?!”

“I’m right here and you may relax…
I
did not partake nor did I record any of what took place,” Jillian said, making herself known as she appeared from around the corner, having just come downstairs.
 

Huh. I’m actually really surprised she didn’t video any of that. But can we take a moment here for my bewilderment on her teleportation? Seriously…how does she
do
that? I thought she was still lying on the floor in front of the bed!

“Jillian…fuck, I don’t even know how to respond to that…I’m goin’ to bed,” Tristan declared in a huff and stalked off towards the stairs.
 

Mind you, that’s not where “his” bed is and Jeff made sure to point that out, which resulted in something that could probably be thought of as verbal make-up sex. Again, not that I’d know what real make-up sex is like, but you get my point.

“Uh, wrong way, buddy…aren’t you gonna sleep downstairs all by your lonesome? This ain’t an underage brothel you know.”

“It’s not a fuckin’ monastery either.”

“And you’d know all about that, right? Being the good little monk you’re posing as.”

When everyone joined Jeff in his teasing snickering, Tristan turned around and sounding
particularly
un-monk-like he said, “Jeff, you can lick my balls and suck my fuckin’ dick and then go to straight hell…take everyone with you and kiss Satan’s fiery ass for me when you get there.”

“Sure thing, lover, but I’ll need coins for the Ferryman…” Jeff said through his laughter.

“Yeah? Come and get ‘em, you piece of anal rot,” Tristan growled and made like he was gonna advance on his friend.
 

Which he may or may not have actually done but, well…I’d like to keep to the rule of no blood, no foul, so I came between them and playfully shoved Tristan back towards the stairs, intending to go up with him. I might as well, right? Besides, I wanna make sure he knows I didn’t ask him anything either and that it really wasn’t that bad.

Jeff tut-tutted and then solemnly, or as solemn as one can get with a good-natured grin on one’s face, he said, “I think you should reconsider your vows…celibacy is
not
flattering on you, my friend. I think it’s affecting your sense of humor and our deep love for each other.”

“Bite me, you fuckhole,” Tristan called over his shoulder as we headed up the stairs together. Then petulantly he said, “I hate him, Camie.”

“No you don’t,” I told him in an indulgent and understanding tone.

“Well I don’t like him…he’s mean,” he said with another pout.

“I know he is. Oh, this should make you feel better though…Ferb made him bleed.”

“She’s a good girl.”

“Mm-hm…she jumped on him with her claws out and bit him on the knee.”

“Did he yell and threaten her?”

“Yep, he sure did.” Jeff’s yelling and threatening only means that she scared him. He would never actually follow up on any of his threats. I know it’s weird, but I told you, Jeff and Ferb have this love/hate thing.

“Good. Serves him right,” Tristan said with a sleepy grin and crawled into my bed. “You comin’ to bed now or are you gonna go play with the big bully some more?”

“No, I’m coming but I’m gonna brush my teeth and stuff.” The and stuff being peeing now before I get trapped under him again.

“Mm-kay…” Tristan said with another yawn, settling himself on his back and closing his eyes. I’m assuming he’s going to let me use him as a pillow; otherwise he’d be in any other position instead of flat on his back. I wonder what it is about being on his back that bugs him so much…chalk it up to one more mystery to solve I guess.

When I came back from my bathroom he was out. I don’t know if he would’ve held me in another death-grip because once I snuggled up next to him, I was out for the night too.

Sadly, I woke up in the morning all by my lonesome and it looked like I was destined to repeat the previous day, except without the homework and friend bar-b-q, but
with
an impromptu shower.

Okay, so Sunday wasn’t
exactly
like Saturday but it was close. Well, maybe close is pushing it too…

Tristan and Pete left early to go play with each other, I did some laundry, Jillian did some dusting and then she and I watched
40 Days and 40 Nights
. It’s a movie about this guy who gives up sex for Lent and his friends set up a website chronicling his struggles where all his friends, co-workers and a bunch of people he doesn’t even know proceed to place bets on when he’ll break. It was a pretty funny choice considering Jeff’s blatant teasing of Tristan last night, and when he and Pete returned just as dirty as the day before and he saw what we were watching, he started cracking up.

“You know I’m not catholic and don’t observe Lent, right? I don’t believe in self-deprivation as a form of worship.”

“I figured. What
do
you believe in as a form of worship?” I asked playfully.

Tristan waggled his eyebrows a little and with a cocky grin he asked, “You really ready to know the answer to that?”

“Go shower, you filthy heathen,” I told him giggling, and tried to shove him away, however, I was in for a surprise.

With his quick reflexes and agility, Tristan easily dodged my shove that I
had
actually put some force behind, and when I stumbled forward, he grabbed me and before I knew it, I was hanging over his shoulder once more and being carted upstairs.

“Tristan! Put me down! You’re dirty!” I laughingly accused him. Yes, I’m totally cracking up, but I
did
just do laundry and I really don’t wanna do anymore. Not to mention that I’m all clean from my post laundry and ironing shower which took place not more than two hours ago.

“Mm-hm, a dirty mind like mine is a terrible thing for you to waste so I’m gonna help you put it to use,” he told me, chuckling at my squirming and squealing.
 

The big brat is tickling me too. He very rarely does that, but I think he’s trying to let me know he’s not being entirely serious about what he just said by keeping me laughing and not freaking out. I gotta give him credit because it’s working.

“But you’re getting me all dirty!” I complained through my laughter with images of dirt and grass stains on my freshly laundered white shirt.

“Kind of the point, Baby,” he told me and before I could say anything else, we were in my bathroom and he was pulling the shower curtain back and turning the water on.
 

So I’m sure you can guess what happened next, right? Uh-huh, my incorrigible idolater dumped me in the tub fully dressed with the shower pelting my previously dry person with water, all the while laughing at my garbled protests and/or my victimized expression. At least I wasn’t wearing shoes. I stood up, looking like a drowned rat I’m sure, and went to climb out of the bathtub but Tristan shoved me back in, following me this time and closing the shower curtain behind him.

 
Yeah, although we didn’t stay that way for too terribly long, we’re both standing there in my shower fully clothed with the water running. And laughing our asses off about it. Seriously, it was one of the funniest damned things ever. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe (not in the scary way from a few days ago though, that would’ve been bad and ruined everything) when Tristan reminded me of Cary Grant in the movie
Charade
. There’s this one scene when he gets in the shower in his suit and proceeds to lather up and use soap under his armpits and everything. He does it all in front of Audrey Hepburn and when she looks at him like he’s certifiably insane; he searches for the washing instructions on the suit and pleasantly informs her that his suit is “drip-dry.”
 
Oh God, it’s so funny, you really should see it if only for that one part. Anyway, Tristan actually did something very similar by washing himself and his clothes off—while he was still in them.

About five minutes or so later though, we were down to our underwear when there was a knock on the partially open bathroom door.

“Fuck off!” Tristan hollered with a laugh.

“I’m just the messenger… Pizza will be here in about thirty minutes and Pete wants to remind you he likes hot water, and because I’m sure you’re both interested in my thoughts, I’ll tell you, I couldn't care less if you both drown in there,” Jillian said, having let herself in to relay that information.

“Tell Pete to bite me and that if he wants hot water he should get a move on in one of the other bathrooms featuring that modern wonder ‘cause we’re gonna be a while. Oh, and if we do drown, do us a favor and feed the girls. They like Duck a l’Orange and appreciate a nice pheasant when in season. And make sure Ferb gets to vomit on Jeff at least once a week,” Tristan answered her, making me start laughing again.

“They’ll have to settle for Friskies, but the Jeff thing I can do. Have fun drowning and don’t blame me if the pizza’s cold.”

“Mm-kay, bye!” I called out and then giggled when Tristan pulled me to him again and planted a big, watery kiss on me as I heard the bathroom door shut.

Now I have to say even though I might’ve preferred frolicking with him in a bigger body of hot water like my Jacuzzi, because surprising as this is, aside from that time in the ocean, Tristan and I have never had the chance to play alone in water, I think our shower/bath might just go down as one of my all-time favorite moments with him. It’ll also be a moment I fiercely hold onto and replay in my mind over and over in the coming weeks as another example of hindsight. He was playful and affectionate, but it was simple. It didn’t once feel like we were headed towards doing anything other than just being together. It’s kind of odd and I’ve noticed it a little before, and again, I’ve never been alone with him quite like this, but it seems like when Tristan’s in water, he just completely relaxes and allows himself the freedom to let his intensity slip. Well, aside from when he’s playing water polo or competing in a swim meet…then he’s scary intense. Maybe it’s a combination of being in water and being alone. Whatever, I don’t know how to explain it, although I will say this, I thoroughly enjoyed our freshwater maritime togetherness.