I rushed down the stairs and then took a glance of myself in the mirror. I had tear stained cheeks, my eyes were puffy, I had strands of my hair falling down from my ponytail, and I was wearing a Backstreet Boys t-shirt!! I silently prayed that it wouldn’t be anyone important or of interest at the door. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Hi Peyton!” Nick’s cheerful voice greeted me.
I saw him and frowned and almost started crying again.
“That’s not exactly the way I wanted to be greeted. What’s wrong?” he asked sincerely, coming inside, and slipping his arm around my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I’m fine…” I said, wiping the tears from my eyes before they fell.
“No, no you’re not. Now come on, talk to me,” he said pulling me down by my hand onto the seat beside him on the couch.
I looked into his soulful blue eyes and felt compelled to tell him exactly what was going on. I told him about being in the attic and finding my wedding album, and missing Craig so much that I almost couldn’t breathe. He leaned over and gave me a warm hug, assuring me that everything would be okay.
“I’m so sorry for bothering you with all the drama in my life, but thank you for listening. All right, let’s talk about something else. Why did you come over here anyway?” I asked casually, redoing my ponytail.
“Well, I got a message that you called and I wanted to come over here before you got the wrong idea. I know how women are…you heard a girl answer the phone and you got upset, didn’t you?” he asked teasingly, already knowing the answer.
I nodded silently and in shame. I felt slightly embarrassed at being upset over such a trivial thing, but I was still curious as to who the girl was.
“So, who was she?” I asked nonchalantly, as if I could careless.
Nick grinned at my pathetic attempt to hide my curiousity. “The girl that answered the telephone is my friend’s girlfriend, not mine.”
“Oh…so, why couldn’t you come to the phone?” I asked, relieved that it wasn’t Nick’s girlfriend answering the phone.
“I was-“ Nick was cut off by the crying scream of a little baby, that happened to belong to me.
Nick looked at me in shock with wide eyes. I just looked at him and gave him a sort of apologetic look and stammered, “Uh…I, uh…be right back.” With that, I left Nick sitting on the couch and I ran up the stairs to check on Tristan.
I picked him up and cradled him in my arms. I gently rocked him back and forth as I paced the room and picked up his favorite gray teddy bear to appease him.
“Sssh. It’s all right, baby. Mommy’s got you,” I said in the most soothing tone I could.
When I turned around to walk to the other end of the nursery, I found Nick leaning against the doorway watching me carefully.
“You have a son?” he asked, in a tone mixed with disappointment and anger.
“Yes, I do Nick. Do you have a problem with that?” I asked, in the same tone.
“No, of course not. You could’ve told me, though,” he said.
“Yeah, Nick, that’s always the first thing I tell a guy that I meet. Hi, I’m Petyon and I have a son,” I retorted in a very sarcastic tone.
“You know what I mean. I thought we could share things, tell each other everything,” he said with a hurt expression on his face.
“Well, I guess we can’t. I think there’s a little something you didn’t tell me either Nick,” I replied.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
Tristan was asleep again by this time so I walked over a layed him in the crib.
“This,” I said, looking him straight in the eye, turning around to display the Backstreet Boys t-shirt I was wearing with his face plastered on the front.
He just stared at it for a moment and didn’t say anything. I watched his face carefully. His pouty cherry red lips were parted slightly, his smooth complexion was still unchanged from his younger days, his eyes were concentrated very intently on my t-shirt, and a short piece of darker blonde hair had fallen down in front of his left eye.
“Well, what do you have to say about this Mr. Carter?” I looked at him firmly.
“I really don’t have anything to say, Peyton. I think you know the story and obviously who I am,” he said looking me in the eyes.
“Nick, I thought we could share things, tell each other everything,” I said mocking his exact words that he had previously said to me.
He looked at me slightly annoyed and retorted mocking exactly what I had said earlier, “Yeah, Peyton, that’s always the first thing I tell a girl that I meet. Hi, I’m Nick and I was a Backstreet Boy.”
“Listen, Nick, I just wanted to prove a point. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about Tristan. I was going to, just not right away. Were you ever going to tell me who you really were?” I said, inching closer to him.
“Yes, I was. Just not right away, of course. Actually, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but I wish you still didn’t know. It’s just hard to know if people like you for who you really are or because of what you did, ya know?” he explained.
“Yeah, I understand, but Nick it doesn’t make any difference to me who you are, where you’re from, what you did…” I smiled, laughing slightly.
“As long as you love me,” he grinned, singing the last bit to me.
We stood there and laughed for a moment when I heard Tristan getting restless in the crib.
“Oooh…we should probably go back downstairs. I don’t want us to wake Tristan,” I said, pushing Nick out the door.
“Tristan? That’s an unusual name. I like it, though. What’s his full name?” he asked as we walked side by side down the stairs.
“It’s Tristan Caleb Bryant,” I stated.
Nick and I walked back into the living room and spent the rest of the afternoon talking and getting to know each other better.
