His mother’s car had been freshly cleaned. The dashboard was dust-free, the carpets beneath his feet plush from a recent vacuuming. It was a far cry from his dad’s old pickup truck. Shuffling down in his seat, he went to rest his foot on the dash, but a sharp glance from his mother had his foot landing back on the floor.

A smile brushed his lips as he imagined he was speeding along in a black carriage with the Wicked Witch of the West. She had kidnapped him and was dragging him south to her evil lair where Doctor Curt-bum was preparing a bubbling cauldron of saffron-infused poison.

He chuckled.

“What is it?” His mother’s voice was sharp.

He shook his head, tugging on his beanie and looking out the window. He caught his mother’s frown and eye roll out of the corner of his eye but ignored it, instead diving back into his imagination and having a blast.

As soon as they arrived at the house, he mumbled a greeting to Curtis and disappeared into his room, typing up his story in an email to Helena.

He wasn’t able to check his inbox until after an awkward dinner filled with stilted conversation and painful wedding talk. Curtis wanted Tristan to be a groomsman.

Was he out of his mind?

Tristan didn’t even want to go to the wedding.

As soon as the dishes were rinsed, Tristan made a beeline for his computer. Closing his bedroom door, he turned on the lamp and tapped the space bar as soon as he sat down. The screen came to life. An instant grin popped onto his face when he saw the red little circle on his Mail icon.

My dear Tristan,

I adore the premise of your story. Your two villains are quite captivating. I’m also rather fond of the fair maiden who comes to rescue you.

Hope fluttered in Tristan’s chest, his airways restricting until he read the next paragraph and slumped into his chair.

Let us give her a flying horse, much like Pegasus, although I want hers to be chocolate brown with a white patch on his left eye. His wingspan will be intimidating and he will fly at the speed of light.

~ H xx

Tristan’s lips twitched as he typed a message back.

Things have gotten worse for the victim. Come this summer, he will be forced to don a suit that will make him look like a penguin. He will be pranced around in front of lords and ladies—a pet monkey on display—while the evil doctor and his mistress get married.

Help, my sweet Helena. How will you rescue me?

~ T xxx

I will rescue you by charging in, sword ablaze and demanding (very politely, of course) that the captors hand over my prince or I shall have to slay them both where they stand.

~ H xxxx

Tristan chuckled, picturing her upon a horse, yelling at Curtis and his mother while they hovered in the kitchen. His fingers were poised to type back when a new message appeared.

In all seriousness though, why don’t you just talk to them? You could always tell them you don’t want to be part of the wedding.

~ H xxxxx

He swallowed, the idea of that much honesty cutting his air supply short. He tapped his index finger on the keys, picturing the conversation for a moment. His lip curled and he shook his head, typing back:

I can’t do that. My mother would flip out. She already hates that I chose Dad. If I don’t go to the wedding, she’ll be crushed. I can’t do that to her. I may not agree with any of her choices, but I can’t hurt her like that. Like you said, she is my mother.

~ T xxxxxx

She is, and I understand exactly where you’re coming from.

Don’t be afraid to say how you feel though. It might help set you free.

~ H xxxxxxx

I’m not trapped in a tower. I can leave whenever I like.

~ T xxxxxxxx

She didn’t reply to his final email. There were no more growing lines of kisses, just a dead silence that told him she wasn’t willing to go there again. He probably shouldn’t have sent it. There was no winning the argument with her. He couldn’t free someone who wanted to stay trapped. Just like she couldn’t help someone who didn’t want it, and he couldn’t make two oblivious lovers understand how much damage they’d caused.

Slumping back with a sigh, Tristan waited another ten minutes before closing his laptop and heading back into the living area.

His mother was watching Castle—her favorite detective show—so he sat down beside her and lost himself to a world of crime fighting in an attempt to forget about his stubborn girl and the hopeless situation they were both stuck in.

* * *

The rest of the weekend went smoothly. Quietly, but smoothly.

Tristan’s leg bobbed like a jackhammer as they drove north. He’d missed Helena, hated not having her just next door, knowing he could sneak up and see her whenever he liked.

A hot blush kissed his cheeks as he gazed out the window and smiled.

He was so whipped.

“So, do you have a big week at school?”

Mom had already asked him that. They’d exhausted all small talk within the first twenty-four hours of his visit. Since Tristan wasn’t willing to give them much more, the rest of the time had been filled with wedding chatter. He’d silently endured it, not complaining but not smiling either.

“It’s not too bad. I have a few assignments looming and a couple of tests, but no exams yet.”

“Have you—?”

He glanced at her, noting the way her cheekbones protruded as she hesitated over her question.

“Have I what?”

His mother smiled, her right shoulder hitching. “You just seem a little happier. Still really quiet, but you’re smiling, freely almost, and I’m… I was wondering if you’ve met someone…or joined a sports team again?”

It was an effort to keep a straight face. The woman seriously did not give up.

Tristan licked his lips, fighting his grin and going for what he hoped looked like a casual nod.

“I think I’m just finding my way, feeling more settled. I haven’t picked up baseball again yet. But you know, I’m not actually missing it.”

Her expression was pensive, but he could see her battle to keep it that way. She cleared her throat. “I’m so surprised by that. You were obsessed as a kid.”

He shrugged. “People change. I’ve kind of lost my love of the game.”

Her face crested with sadness, and she blinked rapidly while looking at the road ahead.

“Don’t be sad. I’ve—I’ve found new things to fall in love with.” He smiled at her. “I got an A+ on my latest English assignment.”

“Really? Wow! That’s great, sweetie.” She flashed him a grin, but it was fleeting, soon swallowed back and replaced with a sad smile that hit him in the chest. “I’m so glad you’re happy,” she whispered.

He opened his mouth, closing it again when his courage failed him. Soon the only sound in the car was the turning of wheels beneath them, the smooth hum as they sped north along the main highway.

Tristan kept glancing at his mother, her strained expression making her wrinkles show. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the wheel, the ridiculous rock Curtis had given her glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

Tristan looked away from it, the muscles in his jaw working overtime. Finally he let out a soft huff and turned back to her.

“You know, I—” He sighed and licked his lower lip. “I hate what you did to Dad…to our family. You lied, and you cheated. I’m sure you had your reasons, but whatever they were, what you did was wrong.”

She whipped to face him, staring at him with wide eyes before remembering she was driving and turning back to face the road. Her skin was white, her lips trembling.

Tristan pursed his lips and shrugged. “But I don’t hate you…and I didn’t choose Dad because of what you did. You’ve been trying to win me over ever since the day you started cheating and it’s getting kind of old.”

Her expression buckled, lines lacing her face as she fought a sudden onset of tears.

“Why did you choose your father?” She choked out the words.

“Because you had someone to come home to.” Tristan swallowed. “And he didn’t.”

Her lips wobbled, making a funny shape before she pulled them back into line. “I always thought you were trying to punish me.”

He scoffed, shaking his head and staring down at his shoes. “Not to be harsh, Mom, but only narcissists think that way.”

Her lips parted, a quick scowl surfacing before scuttling into hiding behind a sorrowful frown. “Just as long as you’re happy,” she finally murmured. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Gazing at her with the best smile he could muster, he nodded. “I am. I’m really happy.”

She met his smile with one of her own and the thick fog that had been pushing the car into the road lifted. Tristan sat up straight, feeling the effects of it. The lightness was helped along by the giddy bubbles popping in his belly, reminding him that very soon he’d be wrapping himself around a shining light that smelled like jasmine and tasted like summer-berry lip gloss.