A Touch of Rain

Chapter 2-3

Though Faustina had moved some of her own furniture into the apartment to accommodate Rain, it wasn’t enough to give the place a semblance of ‘home’ yet. He’d have to get to those unpacked boxes littering the hall eventually, but not now. Not tonight. For the third time, Rain got up from the couch and went to check on Pip, who slept in the bedroom across the hall from his. That room was painted bright pink. He’d offered to paint it another color, but Pip insisted that he loved it and even wanted a pink blanket to match his walls. Standing in the open door, Rain watched his son sleep.

What had he done? Why had he listened to his parents and sister and moved Pip away from what they both knew? What the hell was he supposed to do now that he was here? Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe it was true—he didn’t have it in him to raise his son and be financially self-reliant. He was a dreamer. A geek. An artist.

Feeling lonely and lost, Rain went back to the living room and picked up the marionette he’d been working on this week. It was still faceless, made from black and purple cloth. “Who are you?” he whispered, turning the puppet in his hands. “I’m waiting for you to tell me your story.”

Ever since he’d been a teenager, characters had lived inside his mind, speaking to him, asking him to give them life. This was what he did. Who he was. And yet, Milo had always belittled it.

Was it time for him to give up on his dream? Or could he really pull this new puppet show off? He had so many ideas for it. He could do this. He would do this. He owed it to himself and to Pip.

When his phone vibrated on the coffee table, Rain quickly grabbed it, though he knew Pip wouldn’t hear anything. When Pip slept, not even a detonating bomb could have woken him.

Rain checked the caller ID on his phone and debated on answering. But he knew Milo would keep calling and calling until he did. “Hello,” he finally answered, sitting down.

“I called you five times today.” Milo’s voice was hard. “Left you two messages. Rain, what the hell?”

“You did? Sorry, I forgot to check my missed calls and messages.” That was a lie.

“You’re so scattered-brain. What if I have some important news to tell you or there’s an emergency—I mean, how am I supposed to reach you or speak to our son or—”

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to check it more often. But we—we agreed that we wouldn’t talk every day, that you’d call on Wednesdays.”

Milo was quiet for a moment. “All right. All right,” he said after a while. “Never mind that. How are you? How’s Philip?”

“He’s fine. So am I.” Rain leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk to Milo right now, but if he refused to stay on the phone with him, things would escalate quickly and then tomorrow, when Milo came to pick their son up for the weekend, the tension between them would be great enough for Pip to sense. Pip had witnessed enough shouting matches and nasty arguments to last him a lifetime, and Rain was deeply ashamed of how badly they’d both behaved in front of their sensitive son in the last tumultuous years of their marriage.

He’d spend the rest of his days making it up to Pip. That was the reason he was here, Rain remembered, and it gave him strength. “Anyway, you’re going to be with him tomorrow, so you can see for yourself how Pip’s doing.”

“I thought we both agreed to stop calling him that ridiculous name.”

“He likes it. I like it.” Rain opened his eyes. He’d heard a noise. He looked over at the front door, spotting Tristan through the white lace curtain in the door’s window. Rain quickly stood and walked to the entrance, unlocking the door and gently opening it. He pressed a fingertip to his own lips before Tristan could open his mouth and arouse Milo’s suspicion. “Uh, Milo, I have to go. I have something in the oven.”

“Jesus, Rain, you shouldn’t use the oven. Remember last time? You nearly burned the house down. How long has your dinner been in there?”

“Everything’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon.”

“Two. We said two.” Milo sighed. “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Wait. Rainar, wait.”

“What is it?” Rain paused, raising an eyebrow at Tristan in apology. He mouthed the word sorry.

“I’ll come back later,” Tristan whispered.

But Rain tugged on Tristan’s arm and signaled for him to wait. Dressed in blue jeans and a fitted black sweater, Tristan looked way too good to turn away.

“What?” Rain insisted, eager to end the phone call with Milo.

“I miss you, that’s what.”

“Milo, look, I—”

“No, don’t say anything. Please, just—don’t say anything. I know I f****d up. I f****d everything up. But I’m working on myself. I’m understanding things. I—I want you to know that. Okay? That’s all.”

Milo was seeing a therapist for his anger problem. He was working on his issues. His father had killed himself when Milo had been a teenager, but though Rain felt compassion for him, he couldn’t keep being the one Milo took his anger and pain out on. “I know that you’re trying,” he finally said. “And I appreciate that.” Despite all his issues, Milo wasn’t a bad father. He’d never yelled at Pip or hurt him, and that was why Rain had agreed to let Milo have their son on weekends, at the house they’d shared.

Milo cleared his throat. “Well, good night. Sleep tight. And be careful. Don’t forget to lock your doors and to check if there’s any batteries in the smoke detector. Did you unpack your EpiPen?”

“No, I’ll find it later.”

“What if you have an allergic reaction and can’t find the damn thing?”

“I’ll find it tomorrow,” Rain said, annoyed. “I’m not going to eat any shellfish before I go to bed, Milo.”

Milo exhaled loudly. “All right. Fine. Good night then.”

When Milo hung up, Rain pressed the END button and tried not to sigh out loud. Why couldn’t Milo give him time? Why did he have to be so pushy? He was always calling and texting him.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted your call,” Tristan said.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Rain leaned on the door and tucked his hands into his sweater.

“Well, I won’t keep you long, ‘cause I wouldn’t want you to burn your dinner, but I—”

“Oh, no, the dinner was just an excuse to hang up.”

“Right.” Tristan seemed to relax a little. “Okay.” He gave Rain a penetrating look. “I wanted to apologize for what I said before. I mean, for how I acted. I’m really embarrassed about it, actually.”

“It’s fine. It’s really fine.”

“No, no, it wasn’t cool at all. I acted like a jerk. See, I rarely drink anymore, and certainly never on an empty stomach.” Tristan stepped closer to him, almost crossing the threshold. “The thing is, I had a bad morning, and then when I saw you coming up, I really thought that maybe we could talk and get to know each other a little better, but the booze went to my head and I blew it. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

Rain tried to keep his guard up, but he was raw, his body and emotions not quite under his control. It had been years since another man had looked at him this way. God, he’d been so cloistered back in Otterburn Park, his social life revolving around Milo’s friends—all couples—and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been free to speak for himself. To choose for himself. The feeling was exhilarating, yet terrifying. Without Milo’s guidance, there was no safety net below his feet. No one to repair the damage he could cause by making a mistake. “I won’t hold it against you,” he said, butterflies flitting in his stomach.

Tristan tilted his head. “Thank you.”

Rain didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew what he didn’t want, and that was for Tristan to leave. It was Friday night and he’d been alone all week, and now this gorgeous man was standing in his door, and—oh, to hell with it—he’d take a chance. “I can make some coffee or something, and we could sit out here and talk if you like?”

“That would be fantastic. But no coffee for me. I’m an insomniac.”

Rain gently shut the door behind him. “I thought I heard you walking around all night.”

“You heard that? Sorry. Just can’t sleep lately and I can’t keep still either.”

Rain looked around the porch. “Do you wanna sit on the steps or—”

“Steps are good.” Tristan settled for the first stair and leaned up against the railing.

Rain didn’t know where to sit, but finally decided on the second step, sitting a little lower than Tristan, but facing him. “I can’t believe how quiet this street is.”

“Yeah, it’s great. Though mind you, it can get a little noisy during the peak of summer. With the festivals and all.”

“The park is beautiful. I used to come here a lot when I was a little boy. They had that Jardins des Merveilles, remember?”

“Oh, yes,” Tristan said, nodding slowly. “I do remember that. You could walk right into the whale’s mouth.”

Tristan’s voice was low and smooth, and Rain felt drawn to him. “How long have you lived here?”

“Three years. I got lucky. Got a good price on it.”

“Oh, so you own the apartment. Well, what do you do for a living?”

“Ah, the million-dollar question.” Tristan looked at him for a moment. “I’m a sales rep for Crystal Tel, a large telecommunication company. That’s what I do. My customers are small to medium businesses, so it’s a lot of driving around the city, going from street to street, door to door. Basically, it’s non-stop sowing for little reaping.”

Rain couldn’t even imagine it. Going door to door, introducing yourself to strangers, pitching a sale, being rejected and turned down, and yet having to start the whole routine again the next day? The thought of it gave him goosebumps. He wouldn’t have lasted a morning out there. “Sounds tough,” he said. “Actually, it sounds terrifying. Is that why you can’t sleep?”

“It’s pretty brutal, but you kind of slip into a persona and just—you know—go, go, go. But, yes, the insomnia is linked to my job. Or at least, I think so.”

“Is it difficult to meet the quotas?”

“I was top salesman for five years in a row.” Tristan looked away at the dark park across the street. “But not anymore.” Then his gaze came to rest on Rain’s face again. “They put me on probation today. The noose is getting pretty tight around my neck, I’ll tell you that much.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Rain wanted to touch Tristan’s hand, but stuck his hands deeper into his sweater instead. “That’s a lot of pressure you’re under.”

“I can handle it.” Tristan cracked a smile.

Then Rain understood that Tristan wasn’t the kind of man to complain or explain.

“So, how about you?” Tristan asked. “What do you do?”

Oh boy.

Should he lie as he usually did and say he was a graphic artist or a website consultant? Or he could say he was a translator—that often worked well with people. But Rain didn’t want to start this new friendship with a lie. “I’m a puppeteer,” he said, his shoulders tensing.

A flicker of surprise registered in Tristan’s eyes and he opened his mouth, and then closed it, apparently at a loss of words.

“I create puppets,” Rain stammered, ready to run inside and shut himself in for the rest of his days. “That means from scratch, like, out of nothing, and then I build their personality and put on shows. In fact, they’re marionettes. Not hand puppets. And right now—well, not right right now, but soon, I’ll be working on a new show I hope can really bring me some kind of success.” He stopped, mortified. “So…yeah, that’s it,” he added in a small voice.

Tristan smiled wide, revealing beautiful white teeth. He playfully slapped Rain’s knee. “You make puppets? Like with strings and everything? What do they look like? How big are they?”

Tristan’s enthusiasm was a breath of fresh air and his excitement stole a grin out of Rain. “It all depends. Some are tiny and others are almost life size. I have many of them.”

“Here? In your apartment?” Tristan looked over Rain’s shoulder.

Rain laughed. “I don’t have all of them here, no. My husband—I mean, my ex, kept some of them at the house.” Milo was holding his creations hostage, Rain suspected. He’d get them back. Every last one. Those were his creations. He’d put so much of himself into those marionettes.

Tristan stared at him and narrowed his eyes. “And you make a living out of doing this?”

Rain glanced down at his knees. “No…not for now.” He looked up. “But I might. That’s why I moved here, to Montreal. There’s all kind of possibilities here.”

“I could see it happening,” Tristan said. “Something tells me you’ve got a touch of creative genius in you.”

“Creating is the way I keep my handle on things. It’s kept me sane. It’s my perfect drug, I guess.”

“Much healthier, too.” There was a shadow in Tristan’s eyes, but then he smiled again. They shared a long and easy silence and Rain realized he wasn’t uncomfortable or searching for something to say. After a few minutes, Tristan spoke again. “And the ex?”

“Milo.”

“So what does Milo do? Is he the artsy type?”

Rain chuckled in spite of himself. Milo, the artsy type? Milo couldn’t even draw a cloud. Much less enjoy anything which didn’t involve movement or physical activity. “Not exactly,” he said. “My ex is an oral surgeon.”

“What is that, like a dentist?”

“He’s a surgeon and a dentist. He specializes in maxillofacial surgery.”

Tristan straightened up. “Whoa.”

“Yep.”

Tristan watched him closely. “How does a maxi—maxilo, whatever, and a puppeteer meet? Did he reconstruct one of your puppets’ jaws? Talk about opposite attracts.”

“We had a great thing going for a long time,” Rain said. No, he was glossing things over again. There was all the cheating Milo had done. All the lies he’d told.

He was glad he’d finally mustered the courage to leave him.

“Didn’t mean to bring the ex up,” Tristan said softly.

“No, it’s okay.” Rain smirked a little. “And you? Are you single?”

“I’m very single.”

Rain didn’t want things to go too fast. “Free as a bird then,” he said.

“Free? No, just…alone.”

Tristan’s candor took Rain off guard and he didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was time to go back inside, anyway. The longer he stayed out here with Tristan, the more of a chance there was that he’d end up doing something he’d surely regret tomorrow. He couldn’t fool around with his neighbor on the first week of moving in. But part of him wished he could have been free tonight. Free of consequences. Of his responsibilities. It didn’t work that way.

“Well,” Tristan said, standing up as though he’d felt the change in him, “I should let you get to your imaginary dinner.” He hesitated and then leaned in a little closer to where Rain sat. “Unless you wanna have a late dinner with me? I can bring some things over to your place, if you like.”

This was torture.

No, he couldn’t invite Tristan into his home just yet. Not with Pip sleeping and with the way the place looked. He wasn’t ready. Couldn’t move so quickly.

“Am I coming on too strong?” Tristan said.

Rain was unable to break away from Tristan’s stare. “A little,” he managed to say. “But just a little.”

Tristan leaned back and smiled. “Okay.”

“I like you,” Rain sputtered, his cheeks feeling hot. “I don’t want you to think that I’m indifferent to your s*x appeal.”

Tristan c****d a brow, giving Rain a seductive look.

“I’m gonna go inside now,” Rain said, quickly standing. He was acting like an i***t, saying all the wrong things. But when he stood, he ended up eye to eye with Tristan.

Tristan didn’t miss a beat and closed the space between them. “Have dinner with me tomorrow,” he said. “It’s Saturday night and I don’t have any plans. Do you?”

Affected by Tristan’s magnetic energy, Rain shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“Will you have dinner with me then?”

Rain stepped up to the porch, but at the front door, turned to give Tristan one last look. “Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. I mean, later. When my son leaves. I mean, in the evening. I mean, I’ll knock on your door and stuff.”

Tristan chuckled. “Anything you don’t eat?”

“I have a life-threatening allergy to shellfish.”

“Whoa. Okay then. Duly noted.” Tristan turned away and crossed over the fence. “Good night, Rain,” he called out not too loudly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night,” Rain whispered back. “Hope you sleep tonight.”

Tristan poked his head over the bannister and grinned. “Are you kidding me?”