Her voice is loud in the otherwise empty café and it snags Thomas’ attention. In a flash, his relaxed stance changes and he is on alert, his jaw pulsing. His reaction is so predictable, his hatred so glorious that I bite my lip to keep from smiling.
My smile is lost when I notice he isn’t alone. There’s a woman a few steps behind him in a loose white sweater and a soft pink coat. Her hair is blonde and smooth with layered bangs falling over her forehead. She is petite, shorter than my five feet six inches, and a lot thinner than me.
Even though I’ve never seen her, I know who she is. She is Thomas’ wife.
She is beautiful. So perfect. Ethereal. Like a soft feather or a soap bubble. Her skin is silky and her lips are pure pink. She seems the total opposite of me. Shy, quiet, and well-mannered.
Having seen them too, Emma makes a beeline in their direction. “Hi, Professor Abrams. It’s so nice to see you here.”
“Yes. Pleasure,” he replies without enthusiasm.
Emma introduces herself to Thomas’ wife with a polite smile. “Um, hi, I’m Emma Walker and this is Layla Robinson. We’re in Professor Abrams’ class.”
“Hello. I’m Hadley,” she says with a slight smile. Her voice…I can’t even describe it. It’s the tiniest of sounds, the lowest of decibels, and so…melodic.
I bet Thomas fell in love with her at first sight. How could he not have? She inspires that kind of devotion.
There’s a clench in my chest, as if my heart is shrinking. I wonder what it takes to be loveable. Maybe you have to be less crazy or less selfish or less…ruining.
I swallow and try to smile as Hadley’s golden gaze reaches me. I feel ashamed. It’s the same feeling I had last night with Sarah. I want to hide behind Emma. My harmless crush seems not so harmless anymore.
With reluctance, Thomas jumps into introductions, moving closer to Hadley. “Yes, this is my wife, and that little guy over there is Nicky—Nicholas, our son.”
Did he just say son? A son.
He has a son. A child. He’s a dad.
This is getting worse by the minute. Let’s hide, my frantic heart squeaks. I’ve been masturbating to thoughts of a man who has a son.
A son I can’t stop staring at.
A blue-eyed, dark-haired baby with rosy cheeks. He’s kicking up his feet in a stroller, gurgling over his chubby fist. He’s bundled up in a black and white beanie and scarf with a puffy purple jacket. He’s wearing purple. My favorite color.
“Oh my God, he’s so cute.” Emma comes down to her knees. “And so tiny. How old is he?”
“Six months next week,” Thomas answers.
He is watching Nicky with pride, with tenderness. It’s a look I’ve never seen on him before. It softens the chisels of his face, tempers the perpetual intensity in his eyes. It makes him look young, happy. His fingers graze Nicky’s head gently, reverently.
My gaze lands on Hadley. Maybe the sunrays are hitting her wrong, but I swear I see…apprehension on her face as she looks at Nicky. Her soft lips are turned down and dark bags have erupted under her eyes. I don’t understand her reaction. She snaps her gaze away as if she can’t look at Nicky or her husband anymore.
I dismiss the stupid thought and turn to Emma. She is playing with Nicky, trying to get him to hold on to her finger, but he isn’t biting. I kneel next to her and smile at him and instantly, he looks at me.
His eyes are blue, much like his dad’s. I finger-wave at him. “Hi Nicky, I’m Layla.” He wiggles on his cute butt and drools. “I love your jacket. It’s purple.” I grin, and he shoots me a toothless grin of his own. “Do you know purple is my favorite color? I just love it. Look!” I point to my jacket and he looks dutifully, still chewing on his fist. “I’m wearing purple too, though it’s a different shade. But, you know, purple’s cool in any shade.”
He giggles as if he understands. Chuckling, I finger-wave at him again, this time close to his soft button nose. In a flash, he catches my finger in his wet fist, beaming.
I circle my lips in an O and he mimics my action, drool hanging on to his chin. “You caught me!”
“Why didn’t he grab my finger?” Emma whispers.
“I’m way cooler than you.”
We both make to stand up but I pause as my gaze falls on Thomas’ boots. They’re the same ones from last night, black with grey soles. They point toward Hadley’s maroon, low-heeled boots, but hers are pointed to the opposite side, to the door. I picture the toes of Thomas’ and my boots touching, pointing dead center, like a compass.
Something about the opposite direction of their boots strikes me as wrong. It gives me a bad feeling.
I sense a hot prickle on my scalp, tingling down to my neck and spine. I know Thomas is staring down at me with his gorgeous eyes. My body tightens as I come up to my feet and look at him. There’s a microsecond of connection between us, and suddenly, I get it. I get the hidden depths of his eyes. I get the sharpness of his expression, every purse of his lips, every throb of his vein.
I get everything. I get why he didn’t look like the happiest man alive last night.
I even get his poem. Anesthesia is about loneliness, heartbreak, one-sided love. It’s about him, and it’s about me. It’s about people like us.
My heart is racing with the awful, awful knowledge.
Just then, Nicky’s gurgles morph into fussing. His chubby cheeks shake as he chews on his knuckles. His distress is causing me distress, and I’ve only met him a few minutes ago.
Emma looks down, frowning. “Oh no, I guess he needs his mommy.”
I swear I see Hadley flinch. What is going on?
Thomas notices it too and breaks into action. Setting his mug on the counter, he bends down and gathers Nicky in his arms. He presses him to his chest, cradling his head and rocking him. His movements are expert and fluid.
“I think we should get going. It’s close to Nicky’s feeding time, anyway,” Thomas says.
We say our goodbyes and Thomas and Hadley leave. As Emma places her order with the barista, I watch them walk down Albert Street. They walk separate from each other, aloof. Thomas is pushing the stroller and Hadley is huddled in her coat, tucking her flying blonde hair behind her ears. She slips on a patch of ice and Thomas’ hand shoots out to steady her, but it never makes contact with her body. Hadley shrinks away at the last second and straightens herself. She continues walking as if nothing happened, and Thomas follows.
With a sinking heart, I realize Thomas is like me. He is the unrequited lover.
________________
For the past weeks, Thomas has claimed my nights. He is all I think about, but tonight is different. Tonight, Caleb is intruding on Thomas. The awful, breath-stealing, gut-wrenching love that I feel for him is rushing to the surface.
In my mind, I see purple flowers, the same ones I saw through the window of that strange house Caleb left me in.