Thomas is big, so big that I can’t ignore him. I can’t ignore his face or his strong chest or the fact that he’s wearing a white shirt and blue jeans. I can’t ignore any of that.
I remember the first time I saw him on the bench, and then after in the bookstore and in class. Even though he was restrained and stoic, his posture always tight, inside I knew he was brimming with anger, frustration. There was a certain arrogance in him, too. He knew he was the best, even though he hated it. He hated that his passion for his words ruined the passion for his wife.
But all of it is gone now. No passion. It’s all despair.
He opens his mouth, and then closes it. His eyes take in the purple bag on my shoulders, and the notebook I’m clutching to my chest. “I… Are you taking any poetry classes?”
“I hate poetry.”
“Right.” He nods and rubs the back of his neck.
It’s weird to see him unsure. I almost want to put him out of his misery. I almost want to break this awkwardness between us and be an easy person to talk to. But I won’t. I won’t be an easy person ever again.
I won’t.
I won’t.
“How’s Nicky?” I blurt out, like the old times.
Damnit! I’m weak. I’m so mushy.
But in my defense, I really want to know how the little guy is doing. I miss him. I miss his laughter, his passion for the color purple. How stupid is that? Nicky isn’t even mine. Just like Thomas.
“He’s fine. He’s doing great, actually.” Thomas has a tiny smile on his face. “He’s starting to talk. I’m convinced he said daddy the other day.”
“Yeah?” Despite myself, I smile at him. But when he returns it, I can’t resist goading him like he did me, ages ago, “Are you sure it’s not some randomly put together syllables?”
Thomas’ smile thins out and he swallows. There’s probably remorse on his face or something similar but I force myself to peel my eyes away.
And then, I feel someone crashing into me, and I, in turn, crash into Thomas. His arms come around me, and my breasts crush against his hard, hard body. God, this has to be the most clichéd move ever. I can’t believe it happened to me.
I try not to sniff him, but it’s hard to do that when we’re this close. I do have to breathe, so I take in a breath mixed with his chocolate scent. I keep it tucked away somewhere in my body for later when I’m alone in Caleb’s apartment. I jump out of his hold, then. I don’t want his stupid scent.
This time though, I can’t look away from the remorse on his face. It’s sharp and cutting, and it digs into my crazy heart.
My notebook and the papers are scattered on the hot pavement, and I bend down to grab them. But somehow, Thomas is there before me. I watch his fingers -- his large, graceful fingers that I’ve always been curious about -- picking up the papers, one by one. I study the veins on the back of his hands. Do you still not write? I want to ask, but I won’t.
I keep my eyes on his fingers, observing them do an ordinary thing but looking no less extraordinary, no less naked. I stop breathing. His fingers are naked. He doesn’t have a wedding ring on.
I know he never takes it off. Never. Not once have I ever seen him without it. It’s like he always carries Hadley with him. Even when we…had sex, I’d feel that metal digging into my waist, my thighs, my arms…everywhere, telling me how wrong it was, how he was not mine and would never be mine. I feel the pressure again, as if the ring is still pressing into my body.
Abruptly, I stand. Thomas senses something is wrong and comes to his feet beside me. I can’t look away from his...naked hands. “You don’t…”
He looks down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. A beat passes with no words. Holding my notebook in one hand, he rubs the pale spot where the ring used to be. I don’t know if it’s in regret or relief.
“Hadley and I, we’re getting a divorce.”
“Because of me?” It comes out before I can stop it, and the cringe that follows is involuntary too. I remind myself that I have nothing to do with them now. I shouldn’t even mean anything to them. When Hadley came to me yesterday, pretending it was accidental, I didn’t tell her anything. I never even asked about Thomas or Nicky. But she had to know, right? That’s why she was trying to put me out of my misery, letting me off the hook.
Oh God, did I ruin things again?
Thomas must see the distress on my face because he moves forward, reaching out his free hand, but I move away from him. My feet step back and he flinches.
“No, not because of you. It’s something that should’ve happened a long time ago. It has nothing to do with you.” He pushes a hand through his longish hair. “It was me. I was holding on too tight.”
Is it possible to gasp and sigh at the same time? Because I probably just did that. My own words thrown back at me with such gentleness and gravity is…shocking. I never expected him to remember that, let alone say it.
I need to stop jumping to conclusions. Not everything is my fault. Love yourself and the rest will follow.
I push my unruly, stupid hair back and his eyes follow my tiny gesture. In fact, he hasn’t stopped looking at all. What is he looking for? I don’t think I have anything left that can be of use to him.
“Okay. Well, I-I’m sorry.” I stare at my chipped toenails and my flip-flops, unsure. “I know you…love her.”
“I still do.” He shoots me a sad smile. “And I think I’ll always love her. But I don’t think it’s the kind of love that makes people stay together. It was more of an awe of each other than love, and awe can get intimidating and become a burden after a while.”
What’s going to happen to Nicky? I wish I could ask him that. Divorce is such an awful thing. Look, how I turned out because of my mom’s multiple divorces. But then again, how is living together with no love any better?
So maybe it’s all for the best.
“Right. I can see that.” I nod, unable to stop myself. “You’re pretty…awful.”
He laughs then, short and succinct and loud, and something flutters in my stomach. I tamp it down. Shivers and flutters have no business coming on right now.
“I gotta go now. I have to get home. So I’m gonna go.”
Before I can whirl around and get out of here, Thomas speaks up. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.”
“You did.” I shrug, jerking my tight shoulders up. “You hated me, right? You didn’t owe me anything.”
Just then the sunrays turn harsh and expose every inch of Thomas’ agonized expression. It makes him look a shadow of his previous, confident self.
“I didn’t hate you. I never hated you. I don’t...hate you.” His jaw clenches, but I know it’s not anger. It’s his attempt to control his unruly emotions.
He doesn’t hate me.
It’s the kind of statement that should bring a smile or make me feel lighter. I should feel like I have everything now, but tears spill out of my eyes and down my cheeks, tears I didn’t know were brimming.