Chapter 19 #3
There it is. A cruel reminder of my place.
Another silence ensues. I look out the window, and Tom examines his cutlery, peeking at me every so often.
Unexpectedly, Tom reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “Nick, I—”
As soon as his familiar, smooth skin touches mine, the words ‘I’m not happy.
And I don’t think you are either’ echo in my mind.
Having Tom here in front of me, wearing that same sympathetic expression he did on that day, makes it feel like I’m reliving the experience all over again.
The sound of his voice. The heavy feel of his presence.
Everything is rushing back to me. Suddenly, my body feels too hot.
Tears are coming, sweat is bubbling on my forehead, and it feels like there’s a weight on my chest. I squirm my hand free from Tom’s, wagging it from left to right until he lets go. Then I wipe my burning eyes.
Tom observes me, surprised. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, still holding back tears.
“Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.”
“No,” I stage whisper. “No, Tom. You don’t get to be the good guy here.” I keep going, refusing to let him speak. “I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I thought we were going to get married someday.”
“Nick—”
“You were the one that decided we weren’t happy anymore. Not me. You.” I sniffle, sucking back the river running from my nose. “I loved you so much, Tom.”
Tears are welling in Tom’s eyes too. He opens his mouth to speak; he promptly closes it.
I chuckle to myself. “I guess all good things have to come to an end, though.”
“Is it my turn to speak now?” Tom asks.
I offer him the floor. I wipe my eyes with my napkin.
Tom sucks in a breath and thumbs away the tear in his left eye.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it like that.
I shouldn’t have. Not a day has gone by since you left that I don’t regret doing what I did.
The house isn’t the same without you. It’s so quiet, empty.
” Tom droops his head, then looks back up at me, watery eyes glaring into mine.
“I’m not the same without you, Nick.” He reaches his hand across the table, like he’s waiting for me to hold it.
I appraise it with blurry eyes. “What do you want, Tom?”
“I want you, Nick. I want us to go back to the way things were.”
“Tom. You told me I didn’t make you happy anymore.”
Tom shivers, like rehearing the words, his words, is too unsettling. “I was an idiot for saying that. And I’ll apologise for it every day if I have to.”
I examine the hand he’s offered. It’s smooth, well-moisturised, and there isn’t a hint of callouses on his palm. There are no little hairs on his knuckles, and his fingers are long and thin. This hand is everything that Ben’s hand is not.
Ben. That’s what’s stopping me from taking Tom’s hand. The thought of Ben Kehoe.
Somehow, I’ve managed to fall for both of them. Head over heels. I cannot love the two of them at the same time; I know that. That’s when it becomes clear in my mind: I loved one of them, and I’m growing to love the other. I make my decision.
I look at Tom’s hand. With tears moistening my cheeks, I shake my head. “No, Tom.”
The muscle in Tom’s jaw twitches, and his hopeful expression falls. He pulls his hand back to his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I really am. For everything.”
“I’m sorry too.”
We eat our dinner in silence, elect to get the bill instead of dessert, and then drive back to Tom’s house without saying a word.
I pack up the final few boxes with books I pull at random and shove all my knick-knacks into the gaps left between the towers of literature.
Tom helps me carry the boxes to my car. We make insignificant small talk – discuss the weather forecast, talk about how heavy the boxes are, debate Bethany’s appeal.
When the final box is in the car, Tom opens his arms, offering a hug.
“We shouldn’t,” I say.
Tom shrugs. “One last time won’t hurt.”
It will. It’ll hurt more than you can ever imagine.
Tom shrugs again. Fuck it. I step into him and slide into his body. He wraps his arms around me, and I do the same to him. We both squeeze tighter than we ever have before. I’m the first to pull away.
“I wish you well, Tom.”
“Can we keep in touch?” Tom asks timidly.
I suppose it’s the least we can do. After sharing a bed for years and seeing each other naked day in and day out, sending and replying to the odd text here and there is more than doable.
I agree, smiling. “Of course, we can.” My voice almost breaks, but I hold it together for long enough.
Tom takes me in his arms again and holds me tight. “Don’t fret. I’ll still make good on my promise to see what I can do to speed up the appeal.”
“Thank you.”
With his chin grazing the top of my head, he whispers, “Goodbye, Nick.”
As we pull away from each other, I whisper back, “Goodbye, Tom.”
Tom goes back to his home. I get into my car. Standing at the front door, he waves at me one last time. I wave back, even though he probably cannot see me. Once my engine is started, Tom whirls around and shuts the door.
“Goodbye, Tom,” I whisper again.
I’ve said my goodbyes to Tom, but I’m not ready to return to Gorey just yet. I whip out my phone to text Melissa; though, I never send the message I carefully draft. Instead, I scroll through my contacts and find the one person I want to see.
Hey Ben. I know this is a long shot but by any chance are you at home?
I am. Why?
Would it be okay if I came over to you? Maybe I can finally buy you that dinner we agreed to last week.
Ben replies with a gleaming thumbs-up.