Chapter Twenty-Eight Tom
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tom
“I’m exhausted,” Sophie said, flinging herself down on the sofa after she arrived at Tom’s place post-rehearsal one day.
She was still only staying a couple of nights a week and in between that she was throwing herself into her play. He was happy
for her, honestly he was. This was the life she’d wanted when they were together and he was glad to see her living it and
thriving. He just couldn’t quite figure out where he fit into it all. He was, in fact, starting to worry that in both of them
pursuing the jobs and lives they wanted, it didn’t seem to leave much space in the middle for the two of them. How did other
people manage it? This juggle between separate lives and a life together?
“Again?” Tom asked, reaching out to rub her shoulder. It was what she seemed to say every time he saw her and he wasn’t used
to it. He was used to the positivity she’d expressed at his exhibition and for the weeks afterward. This felt different, and
he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. He tried to be there for her the way he’d felt she always was for him. “Talk to me about
it,” he said, feeling her shrug beneath his touch. He stepped back.
“It’s just draining, I think,” she said. “I wasn’t quite prepared for how intense it would be, playing Ophelia. She’s . . .
not the cheeriest.”
Tom nodded. “I haven’t read Hamlet outside of testing your lines,” he admitted. “But maybe we could watch it tonight so I can understand what you’re going through?”
“Tom, I love you,” she said. “But the last thing I want to do tonight is watch Hamlet. I’m seeing it every day.”
“Of course,” Tom said, swallowing. He tried to push it away. How that was the first time she had told him she loved him since
they got back together, and it didn’t feel positive. In fact, it had almost felt like an insult. “I’ll read it in my own time,”
he added. “Maybe it’ll help me know how to help you.”
Sophie looked up from the sofa, smiling. “That’s sweet,” she said. He was watching her eyes, and nothing she was saying was
reaching them. There was something wrong and he could feel the panic building in his chest. He didn’t clock it last time until
it was too late and maybe it was about to happen again.
“I did it with Orlando,” he blurted out. He had an urge to get down on his knees so she could see how important this was to him, but he didn’t want
to be too dramatic. “I read it. A lot. About fifteen times, actually. I just need you to know that I’ve been trying to understand
how you felt. I know you were unhappy, and I never want you to feel like that again. I never want you to feel like you can’t
say anything until it’s too late.” He was searching her face for any signs of relief, but all he could see was her forehead
creasing.
“Orlando?” she asked, her voice a pitch higher than usual. “Why?”
“Because you told me that’s why you broke up with me.” Had she forgotten everything? Was he still obsessing over their breakup
when she didn’t think about it at all? “And I wanted to understand.”
“I never said I broke up with you because of Orlando,” she said, frowning.
Tom stared at her, his mouth slightly open. He was trying to replay it, to remind her of what happened. “You said the book you were reading,” he said, filtering back through memories. “Made you realize we couldn’t be together.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“And you were reading Orlando. I’ve got photos of you in bed with it.” He was probably sounding creepy. Maybe she hadn’t realized how much he’d gone through
everything to search for answers.
“Oh, Tom,” she said, and when her eyes met his, she was looking at him with sympathy. Sympathy that could perhaps be mistaken
for pity, and he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his body and shed the skin of it the way a snake would. Snakes. The animals
that preferred to be alone.
“It wasn’t Orlando. It was my audiobook. The Alchemist.”
Tom couldn’t take his eyes off her. He replayed all of those 4:00 a.m. bus journeys. The hours he’d spent trawling through that fucking book, searching for anything that might have helped him. He’d even gone to the lengths
of recruiting Daisy to comb through the dense text for him, highlighting anything that might offer even a shred of meaning,
all because he didn’t feel like he could just ask Sophie. He couldn’t ask her because she’d made it clear that her decision was final and there was no point questioning it,
no matter how out of the blue it might have seemed for him. She’d left him nothing but that one clue, and she hadn’t even
been clear about that. And actually, that was pretty unfair. He had been going to propose to her. Didn’t she owe him some
kind of explanation about the fact that a woman he thought loved him enough that they would get married could end it out of
nowhere?
He pictured Daisy, sitting on the bus with her increasingly ragged copy of Orlando, sentences underlined and pages turned over. Daisy outside the bus, using his book to hit some men with, the pages flying
across the street. Well good. Tom was glad the pages had gone, because it turned out they were no use anyway. He’d been reading the wrong book. All that time, he’d got the book wrong.
A laugh started building up inside him and he couldn’t stop it. With a rush, it burst out of his mouth and now he really was
on his knees, but not because he wanted Sophie to understand him. Suddenly he didn’t care so much about that anymore. He just
couldn’t believe all the time he’d wasted. How much of Daisy’s time he’d wasted. The fact he’d gone to a fucking ceilidh and
written poetry. Done that laughing retreat. Oh my God, the laughing retreat. He started to laugh harder and harder, and he
knew Sophie’s eyes were on him. He knew that her expression would have gone from sympathy or pity or whatever the fuck it
was to something else entirely. Worry. Concern. Panic.
“Tom?” she asked hesitantly. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Just wait until he told Daisy about this. He felt a pang in his chest at the thought of her. Whether she’d even speak to him
again after what he’d said on the bus. She had every right not to, but it was too painful to imagine that. Instead he pictured
her now, throwing her head back, eyes sparkling. God she’d find it funny. “The hours,” she’d say. “The hours you made me spend on that book, and you never even thought to check you’d got the right one.” He didn’t even need her there
to know what she’d say. It was like they were connected, regardless. Nothing made him question how Daisy felt, the way he
did with Sophie. He just knew. He always knew.
“I’m good,” Tom said, nodding. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “I’m really good, but . . . you. Me. Us. It isn’t working,
is it?”
Sophie frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re not right together. You were right.
And whether it was The Alchemist or Orlando or just life that made you realize it, it’s the truth.
” He ran a hand through his hair, standing up.
“In fact, maybe Orlando didn’t make you realize it, but I think it’s made me.
” He thought again of Daisy. How much he wanted to tell her about this.
The misunderstanding. Meeting Daisy had shown him what a true connection was, and he knew now that he didn’t have it with
Sophie. Maybe he never had. “I can’t make you happy,” Tom said. “Because if I do, it’ll be to the detriment of myself. And
same to you. I don’t think you can make me happy either, without giving up what you want. I don’t know the reasons why it
doesn’t work between us, but I can see now that it doesn’t. It never has, and I don’t think it ever will.”
Tom saw it. The way Sophie’s shoulders dropped with relief, even as her eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know why either,” she said, biting down on her lip. “I wish we could. I thought it could be different this time.”
“It’s okay,” Tom said, walking over to her. He couldn’t believe, all these months later, that it was him comforting her through
their breakup. He sat down next to her and took her hands in his. “Thank you for trying again. I think I needed it to understand.
But I do now and it’s okay,” he said gently, moving his head so he could meet her eyes, so she could see that he really meant
it.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Please don’t be sorry.” He reached his thumb up and wiped her tears away. “You never need to apologize for following your
heart. I should have done it more.”
A sad smile formed on Sophie’s face. “You’re all heart, you fool,” she said, and Tom could see that she’d be alright. That
they both would be. He hadn’t felt that at all last time. He’d felt tied to her, as though he could never be free from her.
Finally he felt so very separate from Sophie and he had thought that if that ever happened it would be the end of him, but
he was starting to realize it might just be the beginning.
“I think maybe I am,” he said. “And thank God,” he added as she turned to him.
“What?”
“I will absolutely come and see your show,” Tom said. “But thank God I don’t have to read Hamlet.”
Sophie rolled her eyes, shoving him. Then she stood up and smoothed down her jeans, walking toward his front door. The front
door that used to be theirs.
“Well I think that will hands down be the weirdest breakup I’ve ever had.”
Tom smiled. “Same. Or for both our sakes, I hope so.”