She had a hold on me that I could never quite describe. She didn't ask me to put my arm around her when we watched movies; she never asked me to grab the bill for all our breakfasts, lunches, and dinners before she saw the price. She didn't even have to ask me to bring her two packets of sugar for her coffee instead of one. I just did these things without a second thought.
Our coworkers never thought to label it as a relationship. I'm not even sure if she believes that it is something more than a 'rock solid friendship.' What she doesn't know is that I secretly believe that it just might be something more. I believe that there might be a part of her brain that believes that I am 'the one' . . . the only one . . . the one that she never quite saw as anything other than a coworker, friend, or whatever.
She doesn't seem to notice that when she's in the room I begin to ramble off scientific fact just to keep my imagination at bay. She doesn't notice the way I nervously wipe my palms on my pants; my hands have always sweat when I was nervous. She doesn't see what I imagine to be something similar to the perfect relationships we watch in the 'chick-flicks' she's secretly obsessed with.
Sometimes, I pause to make sure that this is really only in my imagination because sometimes I swear to God that she looks at me with the same complete adoration that I have for her. Sometimes, I think I see a sparkle in her eyes when she's talking to me, but I have to pause to remember that sometimes the evidence can make her eyes sparkle too.
I have written letters to her that I am afraid to send. They are stacked neatly in my sock drawer. I have sequestered them in the back corner because sometimes I am tempted to send them. Sometimes, I hold the stack of letters in my hand and wonder what she would think of me if I handed them to her in the middle of the lab with everyone watching. I wonder if she would smile; I wonder if she would look at me repulsed. The reactions that I have conjured in my mind are what scare me. I've had nightmares about this a million times. It's kept me from giving her those letters a million times.
I have tried to forget, but her presence is unavoidable. Even on her worst days, I have found myself feeling concerned rather than annoyed. On her worst days, I have tried to make sure that we have breakfast at a nicer place or that we rent her favorite movie. I have spent a lot of time wondering if she notices. I wonder if she knows that I put a considerable amount of time into planning events that she doesn't realize are events. I'm always drawn back to her.
"Nick, I heard you had a rough case last night," she says as she places a grande Columbian premium blend coffee in front of me . . . cream, but no sugar.
"Yah, it was a little bit of a long night," I reply awkwardly as if she might be able to read what my mind was fixated on only seconds earlier.
"I thought we could do something different this morning . . . how about steak and eggs at that place you like," she says as she sits down next to me. I notice immediately that she doesn't have any coffee. She sips her coffee so there is no way that she finished it during the short drive from the coffee shop to the lab.
"Thanks, but I know you . . . you hate almost everything on that menu," I reply.
"I'll find something . . . anyways, it's my treat," Sara says with a smile. I wonder if maybe she plans events that I don't realize are events.