IV
I see him at the Supermarket. My cart crashed into his at the end of the cereal aisle. Corny but it does happen.
Lucy sitting in the seat at the top of the cart playing a game on his phone. She quietly swings her legs between them as he pushes the cart along.
"Oh hey," his smile is welcoming and warm, "look who it is, Lulu."
Lucy looks up and waves at me shyly. Cute nickname.
"Hello, Lucy," I beam at her, "you look so pretty today!"
She did. Her dress was a deep maroon colour with tights and a cardigan to keep her warm. She also had a coat strung over her lap for when they returned to the chill outside.
"Say thank you," Edward encourages.
She mutters it under her breath, turning back to his phone.
"We're working on people skills. How have you been?" He asks me.
"Cold," I laugh nervously.
He made me nervous. But that fact thrilled me.
Those green, inquisitive eyes take me in. I feel as if I'm under a microscope. As if each inch of my body is on display for him. I was wearing a thick coat, scarf, jeans and boots. But under his direct gaze, I felt naked.
"We're shivering through it too," Edward strokes his daughter's hair absentmindedly.
"Did Santa treat you well, Lucy?" I ask her.
Glancing up again at me once again she nods with a sweet smile.
"What did he bring for you?" I ask.
"A dollhouse," she warms up slightly, her answer filled with delight.
"Wow," I'm enthusiastic, enjoying that my response wins me another one of her sweet smiles
"Thanks for last week," Edward says suddenly, "that vent was necessary for all of us."
"I couldn't agree with you more," I let out a slow breath.
Our next encounter wasn't so calm. I'd cut my upper arm with a knife after a shouting match with Jacob. He'd been out late. Came home the morning after smelling of hard liquor and cigarette smoke. Two things he swore to quit years ago.
He'd slammed the door as he entered the house, prepared for the fight. When I hadn't reacted he tried jeering me with insults. Told me he looked stupid in front of his friends without his wife on his lap. That I should have been there all night to support him. Then he grabbed my shoulders from behind and I'd flinched enough. I had been cutting tomatoes but the movement caught my upper arm.
He panicked. Immediate tearful apologies and pleas for forgiveness.
I'd cried from frustration more than the bloody burn as he drove us to the hospital. I needed stitches.
Edward spotted me clutching my wound with a dishtowel. Without a beat of hesitation he made a beeline for me. He'd been laughing with a nurse by the reception when he caught sight of me. His face morphed into concern when he saw me.
"She slipped," Jacob explains, "I think it needs stitches."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," Edward's glare toward my husband is frosty.
I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. Jacob doesn't fire back a response, quietly watching Edward lead me to a bed. He doesn't speak until my arm is numb, my doctor beginning the process of stitching me closed again.
"I'll grab us coffee," Jacob mutters, standing from the chair in the corner.
Jacob always did this thing with his hands when he was stressed. Ran them over his jeans like he's trying to wipe off the blame. As he stands he does it. My eyes meet his and he communicates another silent apology. When he rounds the corner, Edward's eyes flick to mine immediately.
"Did he hurt you?" Edward's voice is quiet, but it echoes loudly in my mind.
"No," I shake my head, unable to look at him.
Looking at him right now hurt something inside my heart. I can't begin to understand why.
"You can tell me," he presses, "you're safe."
"He didn't hurt me," my voice is sharp, definitive.
Finishing with the stitches he pulls out a card from his white coat pocket. Slides it into my hand.
"My number," the instruction is simple.
Contact me when and if you need to.
I don't use it for a few days but I keep it slid between my phone and my phone case.
One night, about 11 pm, I use it. Not because of a fight Jacob and I had, but because it's been burning a hole in my mind ever since. A nagging voice persisting that I text him.
"Thanks".
It's all I say.
"You're welcome."
That is all he replies with.
I don't know why I make his contact name 'Work'. It's generic and simple. If Jacob were to see it flash up on my phone he'd assume nothing suspicious. Even though there was nothing suspicious going on. Yet at least.
I'm home alone one night and that exciting contact name pops up on my phone.
His message is simple:
"She's gone again."
I stare at it for a good ten minutes. Trying to come up with words that won't make me seem lame, that will make me seem desirable. I don't know why I care.
"I'm sorry. Are the kids okay? - B"
"They're sleeping. The nanny is staying. I have surgery booked early in the morning. - E"
"Do you need an adult chat? - B"
I don't know why I wrote that. As I begin to regret it my phone begins to ring. I answer after a few seconds, not wanting to come off as eager. Not like I'd been waiting for this for days.
"Hello?" I pretend I don't know it's him.
"Hey," his voice is silk.
For a moment we just listen to one another's silence. Breathing in and out together like a broken symphony.
"So," he begins.
"How," I begin too.
His laugh is awkward. Mine is embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," I say, "Do you know how long she's gone for?"
"A week I guess," he answers, "she's in France for fashion week because some designer had an extra ticket. She just dropped everything."
"Hopefully the snobby fashion people scoff at her outfit from last season," My heart swells when he laughs at my jab.
Another few beats of silence.
"How's your arm?" he asks.
"Itchy. Perhaps some malpractice could have been involved?" I tease.
"Malpractice?" his amused scoff makes my cheeks heat.
"Yeah," I look down at the bandage over my arm smiling, remembering his touch.
His skin had been cold but it warmed me to the bone. I'd do anything to have his hands on me again. Elsewhere next time.
"Well I can assure you the doctor who stitched you up followed almost every rule," I can hear his flirtatious grin.
"Almost?" I wish he was here.
"I can't say for legal reasons," he says.
"You tease," I try my best to keep my voice sultry.
"Perhaps I'd be more forthcoming over another adult drink?" he asks.
So I agree to it and for the next couple of weeks, it becomes our little ritual. An after-work 'adult drink' every Thursday. We grow familiar with one another, but never cross that line. It's harmless flirting and longing looks. A shared experience of feeling underappreciated by the people we're committed to sparked up a friendship that's so unique.
We sip our drinks and discuss life. Laughing fondly at my experiences with cute children who enter my office, intrigued at interesting medical cases that roll through his ER door.
I try to my best to ignore any and all chemistry. To not play it up in my mind as something that could ever happen. It's only false hope thinking life could land me in his arms instead of the distanced ones I have waiting back at home.
I still find myself trying. I wear my nicest perfume, clothes that make me feel confident. When I'm near him I walk with more sway, hoping he's staring at my ass. I laugh louder and feel bold enough to test boundaries.
We get to know one another with each passing Thursday. I don't know when we started to know one another on a deeper level. I learn he hates hot cocoa and the sound of teeth biting a fork. He likes Micheal Buble more than he cares to admit, but will happily admit to being a Swiftie (his daughter's influence). He would fight any man for his sister and defend his brother even if he were wrong. He loves his parents and thinks despite his shit marriage the whole concept isn't a scam, because of how much his father loves his mother.
He claims to love his wife. But he isn't IN love with her. He misses happiness and wonders if he'll ever feel it again. He feels happiness helping patients, around his kids and with his family. I wonder if he could feel it around me?
More boundaries are tested and crossed.
It starts with playfully smacking his shoulder as I laugh. It ends with him leaning in closer when he places my wine on the table in front of me. The feeling of his warm breath on my neck has my pulse thumping erratically.
Thankfully he knows CPR. One of these days I'll need it.
Lingering touches begin to turn into more each Thursday night. My foot begins to enjoy the feel of stroking his calf under the table. His hand enjoys the feel of touching the small of my back as we approach our cars at the end of the night.
Casual texts turn into more. We end with goodnight and start with good morning each day. I even throw in heart emojis.
The innuendos take a suggestive turn. I find myself messaging him when I'm getting out of the shower so he thinks about me naked. He messages me when he's at the gym so I think about him all sweaty.
One night a fight about the dishes with Jacob had me crying in the shower, desperate for things to turn better. When I stepped out and wrapped a towel around me I found a golden text waiting for me, I'd forgotten even why I had been crying.
It started with stolen glances in a crowded bar. It ends with this…
My back is pressed against the toilet cubicle, his pelvis holding me in place, pressed tight against me. His mouth is hot on my neck as he tastes me. My chest moves up and down as I pant.
Between that first drink and this moment we'd fought hard to resist - it wasn't right. But failure in this form was sweeter anyway.
We'd flirted for weeks and weeks, but the line was never crossed. We didn't kiss, we didn't touch... much.
Until now.
Thank you for reading
X