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“Zach? No. No, no. For many reasons, Ican’t.” His eyes narrowed as if Iwas the crazy one. “I’masking you as afriend. Help me, please?”
He had aguy friend over, that was all Iheard. That wasn’tan explanation for my random jealousy act, but at least it wasn’talady friend.
“Sure, I’ll come with.” Iheld my hand up when he began to thank me. “I’ll do my best, but don’thold it against me if somehow it doesn’twork out.”
“That’sall Iwanted. Thank you, Erin. I’ll pick you up Friday at six thirty.” He gave me an inelegant pat on the shoulder before rushing out of the studio.
Baffled, Ishook my head and returned to my palette and blended more colors until the bizarre turn of events and the emotions that followed settled in the back of my mind, and Ibegan to paint.
At twenty-five past six on Friday Ifinished applying the second coat of mascara and dabbed on alipstick the color of my burgundy medium-length skirt and boots. Ipaired them with an off-white knitted blouse and acream-colored cardigan. Ifelt cute, which was what Iaimed for considering the unexpected night ahead of me. If it all went south, at least Iwould’ve felt cute.
Two minutes later Iwobbled down the stairs of my building with the carnations and wine Ibought for them, my purse dangling from my elbow. Thomas pushed himself off his Porsche and rushed to where Istood.
“You didn’thave to bring those,” he quipped while taking everything from my hands.
“Thank you, you look sooo handsome too on this fine evening.” Ismiled, forcing him out of his mood, one so different from the charming person he’dbeen the past week.
And even though Isaid it with adash of sarcasm, aserious truth laid within. Thomas Cooke cleaned up well. He wore astark white dress shirt that accentuated the hard lines of his taut muscles, and navy-blue slacks. They fit him perfectly, as if tailor made. They probably were.
“Sorry, fuck, Iapologize. I’mamess.” He placed the wine and flowers inside the car and opened the passenger door for me. “It was nice of you to bring them.Ishould’ve been the one bringing them to you.”
“Thank you and not at all, I’mthe guest.” Imaintained my even tone.
Thomas worked hard on conveying his kindness and managing his emotions, and as Iwitnessed the nervous wreck he was, Irealized both reasons were why he probably wanted me there.
He shut the door gently behind me and came around to take his seat behind the wheel. Thomas’slarge presence felt even larger in the confined space of the car, his saddened smile taking up my view. “And thank you for that. I’dbe lost without you. I’msorry. You look beautiful. This deep wine color on you…”
The nervous energy that buzzed around him faded, giving place to another kind of energy. One that had his eyes raking over my body, seeing me anew.
Being examined by Thomas felt like being caressed by his eyes, how he analyzed me on adeeper level than apassing glance. Wherever they went, they left atrail of warmth, something Ihadn’tfelt, ever.
“You should wear it more often,” he concluded, turning to the road and taking the car out of the parking space.
“Uh…okay?” Ibreathed, recovering slowly from his unexplained but welcome scrutiny.
Thomas eyed me from his side, his grin mischievous. While his smiles grew on me, they weren’thelping me relax. Idecided to avoid them by talking. “What are your parents like, and why did you run to Moscow?”
“Ireally don’twant to talk about it.” He frowned. Again, after just having apologized for the same thing.
Iwas anything but aquitter, and Ididn’tplan on quitting on Thomas.
“I’mabout to walk into their home.” Ilowered my voice to aconspiratorial whisper. “What if they’re murderers?”
“They’re not murderers, Erin.” His lips formed athin line; his fingers flexed on the wheel.
Thomas shutting off revived the memories of Greg, how he pushed me aside whenever Ibrought up anything remotely inconvenient to him. But Thomas cared about me; Thomas looked at me like he really saw me.
He was my friend, afriend who could’ve used my help. So…no more Greg. Fuck Greg. Ifilled my lungs with the smell of the flowers, then launched my Save Thomas mission.
“Well then, if not murderers, do they have horns?” Ipretended not to hear his previous comment or to see his aggression taking shape. “Or wait, don’ttell me, they’re evil scientists experimenting with connecting several people through one digestive system. Isaw it in amovie once and I’ll be honest, if that’sthe case we should make aU-turn like, yesterday. Eating another man’spoop is not on my to-do list.”
For an unnerving moment Ifelt like Ioverdid it, that this silent treatment would last well into dinner. It did stretch and stretch and then…
Then Thomas’slow, booming, beautiful rumble of alaugh poured from him. It lit up his entire face, giving him an aura of ayounger man. The sound vibrated through the car, and Ismiled like afool at my success, at his happiness.
He wiped his eyes and placed asteady hand on my shoulders, massaging it with his thumb. It was an offhand gesture, one Iwouldn’thave taken so seriously had it been anyone else’s.
His hand, unlike any other person’s, burned, scorched. It made me hyperaware.
“You’re alifesaver, you really are.” He glimpsed at me, removing his hand without being embarrassed about it, like it was normal.
Iwanted to say something witty or just tell him,Sure thing, partner, poop jokes are my jam, if not for the phantom feeling of his large thumb on my shoulder.
And in that silence, this friendly silence, we drove to his parents’ home.
