sorry.” I squeeze his hand, wishing I were better at this, wishing I could always say the right thing the way he can. “Is that what you’re so upset about?”
“No. I mean, I’m not—”
“Damian, please tell me what’s bothering you so much.”
He gently pulls his hand out of mine so he can rub at his face. “Nothing has. I’m really okay. I’m just tired.”
Just tired.
Really okay.
I’m fine.
Nothing but lies to hide what he’s really feeling from me.
I want to shake the truth out of him, but I don’t know how to do it. And I don’t even know if I’m allowed. I whisper, “Damian, please.”
He takes a ragged breath, and for a second something hangs in the balance. I can feel it pulsing in the air between us. Then he smiles and leans over to give me a soft kiss. “Thank you for worrying. But everything’s fine.”
THE CONVERSATION IS truly over after that. We make some stilted small talk, and then he tells me he needs to grab a sandwich and head back to get some more work done on his chapter.
I suggest he just try to work here, but he doesn’t want to do that. So, with a heavy stomach, I watch him walk out of the condo.
I call my mom. I chat with Steve. I take a bath. I try to let it go for now and wait to talk to Damian again tomorrow. But my mind and heart won’t settle. Something feels wrong—really, really wrong—and if I don’t act on it now, I’ll never sleep.
So at around nine in the evening, I drive over to the university library. I know where Damian’s carrel is located—the private desk where he works—and my belly churns with anxiety when I see that it’s empty.
There are some books stacked up on the shelf. But no laptop. No Damian.
He’s not here.
I’m standing there staring at the empty place when a voice comes from behind me. “You looking for Damian?”
Turning around, I see a friendly-looking young woman with curly hair and glasses. “Yeah. Do you know him?”
“Sure. He’s here all the time, but not normally in the evenings. He’s probably home. He’s got a wife he’s crazy about. It’s too bad ’cause he’s hot as hell.”
I make a little noise in my throat—somewhere between laughter and tears. “Oh. Thanks. But he’s not there.”
I should probably just text him and ask him where he is. Tell him I want to talk to him. But who wants to get that particular text? And I really don’t want to find out whether he’ll try to avoid me.
“Maybe try that little coffee shop down the block?” the woman adds. “I’ve seen him there sometimes. Do you know the one?”
The coffee shop. Of course. That’s where his friends all hang out. If he’s not in the library, he’s probably there.
“Yes. I know it. Thanks. I’ll check it out.”
I leave the library and walk down the block to the coffee shop. It’s so close that it’s not really worth moving my car. It’s dark out, but the campus is well lit and there are plenty of people on the sidewalks. In a few minutes, I’m pushing into the coffee shop, which is about half-full, and looking over toward the corner with Damian and his friends’ favorite table.
Damian is there. And the only person with him is Giselle. I recognize her immediately with her lush dark hair, her striking eyes, and her perpetual look of glamorous elegance. She’s got a hand on Damian’s arm, stroking from his shoulder down to his elbow and then back.
Damian is sitting with his head lowered onto one hand. His shoulders are hunched. His eyes are closed. He looks exhausted. Heavy. Battered.
Giselle says something to him—I’m too far away to hear what it is—and he responds. I see his mouth moving. He’s talking to her. Giselle’s face twists in obvious sympathy as she listens.
And I know exactly what’s happening here. He’s confiding in her. She’s comforting him.
The knowledge—the bleak reality of it—hits me like a wrecking ball. I stand motionless, staring as the two of them talk.
It’s over.
Maybe there’s no reason to come to such a dramatic conclusion based on nothing but what I’m seeing right now, but it’s absolute in my mind.
This is it for Damian and me. We’re never going to be what I want us to be.
I’m not sure what drew her attention, but Giselle’s head turns in my direction and her eyes land on where I’m standing. I see the recognition.