Jealousy

by S. L. Scott

  Facing me, Austin adds, “That was very kind of you. I know Jules loves those. It will be cool to see this one hanging next to her other one.”

  I cut in. “I felt bad for showing up empty-handed on her birthday, so I thought I’d I’d bring a token tonight.”

  Her expression changes when she says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You didn’t know it was my birthday.” Her voice holds steady, but I see the pain in her eyes that I might have actually forgotten the date of her birth. But I can’t reply with Austin standing here and she knows it. She says, “I’m just kidding, Dylan. Of course, you wouldn’t know.”

  I smile, keeping up the charade for her sake and because Austin’s a good guy. He almost makes me feel bad for thinking about her, for dreaming of her, for jerking off with Jules on my mind, and for deciding she will be mine again.

  Almost, but I don’t…

  Jules has to work, leaving me and her boyfriend alone. Austin invites me to have a beer with him sometime before he leaves to make a business call. I should go and would rather say goodbye in private. Before I find Jules though, Brandon finds me first, and asks, “You’re really doing this, aren’t you?”

  I reply, “Doing what, Brandon?” Exasperated, I look to my side not actually giving him my full attention.

  “Jules? You’re going to pursue her, aren’t you?” Our eyes meet and the truth is there. He knows without me confirming.

  “Austin treats her the way she deserves, so don’t ruin it with lousy intentions.”

  “How do you know my intentions are lousy or less genuine than his?”

  “I don’t.” He sighs. “That’s what worries me.”

  I narrow my eyes, my brow furrowing. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

  “You know I do.” He bites the inside of his cheek in thought, looking out over the crowd. “But we’re better as friends,” he states bluntly.

  Good to know.

  Any weakness he was about to reveal is quickly covered when Austin approaches. They greet each other like old friends. Maybe they are.

  “Have you seen the painting?” I ask, needing a reprieve from the weight of judgment from Brandon.

  We turn, standing side by side by side, Brandon, me, and then Austin. Our heads all tilting to the right, arms crossed over our chests, staring straight ahead—all looking the same, all in love with the same woman.

  “Well that’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” Jules says from behind us, giggling.

  We look over our shoulders and see her smiling. She doesn’t realize her slip. I should hate that she might be hurt when Austin finds out about us, our past, but I can’t because I’ll be there to comfort her, like I should’ve been all along.

  “The painting is of Jules,” I say, seeing Austin and Brandon swiftly turn back around to see the bold work of art.

  Austin spins back to look at her. “Really? That’s you?”

  Jules nods.

  “When did you pose for it?” His voice is concerned and on edge.

  “She didn’t,” I intercept the conversation.

  Brandon hasn’t taken his eyes off the painting.

  “But you said—” Austin starts to question.

  “Look at the eyes,” I add. “There’s nothing there, no depth.”

  Jules puts a comforting hand on his arm. “Look closely. You know it’s not my body if you really look. It’s all from his imagination.”

  Brandon has finally tuned into the conversation. He’s listening, but remains quiet.

  I know that’s not her body just by looking at it. There’s no mole three inches below her left breast. Her nipples are more pink than brown. She also has a scar on her right thigh from a water-skiing rope burn she got when she was twelve.

  She leans closer to Austin and whispers while pointing to her ribs on the painting, “No mole.”

  Austin shakes his head not understanding. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know about her mole. He doesn’t know her body at all. I step back, needing the space as anger courses through me. He’s careless.

  When her eyes meet mine, she knows I know her body. I know that mole. I’ve kissed that mole. I’ve savored that mole. I’ve come on that mole. I’ve made her come just by appreciating her body with my mouth while circling that mole with my tongue.

  Jules looks down, and I have a feeling that she remembers just like I do. Sadness comes over her face and I take a step back, not wanting her to feel bad she’s with a guy who doesn’t realize she has a mole three inches below her left breast, the guy who claims to love her. I eye Brandon. He knows. He knows about the mole, but stays quiet. And I’m left with the realization that Jules did sleep with Brandon. For some reason, I’m not surprised, but what does surprise me is that she’s not with him now.

  It’s obvious. He was the rebound. Poor sap. It doesn’t feel like a victory winning this way but I’ll take what I can get right now. One day, she’ll see that I’m the one she’s meant to be with… again.

  She walks me to the door, her hand on my forearm. “Thank you for the gift.” Looking around, she seems uncomfortable. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

  “I’m always thinking of you.”

  “Dylan, please.”

  I drop it, letting it go, letting her go… for now. “I’ll see you soon, Jules.”

  With a soft smile in place, she says, “Okay. I’ll see you soon, Dylan.”

  THE BREEZE CARRIES the scent of her hair and I inhale. Relaxing, I sit down on a bench facing the city at the edge of the park.

  “Why are you sitting behind me?” Jules asks, knowing I’m here.

  “What?” I ask. She’ll never believe it was a coincidence. “Jules? What are you doing here?”

  She turns, smiling, the sun reflecting in her eyes, making them shine. “I’m having lunch like I do almost every day here. What are you doing here, Dylan?”

  “I come here, too,” I reply, “quite often.” I’m putting on my best I’m-still-so-shocked-to-see-you face. “This is such a coincidence.”

  “You work like thirty blocks south of here. You can’t even make it here on your lunch hour, much less back again.”

  “I’m allotted longer lunches and I like this park.”

  She’s silent for a moment, then laughs.

  I smile at the sound, then ask, “You buying it?”

  “Nope.”

  “I didn’t think so.” I drape my arm across the back of the bench, turning to face her more fully. “Whatcha having for lunch?” I ask, peering over the bench down at her lap.

  “Something incredibly glamorous and gourmet. Tuna salad.”

  “Man, I miss your tuna.”

  “Dylan!” she scolds playfully.

  Since the birthday dinner, everything seems to have gone from angry to easy between us. “You’re a perv, Jules.”

  She shrugs. “Eh, what’s new?”

  So much that we aren’t able to talk about yet, so I keep it light for now. “So I have turkey and avocado on ciabatta. You wanna share?”

  “You haven’t changed. Yeah, I’ll trade you half of mine. Turkey and avocado sounds good.”

  I hand her half of my sandwich and she hands me half of hers. I quickly take a bite of the tuna. “I missed this. You always made the best tuna salad.”

  She doesn’t say anything, but smiles while looking down. She’s so beautiful. We chat a little and eat our lunch, the silence between us okay at times.

  Eventually I have to ask because I’ve become obsessed with these thoughts, “Did you think of me over the last three years?”

  She turns away and I can’t see her face. It’s unsettling, but then she says, “Every day.”

  “Me too.” I want to be honest with her. “You never left my thoughts.”

  This time she holds my gaze, searching my eyes. “Dylan.” It’s a tone, a warning to stop. “I can’t do this.”

  “Because I hurt you?”

&n
bsp; “You hurting me is the exact reason I want to have this talk, but it’s not appropriate to talk about that when I have a boyfriend.”

  “Austin,” I say, reminding myself..

  “Yes, Austin,” she repeats. “I don’t want to hurt or betray him.”

  “You betrayed him when you acted like we were strangers on your birthday, Jules. You did that,” I point out. “I played along to protect you. Why’d you lie?”

  She stands, crumbling a napkin in her hand as she fists it tightly. Her eyes search the surroundings. Turning her head, she looks at my lap, my chest, my chin, not my eyes—everywhere but in my eyes. “I need to get back.”

  She starts to go, to leave, but I stand. I’m immediately by her side, not touching, but close. It’s painful not to touch her. “Don’t go… please.”

  She stops, her gaze slowly sliding up my body. When it lands on my eyes, we stare momentarily before she asks, “What are you really doing here, Dylan?”

  “I wanted to see you.” I ache for you.

  “I like that you’re here.” She pauses to look around the park like someone is watching us. “But this is too much. I’m in a relationship. We can’t do this. You said friends.”

  “You did too.”

  “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think we could actually be friends.” She tilts her head suddenly and looks like the girl I saw in the quad that day so many years ago, young and bright-eyed, sun shining behind her. “Is being friends really possible?”

  “Just live in the here and now with me.”

  Stepping closer, then even closer, she presses her palm flat against my chest and lifts up on her tiptoes. Her lips graze my cheek, and she whispers, “Help me, okay?”

  I nod, closing my eyes, savoring the feel of her soft lips on my skin again. At that, she turns and walks off, leaving me dazed.

  When I was working on Austin’s financial forecast earlier, I realized how good his company is looking. He’s a smart businessman as well as a nice guy. For some reason, maybe because he’s a good guy, I don’t want him as a casualty despite my pursuit of his girlfriend.

  I return to the park every day at lunch for the rest of the week. Technically I’m skipping work for the two and a half hours it takes to get across the city, but I make up for it by staying late. I’m also starting to understand more of the pain I caused Jules when I left her. She doesn’t talk about it much, but stuff occasionally slips out. One thing she never mentions is the time right after I left. I never bring it up either, thinking it’s best. She’s still fragile, as if she’ll break if she talks about it, faltering when we get too close to the topic. So I change the subject quickly not wanting to cause her any more pain.

  Today is Friday, the end of the work week. As we get up to leave the park, I’m feeling a disappointment slip over me when I realize I won’t get to have lunch with her tomorrow. I don’t have an excuse to see her. It remains an unspoken emotion as I walk her back to the gallery. Hesitating before she goes inside, I hold the door open longer than usual. Standing in front of me, she looks down, then angles up and whispers, “It’s been a good week.”

  “The best.” It’s all I can say right now, my heart starting to throb as she takes one more step inside.

  “I’ll see you Monday?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  “Have a nice weekend, Dylan.”

  “You too, Jules.”

  She flashes me a small smile before going inside.

  I watch through the glass as she retreats into her office. My breathing is strained without her near, so I step forward needing her just one more time, just one more hit to my heart to help me through the long days ahead without her.

  From the sidewalk, I knock on her window, her eyes going wide. Putting my hand flat against the glass, she rises from her chair while I wait, hope teetering on devastation.

  Standing in front of me, glass dividing us, she slowly places her hand flat against the window, against mine. My forehead drops forward as does hers, our eyes closing together. The glass is cool but starts to heat with her near, our bodies so close.

  Sneaking a peek, she turns her cheek, pressing it against the glass and I kiss it. Innocent.

  She turns to see the remains of the kiss that I gave. Her lips press against the glass on the opposite side of where mine were and that’s when I know for sure. She feels this just as much as I do. It’s real. What we’re sharing is real.

  She steps back and waves goodbye, her words muffled through the thick glass, her face smiling, “Go, Dylan. I have work to do.” She laughs and so do I as I back away with a small salute.

  “Bye,” I mouth then jog away, feeling on top of the world. I always want to feel this good. While hailing a cab, I grin ear to ear, thinking that things are progressing nicely.

  Now, what excuse can I come up with to see her over the weekend? Hmmm….

  I FEEL LIKE I’ve taken two steps forward, one step back.

  Hours. It’s taking me hours to get to Jules’ front door. I spent the first half of today working even though it’s Saturday to take my mind off her. I made a few calls to my family because I hadn’t checked in with them lately. My mom answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Mom?”

  “Dylan, how are you, sweetheart?”

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “Keeping busy. I’m going to the flower show later. I’ll be dragging your father.”

  “Bet he’ll love that,” I joke.

  She laughs. “He’s a good sport. We might go to lunch afterwards. I’ll let him pick the restaurant to make up for it. So how’s your social life? How’s the Big Apple treating my son?”

  “I’ve been working a lot.”

  “No fun?” she asks.

  “I’ve gone to some art exhibits.”

  “There are some nice galleries there. Maybe next time I’m there, we can visit a few.”

  “I can take you to Jules’.” I say it before I think twice.

  “Jules’ gallery? Are you talking again?”

  I pause, careful what I say next. “I ran into her at one of the exhibits.”

  “Oh,” she says. “How did that go?”

  “Okay.”

  “She emailed me a few months ago and said she had—”

  I hold the phone tighter to my ear, thinking I just heard her wrong. “Wait, back up. She emailed you?”

  “We email every now and again.”

  “Since when?”

  Now she pauses and I readjust at my desk, anxious for her answer. Then she replies with a lilt to her voice, “We’ve never stopped, Dylan. It’s not much, but every 2 or 3 months one of us will email and the other will reply. I’m sorry. I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings.”

  “No,” I say, still surprised. “I’m glad. I know the breakup was hard on everyone. I’m sorry I let you down.”

  “No, honey, it’s not that. I just missed her. People change. You changed and felt the need to move on. I wasn’t judging you for your decision.”

  “Mom, I have regrets—technically two. One, when I left Jules, and the other, for not groveling at her feet to take me back. I knew what I did was wrong even that first night. Everything was different.” I remember how odd it was the toothbrush next to mine was bright pink instead of green, red satin sheets, instead of cotton. The woman next to me was Hillary, not Juliette. I threw up three times that night, claiming I had food poisoning.

  I didn’t. I had heart poisoning.

  My mom sighs, bringing me back to my phone call. She sounds sad. Apparently in the emails, Jules writes in general terms, never giving away too much but enough to keep the connection alive. It makes me wonder why she does it, why she keeps it going? And why did I not know about this until now?

  Jules hasn’t mentioned Austin to her and I don’t either. I don’t know what to think of her secrets. Maybe she doesn’t tell her simply because she’s talking to my mom. But if he’s a part of her life, what appears to be a big part
, why not tell her?

  I think I know why. Jules doesn’t want to destroy my mother’s dreams. She’s kind like that, the daughter my mom always wanted. Maybe, just maybe, Jules holds onto that dream too. When I hang up the phone, I get up and leave.

  And here I am. Finally, I’m in front of our old apartment, now just her apartment. I raise my hand three different times to knock, but don’t all three times.

  I wait.

  I listen.

  I can hear that she’s home.

  I raise my hand and do it this time. Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “One moment,” she calls from behind the wood barrier.

  My hands are sweating and I pull at my collar needing more air. This landing is suddenly stifling. The building key still works. I question if the apartment key that resides on my keychain still will. I kept it, but like most things pertaining to our past together, I don’t allow myself to dwell on it too much.

  Jules is laughing when the door swings wide open. With her wallet in hand, her smile falls as shock takes over. “Dylan?”

  Not the reaction I was hoping for. “Hi,” I reply.

  “What are you doing here?” Her tone is harsh, it hurts to hear.

  “I wanted to talk to you, to see y—”

  She cuts me off. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Sweetheart, is that the food?” My eyes are redirected over her shoulder before she has a chance to pull the door closed enough to block him. “Dylan?” Austin questions from our bedroom, her bedroom now.

  My mind races as I look back to my dream girl. I’d failed to notice the man’s button down shirt that drapes over her body, too big for her frame. Austin’s shirt. She didn’t even bother buttoning most of the buttons, just enough to get by to answer the door. Her hair is loose, not styled, messy even. Gorgeous.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  “Dylan?” Austin questions as he approaches. “What are you doing here?”

  I’m reeling. I can’t think. My eyes meet Jules’, which show her concern over the situation.

  I lie for both of our sakes. “Your office said I could find you here,” I reply, acting nonchalant.

  Opening the door wider, he looks at me then to her and says, “You should get dressed.”