Page 50 of The Coworker
It’s the truth. Tim has hung out here a lot in the last month, but nothing has happened between the two of us. He hasn’t tried to kiss me. When we watched a movie a few days ago, he didn’t yawn and attempt to put his arm around my shoulder. We are friends—like always. His realization that Shane and I have a kid together has vanquished any feelings he had for me.
“I should warn you then,” Margie says, “Josh is asking some very interesting questions about him.”
Oh no. What doesthatmean?
After Margie has taken off for the night, I go into the living room, where Josh is playing with his Nintendo. He is entirely focused on the game, his tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrates. His expression is strangely familiar, and it takes me a second to realize with a jolt that Shane used to make that same exact face when he was concentrating on something.
“Hey, Josh.” I sit down next to him on the couch. “How was school today?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the game. “Okay. Is Tim coming for dinner?” At school, Josh has to call him Mr. Reese, which makes him giggle, but at home, he’s just Tim.
“Josh…” I slide a few inches closer to him. “Margie told me you were asking some questions about Tim.”
Josh pauses his game and throws the controller to the side. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He probably thinks Tim is my boyfriend, just like Margie does. I’m going to have to set him straight. I’m not sure if the truth will disappoint him or if he’ll be relieved.
“Well,” he says, “I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
He takes a deep breath. “Is Tim my dad?”
I feel like I just got punched in the gut. I had no idea whatsoever that he had been thinking that. “Josh…”
“Because you knew him from before you moved away,” Josh points out. “And you were really close. And also, he’s really nice…”
He’s looking up at me with a hopeful expression on his face. I wish more than anything in the world I could tell him that Tim is his father. I wish Timwerehis father. Or that his father were a decent human being who there was some chance in hell I could possibly end up with… or at least allow my son to spend a few minutes in his company.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” I say. “Tim isn’t your dad.”
Josh looks crushed. He looks so sad that a tiny part of me wishes I had just lied about it and dealt with the consequences later. But of course, I couldn’t do that. I had to tell him the truth.
I start to put my arm around him, but the doorbell rings, echoing through the house. When Josh hears it, he grabs his Nintendo controller and restarts his game. “I just want to finish this level before dinner,” he says.
“Josh,” I say, “I want to talk to you more about this… I know you’re disappointed…”
“No, I’m not.” His eyes are back on the TV screen. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Fine. There’s no chance of competing with Nintendo, so I may as well answer the door. Of course, it’s almost certainly Tim, having arrived for dinner. I should just give him a key. Not in a relationship kind of way, but in the kind of way that you give your neighbor a spare key. Like for if I get locked out or something. I mean, the only other person who has the key is Margie, and she lives all the way in the next town.
Tim is standing at the front door, wearing the same khaki pants and dress shirt that he wore to work, but minus a tie. He holds out his arms, because every time he comes over, we hug at the door. That’s what friends do, right? We hug. It’s not like we greet each other by making out.
“Hey, Brooke,” he says. “Smells great in here.”
“Thanks,” I say, even though it’s not like I was the one who cooked the shrimp.
It does smell good in the entire house though. I could smell it down the hallway. And it’s only when I’m in Tim’s arms that I notice another smell. Something extremely familiar, but not nearly as pleasant as garlic and butter.
It’ssandalwood.
I jerk away from Tim, my nose crinkled in disgust. “Oh my God, what are you wearing?”
Tim’s eyes fly open and he grasps at the collar of his shirt. “What? This is just a cotton dress shirt.”
“No! I mean, that smell!”
“Smell?” He runs a hand along his clean-shaven jaw. “I did shave before I came over, and I put on some aftershave. But—”
The smell of sandalwood has embedded itself in my nostrils. Every time I inhale, I feel the chains of that necklace tightening around my throat. I take a step away from him. “Please go wash it off. Now.”
