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Pictures are taken. Hands are shook. I’m only beginning to understand what Shaw has to endure every time he steps out the door and a pang of sympathy hits me. Every once in a while, I get a curious look, however, no one is forward enough to ask who I am. Even though he barely has time to take a few bites of his egg white omelet with spinach, Calvin signs each and every one without complaint. I have to give him credit––by the thirtieth, I’m starting to get antsy.
Sam is busy devouring his second chocolate croissant. His eyes have been glued on his uncle the entire time. The awed, worshipful look on his face makes my heart squeeze painfully. If only Calvin could see it. It’s become abundantly clear that Calvin is no fan of children. This is a riddle I have yet to solve because for all his grumpiness, Calvin is fundamentally a decent person. This seems out of character, even for him.
As soon as Sam is done with his food, we get ready to leave. Just as we’re about to step out the door, a man approaches Calvin for an autograph. He’s having trouble speaking, his hands quivering as he offers up a napkin for Calvin to sign. I don’t know what ails this man, what his troubles are. But whatever they are, they are not insignificant. And Calvin? Well, the patience and genuine warmth he handles this man with…yeah, it’s pretty much the most amazing thing I’ve ever witnessed.
As I listen to the two men quietly discuss football strategy, my heart starts to expand inside my chest until the ache is too much to bear. Something inside of me cracks wide open and I have to fight like hell not to let the tears welling in my eyes roll down my face.
Up until this moment, I was doing a damn good job tolerating Calvin for Sam’s sake. There was a certain comfort in my dislike of him. I know that sounds strange, but not being able to trust my own judgment really screwed me up. And now I have to reassess everything I believe about this man, too.
As we exit, Sam places his small hand in mine. On my other side, I can feel Calvin’s eyes drilling a hole in my skull. I brush the dampness away as quickly as possible.
“What’s wrong?” Calvin asks. There’s nothing remotely consoling about the gruff tone he favors.
“Nothing,” I blurt out. Sam can clearly see what I’m doing and keeps my secret. “Why don’t you have any furniture?” I ask, hoping to distract him.
“She took it.”
“You’ve been without furniture for two years?”
“Three,” he corrects. He walks ahead, head and shoulders above the crowd, and I watch every female and some male heads he passes swiveling to get a better look. On the way back to the waiting Town car, we pass a Restoration Hardware that spans an entire city block. Calvin walks inside and without a glance in my direction, says, “Pick out what we need.”
We? What we need? I stand there unsure how to react for ten full minutes. My stare goes ignored. His eyes remain glued to his cell phone while he heads straight for a double-wide goose down armchair and plops his big body down.
“Calvin?” Nothing. He continues texting. “Calvin, I don’t know what you like,” I say more sternly. Without looking up, he says, “Order whatever you want,” adding, “and one of these,” while he points to the chair he’s sitting on. I’m speechless. But then again, he does that to me a lot.
When we get home, Sam disappears to his playroom to work on a new Lego village he’s building, and Calvin heads to the gym. I consider dropping by my parents’ house, though before I leave, I know I have to deal with what happened today. With that in mind, I go in search of the man that called me his girlfriend. Just the thought has me on the verge of hyperventilating.
In the gym, I find him in the middle of his TRX workout. The closer I get, the clearer it becomes that all he’s wearing is long, loose shorts. Those frigging traps are like a homing beacon for my eyes.
Eyes up. Eyes up damn it! Did he catch me? Of course, he did.
Standing before him, I wait patiently for him to finish a set of bicep curls. Sweat is dripping down his body, muscles are bulging in stark relief from bone and sinew. I have no idea where to put my eyes because everywhere I look there’s danger. Finally, I settle on my own nails.
Does he stop what he’s doing as any other normal, polite human being would? The answer to that is a hard no. One minute passes, two, three––by the fifth minute of listening to him grunt through another set, my nerves are on fire. Taking a deep breath, I jump into a conversation I didn’t think, not even in my wildest nightmares, I’d ever need to have.
