SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

FORTY SEVEN

He looks at me, clearly at a loss for words. Everything around us falls silent. The restaurant, once filled with the cheers of sports fans, now feels eerily quiet. His eyes lock onto mine, and I can see them welling up with tears.

"Hey!"

Someone calls out, snapping me back to reality. It's some guy trying to get his attention. But he doesn't even flinch. "Boss!" the guy yells again, half-laughing like he's in on some joke we missed.

He doesn't budge, his eyes still glued to me, almost making me squirm in my seat. "Thomas!" This time, the voice finally breaks through, and he turns his head, hands still gripping the counter. It's a new employee, some kid I've never seen before, looking all awkward and out of place.

"What?" Thomas growls, clearly annoyed.

The guy fidgets, his body language all weird and stiff like he's regretting speaking up. "Um... I need to refill the tap beer, but... I don't know how to do it."

Thomas lets out a frustrated grunt, running a hand over his face. "Just ask Joe, he'll show you how to do it," he says, his voice tinged with irritation as he glances back at me.

The guy scurries off, leaving us in our little bubble of tension. Thomas looks at me, his eyes softening again, the noise of the restaurant slowly creeping back in as the moment passes.

You guessed it. I told Thomas before even telling Jack, my own boyfriend. "So you're telling me it's back," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, like he's afraid to say it out loud.

I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. "Like I said the three times before, yes, my cancer is back." My voice is steadier than I expected, but inside, I'm shaking.

Thomas lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as he leans heavily on the counter. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, eyes staring off into the distance like he's trying to process it all.

I fiddle with the edge of my sleeve, trying to keep my hands busy. My mind is racing, a thousand thoughts swirling around, but none of them make any sense.

Thomas turns around abruptly, disappearing into the kitchen. I watch him go, feeling a pang of guilt. I know, I haven't seen him in a while, and of course, the day I decide to come back after all this time is the day I drop this bomb on him.

The kitchen door swings shut behind him, and I'm left standing there, the din of the restaurant gradually seeping back into my awareness. The clinking of dishes, the murmur of conversations, the occasional burst of laughter—all of it feels distant, like I'm underwater.

Minutes pass, though it feels like hours, and then Thomas re-emerges from the kitchen. His face is pale, and there's a determined set to his jaw. He walks back over to me, and without a word, he wraps me in a tight hug. I feel the tension in his body, the way he's holding on like he's afraid to let go.

"I'm sorry," I whisper against his shoulder, my voice cracking. "I didn't mean to spring this on you like this."

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes red but resolute. "Don't apologize," he says firmly. "I'm glad you told me." 

I nod, tears spilling over despite my best efforts to hold them back. "Okay," I manage to say, my voice trembling.

As we stand there, holding onto each other in the middle of the bustling restaurant, I feel a strange mix of fear and relief. I don't feel completely alone, yet I won't tell him that I haven't told Jack yet. It's too much, too soon.

Thomas pulls away slightly, looking me in the eyes. "Let's get out of here," he suggests, his eyes flicking around the noisy restaurant. "We need to talk, really talk."