Wistful is a Good Word for It

Teamwork

During the next two years, my own life took a new shape. I wasn't quite so full of myself. I rooted myself ever more deeply into my role as a dad. I tried to be the best possible dad to Luke. I tried to be a good co-parent to his mother. Juliette was justifiably angry with me about having ended our relationship during the pregnancy, so we occasionally experienced flare-ups. However, I'd prioritized my relationships with the two of them, so life generally went along smoothly. I'd put any serious thoughts of romantic relationships far to the back of my mind. With no emotional investment into a romantic relationship, I had plenty of room in my heart and mind to build decidedly strong ties with my research group.

It was a fun time for the team. The group of ten felt like a family. We fancied ourselves to be the best group at the Institute and I still want to believe that my team members were proud to be associated with me. There was a vibrancy to the group that probably had something to do with where we all were in our lives. We sort of resonated with one another. It might have helped that I, the nominal team leader, was a pseudo-bachelor and pseudo-family man. It probably made it easier for me to relate well with everyone. I connected with the more seasoned folks; with their families and adult responsibilities, because I also carried those same responsibilities and more. On the other hand, I connected well with the less settled team members because, half the time, I was a bachelor. Two or three nights each week, I shared schedule flexibility that allowed me to partake in drinks later into the evenings with them. We made a habit of gathering every Friday to decompress, and sometimes on Wednesdays, too.

Of course, Olive was almost always there. Fresh out of college, much of her social circle had moved away upon graduating. She had free time and seemed to like being around us. I can picture her in those days sitting across from me, or standing across the room. Her contagious laugh lifted my heart. Her spontaneous musicality, either humming or singing, floated melodies into my step. It may sound silly to you, but I even enjoyed her righteous tirades about climate change or global overpopulation. It lit in me a sense of hope for the future of our world. If younger people were anything like Olive, then it meant they were all better than I had been. Basically, Olive made me feel good.

I soon reconciled to myself that I had fallen for her. I was reasonably certain that she had fallen for me, too. Though, for the life of me now, I can't recall any specific hints that led me to suspect it. Perhaps it was body language? Perhaps it was the way she looked at me when I walked into the room. I can't remember now, but I knew it then.

For my part, I was acutely aware of when she was not around. This was especially so when I'd been told that she was off somewhere with Marty.

Of course, I completely understood that none of these were appropriate thoughts or feelings. Olive was in a committed relationship. Olive worked for me. She was 12 years my junior. Furthermore, my life was immensely complicated with my three-year-old son and his mother in my life. I told myself that a successful relationship between me and Olive would ruin Olive's life. Perhaps ruin was too strong of a word, but to say that I would unnecessarily complicate her life would be a perfectly fair assessment. A relationship with me could scar her professional reputation. So I told myself, over and over, that I had no reason to be concerned. Nothing would ever happen between the two of us because I would never want to harm her.