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Another one of their odd hobbies, it started out. That’s how they ended up at this cafe downtown, drinks already ordered; waiting to begin.
Situated near the back of the cafe, Tom and Greg sit at opposite ends of a table, steaming cups of coffee at hand. Here, they can get the best view of almost all of the other tables, as well as the people - watching what they do, and most importantly, who they’re with.
The place is well lit, decorated with some hipster exposed brick that Tom would usually roll his eyes at, selling over-priced espressos and croissants and a fucking special menu sporting pumpkin spiced latte’s because it’s autumn. It’s obvious that Greg had recommended it, and Tom somehow agreed to visit, because who was he to deny Greg anything when he bats those eyelashes and pouts that pink mouth at him.
As usual, Tom was the one to take them both on an extended lunch break on the company’s dime - nobody would care enough to ask about their whereabouts, and they’ve gotten away with it so far. Even if it was questioned, it could just be written off as a business lunch, or a meeting taking place outdoors to ‘boost employee morale’. Whatever it took to turn away HR - and the Roy’s - suspicions.
Greg was along for the ride, partly because Tom practically dragged him with him, and partly because who was he to deny a chance to skip work - kind of like when he used to bunk off school to smoke weed around the back of the gym.
With that, Greg starts off their little game - the origins of it came from one of their previous excursions to some other restaurant when Tom suddenly insisted to spy on the other patrons. Greg had assumed he wanted a distraction from his strained relationship with Shiv by focusing on other people’s seemingly happy relationships, so he played along. But it got to the point where it just became a habit, regardless of how Tom’s current situation was with his wife.
He tries to subtly point to a couple sitting at a small table, and Tom silently scolds him because ‘pointing is rude Gregory, where are your manners, or was your mother too tired to teach them to you after getting split in half trying to pop you out?’. While that was unsaid, Tom leans over to follow the end of Greg’s finger to the people chosen.
The pair are sitting quite close, despite being on opposite ends of the table, and drinks left slightly off to the side. Both lean towards each other, elbows on the table and listening intently. At one point, the girl giggles at something the other says, going so far as to tuck her hair behind a flushed ear.
“Oh come on, that’s too easy Greg, even the blind would be able to see that they’re clearly a couple.” He takes an extended sip from his latte. “Pick a harder one next time, bud.”
Greg rolls his eyes in response, “Ok ok, well it’s your turn.”
Tom turns, surveying the options. He immediately dismisses the ones sitting alone, typing away on their laptops with headphones in, or the large group in the middle who are conversing, some with little notepads; probably as part of a study session among college friends. Instead, Tom’s eyes land on another couple next to a large window, huddled onto a corner couch, shoulders touching while they silently watch the same phone screen that the guy is holding. They alternate taking sips from their paper cups, content in each other’s company, but not seeming to be anything deeper than that.
Greg shakes his head a little before announcing, “No, I think– I believe they might be really good friends. They, yeah, I think they’re just relaxing as friends.” A beat passes, “Kinda like us?” He gives a single nervous laugh, trying too hard.
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Tom says, after considering it for a moment, then relaxes into his chair. “Ok, your turn.”
Greg points, again, to another couple, who have stood up from their table, about to leave, wrapped up in their scarves and beanies. The woman checks her bag to make sure she has all of her belongings, and the man hands her a take-out paper bag to put in there as well, before they head out together.
Tom ruminates for a second too long, clicks his tongue and turns back quickly. “Married.” He states it bluntly, with an air of familiarity.
Greg furrows his brow, and tilts his head, trying to take another glance at them, but they’ve already turned the corner, out of sight.
“Are you sure?”
Tom scoffs, “Their behaviour was quite comfortable with each other; the guy made sure she had her bags in check. And. The rings.”
Greg leans back, only blankly offering an ‘oh’. He goes quiet, still seeming to doubt Tom's judgement, despite him probably having more experience about married life than Greg does. Even if it is a bit rocky. Tom chuckles softly, and takes another long sip, using the opportunity to watch Greg over the edge of his cup.
While Tom does have at least some idea of what a married couple is supposed to be like, it isn’t what he has with Shiv. For a long time, he often daydreamed about being the perfect, doting husband. He would be envious of the happy, smiling power-couples in interviews and TV shows - projecting himself and Shiv onto them, but the mould never fit them somehow. They were too disjointed and fragmented to be put in the picture frame of a successful marriage. But that didn’t mean he stopped yearning, so much that it ached his heart when he saw anyone better than himself and his own failed relationship. He wished he had what they all seemed to have, yet it was out of reach.
That’s partly why he tried so hard with Greg - making him join him to lonely nightclubs to drink gold, and spending time at extravagant restaurants to eat songbirds. He needed to fill the void somehow, and Greg was an available participant.
Though, pesky feelings got in the way, with an underlying, pressing desire to touch him, dress him, feed him - to understand him better than any of the Roys. Even now, with their game acting as a thinly disguised wish to be perceived as a couple themselves, they continue to dance around their persisting feelings and a farce of “friendship”.
Nevertheless, they continue playing for a little while longer; Greg finishes his drink before Tom, who lets his own be cradled between his hands, getting lamentably reminded of his limbo state by his wedding band.
Many of the customers have left, going back to their office jobs at the end of their lunch break. It's Greg's turn to guess again, picking from the now limited range. Both now scan their eyes over the new couple that was chosen.
The pair are standing off to the side, waiting for their coffee orders. The girl sways a little on her feet, trying to lean towards the guy. She talks while fiddling with her gloves that she’d taken out of her coat pocket, probably as a nervous habit - something Greg knows very well. The guy, on the other hand, seems a little distracted, half responding while typing on his phone, then pockets it and leans onto the counter away her.
Greg despondently says, “Aw man, I uh, I think they’re like… half of a couple? Like she has feelings for him, but he seems a bit, um, uninterested in her advances.” He feels bad for her - being quite openly attached to someone, yet not knowing if their feelings are reciprocated. In this case, they likely aren’t. He huffs, shooting a sympathetic look her way, as if it could make her issue of unrequited love disappear.
Tom, on the other hand, stays silent, keeping his eyes on the girl. He watches as she laughs nervously at something, just before the man walks away with both of their drinks in hand, leaving her lagging behind without a second thought.
He clears his throat, “Hmm, it’s possible. Let’s hope better for the next ones, huh?”
Greg takes a last glance at her with lingering pity, before turning his attention back to Tom. His heart squeezes inexplicably, but he brushes it off as the caffeine taking effect from his lukewarm latte. He downs the rest of it, thumping it on the table a little too forcefully, crumpling the cup sleeve under his palm.
Instead of dwelling on his thoughts any longer, Tom decides for the both of them to stop the game before he starts to feel worse. “Well, shall we head out before they miss us too much?” He pats Greg on the knee before he stands, holding on and using it as leverage. Greg sputters a response, grabbing his jacket from the back on the chair. As they walk out, Tom puts his hand firmly on his lower back, leading them both through the glass doors.
Just as they were leaving, the two baristas working at the counter were eyeing them, playing their own game. Who were they to deny a chance to play to pass the time while on a slow shift? The lunch rush had died down, so only a few customers were hanging around, or filing out languidly. They needed to pass the time.
One was fitting the lid onto a drink; the other bagging a pastry. They watched as the two men - one older than the other, maybe some kind of sugar daddy situation, they guessed. There's probably some feelings in there too, for some spice, especially considering how close they weren't . It was a way to disguise how much they actually care for each other.
The barista nodded to them, watching as the older held open for the younger, the latter blushing in response, “Hey, what about them?”. The other looked up from their task briefly, then back down, getting all the information they needed from a small glance. They rolled up the open end of the bag.
“They’re definitely fucking.”