Matt & Zoe (18 page)

“It was Mom,” she sobs. “She was dead.”

“Oh, Jasmine,” I say.
Her, too.
“I’m so sorry.”

“Why don’t you come lie down with me,” I whisper.

She nods urgently. “Can I?”

“Yeah, come on.”

I carry her into my room, laying her gently on the bed. I crawl in beside her and pull her to me. She cries for a little while longer, but slowly drifts off to sleep, her face nestled against my shoulder.

Once she’s asleep I lay with my face toward the window. The red oak outside is waving a little in the wind, the shadow of the branch against the window like a hand. The colors will be changing soon. Dad’s workshop is still out there in the garage, untouched since he died.

It takes me a long time to get back to sleep.

Sure, I’ll come in (Matt)

The banging on my door goes on for an unreasonable amount of time.

My eye cracks open, and I see it’s four-thirty in the morning. I must be dreaming. I close my eyes and burrow under the covers, only to hear the thumping on the door again.

What the hell?

I sit up in bed, blinking my eyes. Then I hear the voice outside.

“Matty! Wake up!”

Shit.
It’s Messalina. I stand up, stumble a moment, then I grab a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and put them on. She starts thumping on the door again, and I shout, “Hold on, damn it.”

The thumping stops. I lurch to the apartment door and yank it open.

My door opens to a wooden landing at the top of a long flight of stairs above the restaurant. My sister Messalina stands on the landing. Her hair, purple and pink, flows down her back, and her makeup almost hides the acne scars. She’s wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans and looks appallingly wide awake for this time of morning.

“Don’t you know what time it is?” I demand.

“Sure, I’ll come in. Thanks for asking.” She pushes her way past me, and the smell of her perfume instantly trips my consciousness right back in time to South Florida, melting blacktop, chalk and the creaking of the ropes. The feeling of falling, over and over again. The road and sweat.

The smell of resentment is repulsive.

I close the door and warily re-enter my apartment.

She looks around, one eyebrow arched. “So this is your place.”

I swallow. Having a family member here… it forces me to see things through her eyes. And I don’t like what I see. A pizza box sits half open on the coffee table next to an empty beer bottle. The walls are bare except one item, a copy of the cover of Life Magazine from March 1996. My parents grace the cover, side by side as they soar through the air to their catchers, smiles on their faces. I was just a kid, but I can still remember the excitement of that cover. A few books are scattered on the shelves, and a stack of worksheets sits on the small kitchen table I bought at Ikea.

It doesn’t look like anyone lives here—more like a temporary bachelor pad.

“Haven’t finished moving in yet?”

So she’s going to be a bitch. Fine. “No. This is it. Welcome to my home. What are you doing here?”

She walks into what passes for a kitchen and begins to fill the coffee pot with water. “Where’s your coffee? It’s late.”

“No kidding.” I walk to the cabinet and open it up. She reaches past me and grabs the bag of coffee beans from Rao’s. It’s one of my few luxuries. I grab it back, and pour some into the grinder.

“Seriously, Messalina. What’s going on? It’s great to see you and all, but it is four in the morning.”

“You know, you could not be an ass for a change.”

I grind the beans, the sound shattering the quiet, then pour them into the filter and start the coffee pot. “I could. But why? Besides, you’re the ass for showing up this early in the morning.”

She lifts herself up onto the counter, then reaches into her pocket, an exercise in frustration because her jeans are so tight. She has to almost contort her body to get her hands in there. Finally, her hand reemerges, clutching a silvery piece of foil wrapped around a stick of gum. She peels it, pops the gum into her mouth, then balls up the wrapper and throws it at the trash can.

The wrapper bounces off the edge and lands on my floor.

I don’t take the bait. We stare at each other in silence for a few minutes, then she says, “Mamma’s hurt you know. She doesn’t say it—she’d never do that. But I can see it. She’s hurt.”

I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Then I close it. I don’t actually
have
to say anything. Even so, I try again. I mumble the words, “I talked with her last week.”

“And when was the last time you saw her? When was the last time you saw any of us, Matty? You go away to college and just leave your whole family behind?”

I flinch. “I’ve been busy. You know I represent the union here? I’ve got kids to teach. A lot going on.”

“Bullshit. You get summers off. Hell, you could come fly with us.”

I snort. “Right, Lina. That’s never going to happen.”

“Come on, Matt. You know it wasn’t your fault. Everyone knows that.”

I flinch.

Hands slipping from mine. Eyes wide, screams from the stands.

“Fuck off.”

She sighs and shakes her head. “We miss you, little brother.”

The coffee pot’s only halfway done, but I pull a mug down and pour, letting the mug catch the coffee coming from the filter as I try to hide the shaking in my hands. I hand her the cup and pour myself one.

“So what brings you to town so early, anyway? The circus won’t be through until November.”

She shrugs. “We’re in Albany this weekend. You should come out. It’s not far, and Mom would love to see you.”

“You guys are going to be busy if you’ve got shows.”

“Come
on
, Matt.”

Christ. Her eyes are watering. I take a breath. “All right. We’ll get together. If not in Albany, then when you’re in Boston or Springfield.”

She seems to sag a little. “Fine. What’s so damned important that you can’t do it this weekend?”

I grimace. Her gaze is a little too intense for my comfort. “It’s complicated.”

She chuckles. “What’s complicated?”

“I don’t have plans for Saturday… yet. But there’s this woman….”

“Oh?” she says, raising her eyebrows.

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah. And … anyway… um...”

“Are you always this articulate?”

Smartass. “Yeah. I’m planning to ask her to dinner and drinks Saturday. All right? It’s the right time, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

She grins. “Well, you go, brother.”

Chapter Twelve

Spit it out (Matt)

After Messalina leaves, I go back to sleep. She had been driving from Albany to Boston, so coming here was merely a twenty-minute detour. Unfortunately, I’m jarred by her visit, coming as it did early in the morning and unexpected.

I toss and turn for two hours, finally getting up and crawling out of bed. I shower and shave, make a pot of coffee, then open up my laptop to read the New York Times, then move on to my email. I pace. Finally I get out of the apartment, walking over to the coffee shop to get some breakfast. I can’t call before ten.

The time ticks by excruciatingly slowly. It’s not fair.

After breakfast, I stop in the bookstore, scanning for something decent to read. Something decent and easy to read, because my attention span is lacking this morning. I settle on a science fiction novel, pay cash for it, then wander outside and sit on one of the benches on the common.

I check my watch. It’s 45 minutes before I can call.

I start reading the book. I’m a page in before I realize that I haven’t understood a single word.

Not. One. Word.

Uggh
.

I settle in on the bench and look up at the sky.

At precisely ten am, I dial Zoe’s number.

It rings… once… twice… three times.

When she answers, “Hello?” I sit up straighter, though she can’t see me.

“Hey, Zoe. It’s Matt.”

“What’s up, Matt?”

“Listen um… I know I’ve been coming by to keep Jasmine company and all, and I’ve enjoyed that.”

“Uh huh…” Her tone sounds wary.

“What I’m calling about … is … um… what I mean to say is…”

“Spit it out, Matt.”

I close my eyes. I suck in a deep breath. Then I speak. “Zoe, would you like to have dinner with me? Saturday night maybe? Or drinks?”

Her response is matter-of-fact, and I can’t tell if she’s intentionally misunderstanding. “Saturday.. yeah… we’d have to do it early though, I’ve been trying to get Jasmine to bed by eight, but we’d love to.”

I swallow. I’m sweating. “No, I think you misunderstood. You would need maybe a babysitter. I’m asking
you
to dinner.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A date.”

I can hear her breathing at the other end of the line, a thousand miles away. Or four blocks. Whatever. A long thirty seconds pass. I close my eyes and brace myself.

“I’ve got the number for a girl at Mount Holyoke who offers babysitting. I’ll call her.”

Did she just say yes?

“You’ll come?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

I exhale. Then I smile broadly, my cheeks stretching. I probably look like an idiot, but I don’t care. “All right then.”

“You’re still coming by to ride with Jasmine?”

“This afternoon, just like we planned.”

“I’ll see you then.”

Maybe it’s just in my head, but her voice sounds lighter as she says goodbye.

I think I like you (Zoe)

“I don’t understand why I have to stay home.” Jasmine’s voice is plaintive. She’s propped up against the doorjamb of the bathroom. I’m leaning forward, looking in the mirror carefully as I apply mascara.

“I told you, it’s a date.”

“With Mister P?” Her face screws up with a funny expression. “That’s weird.”

My makeup is all wrong. So is my hair. I brush it again. I’m wearing a sleeveless dress, light blue, almost the exact shade of my eyes. I start to fuss with my makeup again—no. Time to give it a rest.

I walk downstairs, Jasmine trailing behind me. “I c—c—can get pizza?”

“Yep,” I say. Her stuttering worries me and frustrates her.

The doorbell rings.

I walk toward it, my heels clicking on the wood floors as I walk. I rarely wear heels of any kind, but I couldn’t resist. I open the door. It’s a young woman. Round faced, wide smile. “Hi, I’m Megan,” she says.

“Come on in,” I reply. I step back and let her in the house. We spoke on the phone at some length the day before yesterday, after Matt invited me to dinner. For a date. I found Megan through an ad she had posted at the Village Common. An early childhood education major at Mount Holyoke, she seems to be sane and responsible, so that’s all good news.

“Jasmine… meet Megan.”

“Hi, Jasmine,” Megan says in a sweet tone.

Jasmine rolls her eyes. That’s a great start.

“Megan, here’s twenty dollars if you want to order pizza. There’s ice cream in the freezer, but I told Jasmine she had to eat dinner first. Bedtime at eight.”

“I kn—kn—
know
all that, Zoe.” Jasmine looks severely annoyed.

I smile at her. “Yes, but Megan doesn’t. While I’m gone, she’s in charge. Make sure you listen.”

“I don’t listen to you.”

I sigh.

The sound of a car rolling on gravel catches my attention. I bend forward and kiss Jasmine on the forehead. “Behave while I’m gone.”

Jasmine crosses her eyes and purses her lips. Then she waggles her fingers at me for good measure.

“I can tell we’re going to get along,” Megan says to Jasmine, laughing.

A knock on the door grabs my attention. I open it.

Oh.

Usually I see Matt dressed in jeans and polo or button down shirts. Tonight he’s wearing black pants, with a black shirt that emphasizes his shoulders and upper arms. He smells good. Cologne? It’s there, but I can’t quite tell what it is.

His eyes widen as he sees me, and they drop, scanning me all the way down to my shoes and back up. It’s quick—like he doesn’t want me to see it. But unmistakable.

“You look stunning, Zoe.”

My face and neck grow hot.

“Thank you,” I say, suddenly awkward.

He says, “I’m ready if you are. I’d like to say hi to Jasmine, though.”

I turn and look. Jasmine is standing in the doorway to the dining room, a sour expression on her face. Matt walks over to her and crouches down so they are eye to eye.

“Jasmine,” he says. “I owe you an apology.”

What?

Jasmine looks startled out of her cynicism for the first time all afternoon. “What? Why?”

“Well, you see, I wanted to take Zoe out on a date. I didn’t ask you, and maybe I should have.”

“Do y-y-you … like her?”

He smiles. Then he nods. “I like you too, Jasmine, but in a different way. You can count on me, I’ll be your teacher and friend, okay?”

Jasmine suddenly hugs him. He’s crouching and sways a little, but doesn’t lose his balance. I can hear her say, “You can go out with Zoe. I don’t mind.”

***

“Sometimes I don’t understand you.” Matt’s tone is frank as he says the words, almost an hour after he picked me up. Concerned, not angry.

“What do you mean?” I ask. I try to keep my poker face on, but I’ve never been very good at that.

He grins a little as he stabs another bite of calamari with his fork. “I mean, you’re very tightly wound. You don’t talk
at all
about the last few years of your life. All I know is you’ve been in the Army … and in Tokyo. That’s it.”

I look away. I feel like I’m losing my appetite, and my stomach twists with an unreasonable level of anxiety.

Talk.

I don’t want to.

Talk.

I let out my breath with a long, slow exhalation. I’m fidgeting, my hands playing with the silverware.
Me.
No. I stop fidgeting and look at Matt, then I say the first words that come out of my mouth. “It’s hard for me to trust.”