When Joss Met Matt (21 page)

“No, no.” I jumped to his defense with no earthly idea of what I meant to say next.

“I wouldn't dare.” Matt gave my hand enough of a tug to bring me tight to his side. “This is Joss-elyn,” he said, the second and third syllables of my name an afterthought.

“You know only two percent of the world has red hair.” She patted her own hair, now faded to a peachy color. I smiled at her.

“It's lovely to meet you,” I said, clasping her right hand with my left. Matt still had hold of my other hand, and I couldn't do much else.

“Keep an eye on him,” she said. “He used to climb the trees in my yard. All the way to the top.”

“He does it in my yard, too,” I whispered.

She laughed, a trilling, delighted sound, and gave my hand a squeeze. Then she turned her eyes to Matt. “Keep ahold of this one, she's a rare creature.”

Matt smiled. “I know.”

Linda approached and caught the woman's elbow. They excused themselves.

“So, I'm your girlfriend now?” I teased.

He released my hand. “I do not have the energy to explain just what you are to my mother's elderly aunt.”

“Oh, come on, I'm sure she'd be cool with it.”

“Just do me a favor, and don't disillusion anyone over the age of sixty today.”

He sounded so casual and … normal I almost burst into tears. “You got it,” I said, “and I'll throw in under-eighteens as a bonus.”

He smiled at me, a genuine smile that made my heart beat faster, fueled by relief. “You know what? I think it would be best if you just didn't disillusion
any
one.”

I snapped off a two-finger salute with my free hand. “Done.”

“And don't salute me anymore today either.”

I saluted him again for good measure. “Don't push your luck.”

That earned me a medium-sized grin, which quickly faded when his brother leaned close to speak in his ear.

“We're being called to the back,” Matt told me a second later.

“Okay, I'll see you after.” I stood on my toes to give him a hug. “I—I—” I bit back my own words. I'd nearly dropped in an easy
Love you, Matty,
but suddenly that felt like a heavy thing to tell him. As if the words themselves would add to the weight on his shoulders as he carried his father's coffin with his brother and four other men. Instead, I kissed him on the cheek.

Tension settled over the church when the funeral service began. Everyone waited to see if the tone would be one of tragedy or celebration. The first two pews were reserved for immediate family. I probably could have taken a space there, but I didn't feel it was my place. I sat beside Jessie just two rows back, and immediately wished I was close enough to touch Matt's shoulder if I needed to. Instead, I had to settle for curling my fingers around the edge of the pew. Jessie slipped her arm through mine, and gave me a little squeeze.

I watched the back of Matt's head for some sign that he was okay. It was, as always, just the back of his head. I should have ignored my instincts and sat in the family's row. I hated being away from him during the service. He'd been my responsibility for days, and now, at the crucial moment, I was out of reach. Jessie's hand on my knee made me realize I was vibrating with anxiety.

“Are you okay?” Jessie whispered.

“Fine.” I fixed a smile on my face and glanced at her. “Too much coffee.”

She nodded, as if she agreed, but kept her hand on my knee as the priest began to speak.

As the service progressed, my nerves eased a bit. Matt seemed fine, as far as I could tell. I still found myself tilting my head, trying to see anything but his dark hair and the edge of one ear. I don't know what I expected him to do—sob uncontrollably? Run from the church? Turn suddenly and search the crowd for me? He sat very still, as if watching a play. Eventually, I eased my vigilance and shifted a portion of my attention to the proceedings.

Matt always told me he'd gotten his sense of humor from his dad, and listening to his friends eulogize him I believed it. One of the speakers, John's best friend, even ran a slideshow of photos featuring John Photoshopped into famous historic events. The tension in the room melted as people laughed.

By the time we filed out of the church to the wide hall they called The Gathering Space, the emotional climate of the crowd had gone from solemn to celebratory. Laughter began to seem more appropriate and the guilty glances less so.

After a cookies-and-coffee type reception in the church basement, Jessie, her boyfriend, Evan, and a few other college friends made plans to go out for dinner.

“You're coming, right?” Jessie asked.

“Um …” I did a quick scan of the room looking for Matt. “I have to make sure Matt—”

“She's coming.” Matt's voice startled me from behind.

I turned. “No, no, I can stay.”

“You've done enough, Joss. Please. Go with them.”

“Come with us,” Evan echoed.

And I wanted to. What I really wanted was for Matt to come along; for this to be nothing but an impromptu reunion with friends. But, I knew Matt had to stay, and I knew I should stop mothering him to death.

“Okay, sure,” I said. “Where are we going?”

Dinner with friends put me in a good mood, and it was hard to tamp it down as I rang Matt's bell. I'd left a lot of stuff at his apartment over the last week, and some of it I needed to get through the night. More than that, I wanted to check on him. He didn't answer, so I tried the door, which he'd been leaving open for me all week. It was unlocked and I let myself into the entry.

“Matt?” I called.

There was no answer.

“Matty? Are you home?” I slipped off my high heels and padded up the stairs in stocking feet. The living room was dark, so I checked the bedroom, pulling off my jewelry as I walked. It was empty as well. I'd seen his car in the driveway, but maybe he went off with someone else.
His brother?
I left my jewelry in a tidy pile on the dresser and walked back to the living room.

“Matt?” I went into the kitchen, flipped on the light, and screamed. Matt sat on the kitchen floor with his back against the refrigerator. “Oh my God, you scared me!” I gasped. “What are you doing?”

He shook his head. “I don't know.”

“Didn't you hear me calling you?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Are you all right?” I lowered myself to the floor, awkward in my pencil skirt.

“Yeah …” He sighed.

“Matt, you're starting to scare me a little.”

He blinked heavily and looked at me. “Why?”

“I'm worried about you. You seem … If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were going to kill yourself.”

His eyes widened. “I'm not gonna off myself, Joss. Jeez. Give me some credit.”

“I said ‘if I didn't know you better,' ” I reminded him. “You're just so … down.”

“I know. I'm sorry. This has just been really hard.”

I covered his hand with mine. “I'm sure.”

“Fuck.” He sighed.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I came in to get some water.” He picked up an empty glass from the floor nearby. “It just seemed like a good place to sit for a few minutes.”

“Do I want to know how long ago that was?” I asked.

“Probably not.”

“Do you still need some water?”

“Yeah … I never made it that far.”

I took the glass from him and got up to fill it from the sink. After sliding back to the floor, I offered it to him and he took a long drink.

“Thanks.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“I just … I miss him. It's not like I even saw him every day, but I miss him. I miss knowing he's there if I need him.”

“Your mom is still here.”

“I know.” He nodded. “But my dad was like this … rock. This
thing
that was always there when I needed it … I don't know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

I propped my back against the counter opposite him. “It was a really nice funeral.”

Unexpectedly, he started to cry again.

“Oh, jeez, Matty, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you.”

He covered his eyes with one hand. “Fuck! I'm so sick of crying. I'm like a fucking Miss America contestant.”

I laughed. “No, you're not.”

He drew his knees up to meet his elbows and clamped his hands over the back of his head. “Why is this bothering me so much?”

“Because it's your dad, Matty! Jesus. Cut yourself some slack.”

His head came up and he knocked it softly against the refrigerator door a few times. “I just want to stop thinking about this for a little while. I want to have a normal thought. Just one.”

“You need to sweep,” I said, scanning the floor now that I had a good perspective on it.

“What?”

“It's a normal thought,” I said. “I'm trying to help.”

“Who gives a fuck about sweeping?” he said without venom.

“Obviously not you.”

That made him laugh softly.

“See?”

“I think I'm going to quit school,” he said.

“What?” It was my turn for confusion.

“It just seems so pointless. I don't even want to be a lawyer. What am I doing?”

“Avoiding the real world for a while?” I suggested. “Getting a graduate degree that will make you a very desirable job applicant.”

“Exactly. What's the point?”

I chewed my lip. “I don't think you should decide right now.”

“Why not? Shouldn't the death of my father make me reevaluate my life?”

“Yeah, maybe, but maybe not right away.”

He bumped his head on the refrigerator once more and tilted back to look at the ceiling. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Just don't do anything irreversible right now. Give yourself some options.”

“So, reversible stuff is still on the table?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Specifically?” He looked at me. “I'm thinking of getting hammered.”

I nodded slowly. “That's an option.”

“Seems like a pretty great one.”

“It always seems like a great idea at first. But think about tomorrow.”

“Which totally defeats the purpose of getting hammered.”

“Anything else? Some kind of sport on TV that might amuse you?”

He sighed, then smiled to himself. “Nothing I should mention in present company.”

I made a show of looking over one shoulder, then the other. “I'm sorry, have we met? What precisely do you think is out of bounds?”

“You've done so much for me, Joss. I can't ask you to do anything else.”

“You don't have to ask. I'm offering. That makes it okay.”

He reached out and ran one hand up my shin. “I think what I'd ask for is too much. I already took it from you once.”

“No, you didn't. I'm declaring an exception for the circumstances. And I'll gladly give it again if it will make you feel better. Even for a few minutes.”

He answered by moving his hand over my knee and sneaking it under my skirt as he skimmed over my thigh. I was grateful for the tacit consent; I was in the market for a little comfort myself. Scooting closer, I balanced myself with one hand on his chest to kiss him.

We never made it off the kitchen floor that time. I didn't even make it out of all of my clothes. I knocked over his glass of water and we both got wet, but it wasn't enough to stop us. I liked the upright position, because it let me keep his lips in close proximity. My knees ached from the tile floor, and no amount of shifting alleviated it. He stretched up to rummage in a drawer and came back with an oven mitt and a towel. He offered them to me and I tucked them under my knees with a giggle. He grinned at me, and I felt a thrill in my stomach. I hadn't seen such easy happiness on his face in days.

The kitchen was less than pristine when we were done, with my underwear sitting in a puddle half under the refrigerator and Matt's suit pants shoved under the edge of the cabinets, where cobwebs lived. When I stood, water dripped from my skirt and ran down my bare legs.

“I'm gonna need to take these to the dry cleaner,” he observed, retrieving his dusty pants.

“Yeah. I think we might need a mop, too.”

He shrugged. “It'll dry.”

I unzipped my skirt and stepped out of it, letting my shirt do all the work of covering my rear end. “You seem … a little better,” I observed.

“I think so.”

“Good.”

He put an arm around me, making an abstract imprint of cobwebs and dust all over me. “Thank you, Joss. For everything.”

“Of course.”

“Will you stay?”

Relief uncoiled in my chest, and I nodded. “It's in my contract.”

He winced for a flash before he cast his eyes to the floor. “Right.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Six Weeks Ago

Going home the day after the funeral felt … flat. The rooms were too quiet, the carpet too soft in comparison to the echo of Matt's hardwood floors. Dewey made a beeline for one of his secret hideouts the minute we crossed the threshold, leaving me with a three-inch scratch down one arm. A reminder I should not leave him in someone else's care for six days. Cats. I walked through the apartment in a halfhearted attempt to find him, but mostly because I didn't have anything else to do.

When I flicked the wall switch in the bathroom, I got a flare of white light and a popping sound before the room was plunged back into darkness. I would have to climb on the counter in the dark little room to change the lightbulb.

So, I burst into tears.

And it seemed like such a good idea I gave in to it, sinking to my knees and then to my forearms. Head down on the floor, I cried. The kind of tears that dripped off my nose, and sobs that made my ribs hurt. I must have been making a lot of noise, because Dewey came to investigate, sniffing at my fingers where they covered the back of my head. I flicked my hand at him, but couldn't form any words to scold him away.

“Mrroww?”
he said, rolling the
r
's as if he'd picked up a foreign accent at Nellie's house.

I lifted my head and looked at him. “What?”

His only answer was to saunter a few feet away, sit primly, and wrap his tail around his feet.

“What?” I sniffed hard, but ultimately had to wipe my runny nose on the back of my hand. “I get to cry whenever I feel like it,” I told him.

He walked his front feet out until he was positioned like a Sphinx, then lowered his lids as though I bored him.

“God, don't look at me like that.” Whether it had been his plan, I couldn't say, but he'd successfully interrupted my crying jag. Now I was left with a throbbing head and the same feeling of lonely flatness I'd had before the tears. “It was nice, okay? It was nice to be with someone—it was nice to be with Matt.”

Dewey opened his eyes at the mention of his favorite person.

“He's not here,” I said, and my chest buckled again. Only one little choking sob escaped before I controlled myself that time. “I should just mail you to him,” I told the cat. “Better yet, I should have just brought you along and left you there with your boyfriend.” My right knee was on the tile side of the bathroom threshold, and it finally lodged a complaint loud enough to make me shift positions. I sat with my back to the wall and hugged my knees.

What on earth had changed in less than a week to make me feel like an orphan in my own, beloved apartment? I felt like I'd been dumped. Maybe it was just an emotional freak-out after days of being strong for Matt. Maybe, like some kind of trained animal, I'd started investing in Matt during our cohabitation. Close quarters were enough of an imitation of a relationship for me, and now I was on my own again and it hurt. Could I really be so pathetic that I was mourning the loss of a relationship that never existed? Apparently.

“Mrow,”
Dewey agreed.

“I have to get ahold of myself.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyebrows. “I can't do this.”

But all that day I missed him. I kept listening for him in another room, starting to speak to him before I remembered he wasn't there. When I curled up on my couch with a magazine, I missed the feel of his hip pressed to mine and resting my head on his shoulder. And when I slipped into bed that night, shivering at the chill of the sheets, I missed his radiator warmth and the feel of his chest under my hand. The familiar scent of my own fabric softener seemed too clean. I wanted his customary kiss at my hairline as we settled ourselves. The ritual, oh God, how I wanted the ritual of sharing bedtime with him.

Instead, I got Dewey. Leaping onto the bed to stare at me, he kept a careful distance. I was still being punished.

“You're in his spot,” I told him.

Dewey purred.

The backs of my eyes burned, and I considered crying again. It wouldn't change anything, though. I snuck one hand out from the blankets and scratched Dewey's cheek. His purring amplified. One of the best things about animals is they can't tell your secrets. Dewey was the keeper of plenty of mine. So, I confessed one more. “I think I have a crush on your boyfriend.”

This would pass, I assumed, as I got further from the emotionally draining week. People could develop a passing attraction to someone, even a close friend. It was simply a waxing phase of my affection for a friend, right? All I had to do was wait it out. It would wane. Surely it would take no more than a month. If the moon could do it in a month, so could I.

The moon, however, wasn't constantly confronted with Matt Lehrer. I found myself thinking about him too much. Sitting across from him at our weekly brunch, whether we were alone or with friends, I looked at his mouth too often and the ghosts of his hands on my body were everywhere. Beneath the table, I pressed my palm to my inner thigh and remembered. It was maddening.

Nothing but a passing crush, I assured myself time and again as weeks turned into a full month. It was late April by then, nearly the end of Matt's semester. He hadn't made a decision about staying in school yet, but he also hadn't gotten a piercing or a tattoo, so apparently permanent choices were still on hold. He did, however, take a clipper to his own head. His hair, always a classic collegiate short-on-the-sides-shaggy-on-top, was reduced to a touchable half-inch all around. I loved to skim my palms over it, which did nothing to ease my desire to be close to him.

Nor did his continued grieving process. He was doing remarkably well, talking about his dad, and admitting if he had to go, Matt was glad he'd gone quickly. But he was still near to sadness most of the time, and I loved watching him find himself again, and loved being there for him when he needed me. None of which made it easy to squelch my inappropriate feelings for him.

I couldn't focus on anything. I wasn't hungry, but I stood in front of my open refrigerator for long minutes. I flipped through television channels without seeing any of the programs. I picked up the phone dozens of times, but couldn't think of anyone I should call.

Over an anesthetized Norfolk terrier in serious need of dental work, I blurted it all out to Nellie.

“I think I might have
feelings
for Matt.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I hated the sound of them.
Feelings? Ick.

“You're an idiot.” Nellie's eyes flicked up to give me a withering look before she went back to the terrier's molars. I was glad I couldn't see the smirk no doubt hiding behind her surgical mask.

“What?” I demanded. “Why?”

“Of course, you're in love with Matt.”

“I didn't say I was
in love
with him.”

“Well, whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.” She straightened up and bent back, letting loose a cascade of pops from her spine.

“Nellie, I'm serious. I need help. I need input.”

“You need the kind of help that only professionals can offer, sweetie.”

“Could you at least pretend to focus?”

She sighed. “What do you want me to say? Of course, you do.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Please. Do not play me for a fool.”

“It's not like that with us.” I spared a glance for the heart monitor. The dog was doing well. I patted his little haunch.

“You're the ones who got sex all mixed up in things. You had to know this would happen one day.”

My legs were starting to ache from standing. We'd been doing dentals all day. I flicked my heels up backward unintentionally kicking myself in the butt. “We were working just fine before this. What am I going to do?”

“You were not fine. You guys were like an episode of
Jerry Springer
waiting to happen. Seriously, what did you think was going to happen when one of you got married? Would you still get together every time the other one breaks up with someone?”

“Of course not!” I said. “I'm sure by the time one of us got married, the other one would have a serious relationship, too. There would never be a need for Sorbet again.”

“Ri-ight,” she drawled. “I'm sure everything will work out just peachy. And I'm sure your future husband won't have any problem with you hanging out with Matt. I mean, you guys are friends, right? The fact that you've been booty-calling each other for eight years is totally cool. Who wouldn't be okay with that?”

“Seven years,” I protested feebly.

“Oh, well, that's fine, then.” She gestured for me to reposition the dog before continuing, her tone shifting from sarcasm to genuine curiosity. “So, how are you going to tell him?”

“I'm not a hundred percent sure I should tell him.”

“Oh my God, why not?” she hollered. Never a quiet person, Nellie bordered on television evangelist volume when she was worked up.

“Well, what if he doesn't feel the same way? How could we be friends after I wrecked everything? And then I'm out a friend,
and
my Sorbet Guy, and where does that leave me?”

“In the self-help section of your local bookstore where you belong,” she declared. “Where do you come up with this shit, Joss? I swear, you're looking for a reason to start collecting cats and embrace your spinsterhood.”

I backhanded her shoulder. “I knew I shouldn't have told you.”

“So, your plan is what? Not tell him and wait for him to fall madly in love with someone else? Sounds perfect!”

I blew out a long sigh. “I guess you're right.”

“I think we should start all future conversations on this subject with you saying those words. Scratch that, let's start
all
future conversations with you saying those words.”

I laughed. “It's too bad you have such crippling self-esteem issues, Nellie.”

“I know …” She made a theatrical sound of tragedy. “So, now that we've established that you're stupid and you obviously have to tell him, what are you going to do?”

“I don't know.” I scratched our little canine patient's throat as Nellie started cleaning up, the dental procedure was complete.

“Maybe you should just call him,” she suggested.

“I'm not telling him over the phone!” I was positive about that anyway.

“You're probably right.” She sounded disappointed. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Maybe you should go to his place and wait for him in bed,” she suggested with a laugh.

“I don't need to confuse the issue with sex, thank you very much.”

Her sound of indignant shock was priceless. “Oh my God! You are going to be struck down by a huge-ass lightning bolt for that! You are the biggest hypocrite in the history of the world!”

“Nellie …”

“I cannot believe you just said those words! Seriously, that was, like, politician-worthy. You're like one of those born-again virgins who gets all high and mighty—”

“All right! You've made your point.”

She shook her head. “Oh, I'm just getting started.”

“What do I need to do to stop this?”

“Just keep telling me I'm right.”

“And how many times am I going to have to tell you that you are right before I hear the end of this?”

“Hmm …” She sounded like she was giving it some genuine thought. “I think thirty thousand might be in the neighborhood, but we'll have to see when we get there.”

“Great. I'm gonna have laryngitis.”

“I'll accept it in the form of written lines, as well.”

“That's considerate of you.”

“Okay, but seriously, what are you going to do? How are you going to tell him?” Her mercurial mood had moved on to voyeuristic enthusiasm.

“I truly don't know.”

To say I obsessed about what to do wouldn't be out of line. Should I tell Matt I felt more than I should? What were the consequences? Was I going to get past this crush? And should I just wait to find out? What was the use of confessing to something transient? What if it wasn't transient? Could I really pretend everything was normal between us?

What if he started seeing someone else? The thought tied my stomach in knots. Even if some new girl wasn't the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, I wasn't sure I could stand to see him with anyone else.

But what if my confession ruined everything? What if he couldn't handle my change of heart? What if he couldn't even handle being my friend after I told him?

I wanted to crawl under the reception desk and block out every sound and drop of light. Work was a struggle—the animals could sense my tension, and responded with more fear than usual. I tried to calm myself for them, but they weren't fooled. I got puked on twice and peed on more times than I could count. The day passed excruciatingly slowly.

The idea of not having Matt in my life was … awful. Yes, I'd intermittently shared my bed with him, but there was so much more to us than that. We'd spent hours talking about our lives, our families, and our pasts. He knew me better than most. He was certainly on the short list of people who I still talk to who know what I look like naked.

How could I risk that just because I was confusing sex with a relationship?

But on the other hand, how could I not? How could I just sit back and wait for him to meet the love of his life?

I needed to figure out my own head before I tried to figure out his.

When my mind got to the point where I could no longer sleep, I knew I had to do something. Without pen and paper to organize my thoughts, I'd be lost forever in a snowstorm of jumbled ideas. As each thought passed through my consciousness, it left a wake of emotions that I could scarcely get ahold of before the next thought carried in a different set.

I started the list at work, feeling guilty and foolish the whole time. Committing them to writing made my feelings so much more real. More dangerous.