When Joss Met Matt (22 page)

I stopped the Pros list at seven items, afraid to make it too much longer than the Cons. I folded the note and put it in the back pocket of my pants, returning to my day with a little less chaos in my brain. My fingers sought out the shape of the folded paper several times an hour—I was convinced it would slip out to be discovered by someone I work with. Nellie would be bad enough, but if one of the vets found it I would be mortified.

At home, I attempted to avoid it for several hours with laundry, dishes, and an hour of reality television. The list was heavy in my pocket, it seemed to suck all the energy out of whatever room I left it in. A miniature black hole.

Dewey seemed to know it had something to do with Matt, and insisted on sitting on it when I unfolded it on my coffee table. I frowned at him and pushed him away.

“Go sit somewhere else!”

“Mrrr!”
he snarked, and curled himself into a shape that resembled something like a meat loaf—still sitting on the paper.

“I'm working on that,” I said, tugging the list free and settling it on my lap.

Dewey did his bungee-cat routine and bounced onto the couch, wrinkling the paper and putting one claw through it as he climbed on top of me.

“What?!” I demanded. “Why are you obsessing?”

He purred and made his eyes into slits.

“You're impossible,” I told him and freed the paper once again. I elbowed Dewey into a somewhat placated heap beside me, then leaned forward to stare at my dual lists once more.

By the time I was ready for bed, the lists were longer.

All night, I tossed and turned. I knew I'd repeated myself in the cons, but the idea of losing him carried more weight than any other argument I could have come up with. More than that, though, I knew I'd repeated myself so that the truth wouldn't be so obvious.

I had to tell him.

Chapter Twenty-five

Now

He straightened up. “But, I've been thinking about it for a long time, Joss. I mean, it's not like I'd just throw away seven years on a whim.”

“No … no, I get that …” I sighed. “I just didn't really see this coming, I guess.”

“Seriously?” Matt looked incredulous. “Crap.” He laughed. “I'm really sorry.”

“I'm just—”
Dying inside.
“Adjusting.”

He nodded.

As much as it killed me, I wanted to put him out of his misery. And I had to put myself out of my misery or I was going to devolve into a sobbing mess right in front of him. “You don't have to worry, Matt. I'm not gonna make this … like, difficult for you.”

He looked at me with obvious confusion. “What are you talking about?”

I was seconds from crying. I had to get out. I stretched up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, careful to keep my eyes downcast. He could not see me cry. “I'm gonna go. I—I'll—I guess I'll talk to you later.”

“Joss, wait.” He caught my wrist, but didn't restrain me as I pulled away. “Joss—”

“Bye.” I snatched up my shoulder bag as I rushed for the door.

“Joss.”

“I'll talk to you later, maybe.”

He tried once more as I ran down the wood stairs, nearly losing my footing three times. “Joss!”

I ignored him. I didn't need him to make me feel better. Nothing was going to make me feel better. I needed to get away. I jammed my feet into my shoes and threw open the door, letting the screen door slam behind me.

Seconds later, my phone started ringing.

I let it go to voice mail.

Chapter Twenty-six

Now

I made it to my car before the first keening sob escaped my throat. I put one numb hand over my chest and gave in. He didn't want me. I'd come so close to telling him I saw more than friendship in him, and he didn't want me. He wanted Tara. My sobs came out in big, barking bursts, making my head pulse and my teeth rattle.

Hurt throbbed in my heart. I pressed harder with my hand, wishing I could reach inside and make it stop. Stop beating, stop hurting, stop pushing hot, embarrassed blood through my face. And still the tears came. My throat burned, my vision blurred, and I had to pull over. In the deserted parking lot of a dentist's office, I let gravity pull me down to the passenger seat and drew my feet up. Hunched in a protective ball, I ignored the emergency brake where it bit into my side and bawled like a baby.

There was nothing cathartic about my tears. They just served as fuel for my heartache. I shook, I cried, I wailed, I clenched my fists, I considered throwing up. Ultimately, I ran out of energy and tears, and lay in a wilted heap across the front seats of my car. And what had I gained through this fit? A headache, a stuffy nose, a sore throat, and no relief from the awful, hollow pain in my chest.

He didn't want me. He wanted away from me, in fact.

I closed my eyes and let out a noisy exhalation. Thank God, I hadn't told him anything. What if I'd managed to keep my courage and admitted my feelings? He would have been nice about it, I knew. He was nice about God damned everything. But it would have amounted to the same thing—he would have turned me down. He didn't want his Sorbet Girl anymore.

I gave myself a few more minutes of wallowing before I hauled myself up and started the car. Home was as good a place as any, I supposed, when no place was good enough.

When I let myself in, Dewey came out from one of his hiding places and sat down a few feet from me. As if cats weren't superior enough on a daily basis, he somehow managed to look downright condescending.

“What's your beef?” I snapped.

“Mrow.”

“Don't tell me you're on his side.” But, of course, he would be. In Dewey's world, priorities were:

“Traitor,” I said.

The clock informed me that it was nine forty-five. I knew I could call Nellie, or Jessie, or my sister, but I didn't even know what I'd say. What I really wanted was a time machine to take me forward a few days, weeks, or maybe months. Far enough that I would have figured out how to live through this.

I carried my bag to the bedroom and pulled out the clean underwear I'd thrown in, just in case I ended up back at Matt's place for the night. It seemed like an indictment of sorts, and I shoved it back in the bag for later consideration.

Bed was deeply appealing, but I knew sleep would be a long time coming. So, I did something I'd never done before. I went to the medicine cabinet and looked for a pharmaceutical solution. It felt shady as I was doing it. Escapist and chickenshit. But, I was at a complete mental roadblock. This was worse than any breakup I'd ever been through. I had no idea what to do, and no idea who could help me.

NyQuil. Jackpot.

I took double the adult dose and changed into my pajamas. Dewey, never a complete traitor if it meant altering his own comfort, jumped on the bed with me and curled up behind my knees. I stared at the pillow on the other side of the bed. It was still in the condition I'd left it last time I changed the sheets. That gave me a sudden rush of loneliness and I reached out to slap my hand into it, making a dent like someone else's head would leave.

I brought my knees up closer to my chest and tucked my fists tight to my body. The room was cold, the sheets felt colder, and I was terribly alone.

Come on, NyQuil.

The hangover that greeted me in the morning was plenty of punishment for my rash decision to abuse cold medicine. My head was foggy, on top of being just as hollow and lost as it had been the night before. Getting out of bed seemed like a chore.

I dragged myself to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. It was unfortunate my bathroom cabinet didn't contain any kind of antidote to cold medicine fog.

I checked my phone when I got back to the bedroom and there was a voice mail waiting for me.

It wasn't Matt.

The message was from Nellie. “What the hell are you doing? I've called you, like, ten zillion times. If you're trapped under something heavy, I'm going to be pissed at you. Did you talk to Matt? Call me! Also, I wanna go out tonight. Call me.”

I decided to have coffee before the inevitable return call, but it didn't help. So I called anyway.

“Oh my God, you're alive!” she greeted me.

“Hi, Nell.”

“Ooh, somebody's crabby today. Did you get my messages? I only called you a hundred times.”

“Yeah.” I poured another cup of coffee.

She finally seemed to catch on to my bad attitude. “Did you talk to Matt? What happened?”

Fresh tears threatened to spill, so I tipped my head back, blinking at the ceiling. “He doesn't want to see me anymore.”

“What!”
It wasn't a question. “Are you kidding? Wait—what happened?”

I told her as quickly as I could. Newspaper-like reporting made it easier.

“Why would he do that?”

“I don't know.” I pulled my knees up and hugged them tight.

“Did you tell him? About how you've been feeling, I mean.”

“No.” I sighed. “Thank God.”

“So—wait. You didn't even tell him, and he
still
doesn't want to see you anymore?”

“Well, he said we can't keep having Sorbet Sex anyway. I don't know what he was thinking as far as being friends goes. I guess it doesn't matter. He's talking about moving away.”

“Moving away?”

I told her about his idea for a fresh start, realizing for the first time we hadn't finished that conversation. I didn't know if he was serious about it, or just spitballing. I couldn't decide how to feel about it either way. If he was leaving, perhaps that was better for me after all. If he wanted me out of his life, there would be no easier way. But the idea filled my stomach with grit and acid.

“Do you think he was just saying that?” Nellie wanted to know.

“For what?”

“I don't know, to make you think he was only breaking up with you because he was moving far away? To make you think now might be the time to tell him you're in love with him?”

I winced and fought back immediately. “A, we're not dating so he didn't break up with me, and B, I never said I was in love with him.”

“A, shut up, and B, you didn't have to.”

There was a pause from her end long enough that I thought I'd lost the connection.

“Nellie?”

“I'm here.”

“Are you going to say anything?”

“I've decided he wanted you to say something first. He was just testing the waters.”

“Why would he do that?” I tried to lift my coffee cup again and tipped it over instead. There wasn't much left, but the spill made me want to cry. Again. I dug my fingernails into my palm and fought to stay quiet.

“Matt is not exactly known for his bravery in relationships, Jocelyn.”

I opened my eyes. “What?”

“He's a relationship wuss. A nice guy with a fear of commitment, which is about the worst combination possible.”

“But, I thought you liked Matt.” I went to get some paper towels for my spilled coffee.

“I did. I do. That doesn't change the fact that he's too nice to tell a crazy girl to take a hike, and that's just for starters.”

My instinct was to come to his defense. Christine had been truly nuts. That was hardly his fault. But I had a feeling she wouldn't take kindly to anything pro-Matt from me at the moment. Not to mention how pathetic it would make me feel. I kept quiet, which was fine with Nellie. She was still rolling.

“I also didn't like the idea that he was using my girl. That would be you, dummy. And it was
not cool
of him to take this long to break it off.”

My cleaning up process slowed to a stop. “So, wait—you're in favor of him calling it off?”

“Obviously.”

“You
enjoy
me feeling like the world's biggest idiot?”

“Yes. And no. I think he's bluffing is all.”

“Nellie, don't do this to me. I can't have sick little hopes about him bluffing. I got lucky last night. I got out of this whole screwed up situation without him finding out about … about my stupid little feelings. If he wants to run away to California, let him. Hell, let him go to Australia.”

“Okay, first of all, I wish I had a recording of you admitting this whole thing was screwed up from the beginning—”

“Nellie.”

“Okay, okay, cheap shot. Second of all, you're a worse bluffer than he is. You don't want him to leave.”

I didn't. But I wasn't going to get what I wanted, obviously. He might as well be out of my state as well as out of my reach. “I don't care if he does.”

“Liar.”

“Whose side are you on?” I demanded.

“Same side I'm always on, baby. The side of truth and beauty.”

My fingers clenched around the phone. She could be so infuriating. “You are completely useless to me,” I told her. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“You know what your problem is?” she asked, blithely ignoring my comments.

I sighed. “No, but I bet you're going to tell me.”

“Your problem is you're an idiot.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're an idiot for not telling him you love him and living happily ever after.”

“I don't love him, I don't care if he moves to Tibet, and I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

I didn't want to talk about it. I had to do something about it.

So, I got dressed for battle. The only pair of jeans that made me look like I had anything but a fourteen-year-old boy's ass, and a satin top that ordinarily made me feel like a million bucks. That night, I only got up to maybe a thousand, but it was an improvement over the dollar-fifty or so I felt like in my faded Badgers T-shirt and penguin-print pajama pants.

I went out on foot. My apartment was a few blocks from the nearest bar, but I had every intention of being over the legal driving limit within an hour of arriving, so why bother moving the car? I was early, for the bar world, and there were plenty of empty seats at the bar. I put my bag on the adjacent seat so I could pretend I was meeting someone.

There were two bartenders behind the bar, a busty blond girl and a tall, very muscular guy. The guy took two ambling steps toward me.

“Can I get you something?”

“Something strong.”

He smirked a little. “How 'bout a vodka cranberry?”

I tilted my head and set my jaw. “Look, I walked here because I have every intention of being over-served. Can you please not patronize me?”

His smirk melted into a true smile. “I've got something for you.”

“If you bring me a cosmopolitan, you will officially be on my shit list.”

He laughed out loud. “You got it.”

I propped my elbows on the bar top and laced my fingers together behind my neck while he worked.
Coping through alcohol—always a great idea!
I thought, but I wasn't going to stop now.

The bartender returned and presented me with a tall glass, full of ice and a reddish-purple liquid. “This is going to go down easy,” he said, “but this thing is no joke.”

“What do you call it?” I asked.

“I learned it from a buddy down in Arizona, but I don't remember what he called it.”

I took a sip. It was fruity and sweet with the nose-itching undercurrent of alcohol. Very drinkable. I hummed my approval. “It's good.”

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Jocelyn,” I said. “But everyone calls me Joss.”

He nodded and looked beyond me for a moment. “We'll call it a Jossmopolitan.”

“Ick. Please don't.”

“Do you want to be over-served tonight, or what?”

“Right.” I made a zipping motion across my lips.

“Well, then, I'm Matt and I'll be your over-server.”

I'm quite certain I failed to hide my shock.
Of course, you are.
It figured.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I will be.” I lifted my glass in acknowledgment.

The Jossmopolitan was everything he promised. When I finished my first, I took a walk to the bathroom on wobbly legs and looked at my reflection through bleary eyes. “What are you doing?” I asked the blurry girl in the mirror. She didn't answer.

So, I went back to my seat and waited for Bartender Matt to finish tapping out beers. When he looked my way, I knocked on the bar twice and he laughed.

“You are
not
drinking another one of those,” he said.

“Au contraire.”
I lifted one eyebrow. Drinking makes me think I not only can, but should speak foreign languages.

“I'll get you something else, but one's your limit for Jossmopolitans, you got it?”

“Well, then”—I rapped the bar again—“dealer's choice.”

He set up a lowball glass in front of me and tipped an ounce of cherry flavored vodka over the ice inside. “You know, normally I make it a policy not to ask about people's problems, but I'm curious what's got you hittin' the sauce tonight.”

Before I'd arrived, I had planned to lie if anyone asked me. But Bartender Matt's cocktail had punched a hole in my mental filter. “I just got dumped.”

“I figured.” He topped off the glass with tonic water and set a lime wedge on top of the ice. “How long were you with him … or was it a her?”

I laughed. “Him. And we weren't really together.”