When Joss Met Matt (24 page)

Jessie looked amazing. Her white dress rustled softly as she moved forward with her hand tucked in the crook of her father's elbow. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her eyes blazed. She couldn't wait to get to the end of the aisle.

The door I'd come in snicked shut, and Jessie glanced my way. When she saw me, her face lit up and she waved.

I waved back and whispered, “You're so beautiful!”

“You're late,” she mouthed, but grinned.

Just then, the prelude died down and the whole building seemed to hold its breath. The string quartet struck up the traditional bridal march, and all of Jessie's focus lasered in on Evan.

“Let's take a walk,” her dad said softly.

When they were out of sight, I snuck through the side door and tiptoed up the aisle until I found a good spot. Everyone was still standing for the bride's entrance, so I was able to join the crowd without attracting too much attention.

The officiant told the crowd to sit and I was finally able to look around a bit. I recognized a number of people from college and we exchanged tiny, excited waves. Then, I leaned forward to check the rest of my pew and saw Matt.

He looked different to me, even as my eyes took in the familiar shape of his face, the dark brown of his eyes and even the look in his eyes—he was in his own world. The difference was in the way I let myself feel about his familiarity. It was like the first time I wore my glasses: I couldn't believe how much detail I'd never known existed. I saw that Matt could be everything I wanted. I saw that if he let me, I could fall harder than I'd ever fallen before.

He blinked and saw me. My heart took off like a sprinter at the starting gun.

I mouthed, “Hi,” and smiled a tiny smile.

He didn't smile, but mouthed, “Hi.”

There were six people between us, and I would have gladly seen them all evaporate for a chance to slide down and touch him. But he looked to the head of the chapel, reminding me why I was there, and I had to follow suit. I chewed the inside of my cheek, concentrating on the wedding.

The ceremony was short—thank God. I hate the ones that trick you into going to a church service, then drag it out with lots of musical interludes for the unity candle and all that. Under the circumstances, I wouldn't have survived a long wedding. I needed to see Matt. He kept his eyes trained away from me as everyone stood and waited for the ushers to dismiss each row.

The day was expectedly gorgeous: sunny, breezy, and warm without being hot. The very reason that people get married in June. I took a deep breath of fresh air before doing the obligatory hugging and squealing with all my girlfriends. Seeing old friends is like slipping on comfy pajamas; I can never remember why I don't do it more often. I lost track of Matt as he drifted to the people he knew, and I had a feeling he was careful to keep it that way.

But after the tiny bubbles escorted the wedding party to their limo, and the families with children hurried off before their kids exploded with boredom, the crowd had thinned down to out-of-town friends with two hours to kill until cocktails began at the reception hall. That included me—and Matt. I caught up to him at the edge of the wide pathway leading away from the chapel.

“Can I talk to you?” I asked.

“Now?” His face was neutral, but his eyes betrayed him. He was hurt. Still.

“Yes, now.”

Someone grabbed my hand and whirled me around. It was Kerry. “Are you coming?” she asked.

“Where?”

“We're all going out for a drink—it'll be great!”

“Where are we going?”

“Don't know! But we're right by the Magnificent Mile for the reception, we can find something—no problem.” She grinned behind me. “You're coming, Matt?”

“Definitely,” he said. “Let's go.”

He got away from me again as everyone started dividing up into carpools and agreeing on a meeting spot. Someone produced an iPhone and found the name of a bar on Michigan Avenue. Then Matt was gone, and I ended up in the back of Kerry's car. We had to park a few blocks away from our destination, at Kerry's hotel.

As soon as we rounded the corner onto Michigan, the quality of the sound changed. It was a man-made cavern of skyscrapers filled with artificial darkness and the echoes of traffic bouncing off the concrete and glass structures all around us. I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, wishing for the tenth time I'd been able to leave it in a hotel room. Not that I had one to leave it in.

“That's the John Hancock building, right?” Kerry's boyfriend, Mitch, asked, pointing at the tapering black monster a few blocks away. My knees went watery at the sight of it. Of all the panic-inducing heights around me, it was by far the most terrifying.

“Ugh, no thank you.”

“Sweetie, that's where we're going,” Kerry said.

“What?”

“The Signature Lounge. It's in there.” She pointed at the Hancock building.

I stopped dead. “I'm not going.”

“Oh, come on, you'll be fine.”

“I can't!” I wailed.

“It's a
building,
Joss,” Kerry said. “Just don't look at the windows.”

I thought of Matt. “How high up is it?”

“I don't know,” she said. “Probably not very high.”

I followed them, totally prepared to bail at the last minute if necessary. We found everyone waiting in the lobby. The chorus of greetings when they spotted us made me feel like Norm on
Cheers
and I laughed.

“Is this everyone?” Annemarie's boyfriend, Kurt, asked, looking around.

Everyone agreed it was.

“This way to the top of the world,” he pronounced and swept his arm to the elevators across the lobby.

“The top?” I asked. “How high?”

“Ninety-sixth floor!” Kurt announced with maniacal glee.

I shook my head and set my bag at my feet. “No. I can't. I'm afraid of heights.”

“You're going to the reception, aren't you?” Annemarie asked.

“Yeah.”

“It's on the eighty-third floor of the Aon Center,” she said. “Didn't you know that?”

I most definitely did not. “I—I—I—I—” I stammered while cold sweat sprung to life all over my body and blood began to pound in my ears. “I can't!” Not that I could have stopped them, but the tears that rimmed my eyes embarrassed me. “I can't do it!”

The general reaction was laughter, which I'd come to expect after years of living with a phobia. “Don't be a baby,” someone said. “We'll get you a drink as soon as we get up there,” someone else promised. “You'll be fine.”

“At least we're not going to the observation deck.” Matt spoke for the first time. “It's open to the air.” He raised an eyebrow at me. The crooked set of his mouth made it clear that he was enjoying my discomfort.

“Come on, Joss, don't be a pussy.” The final, crass exhortation came from Kerry.

I glared at her.

“I told you she wouldn't do it,” Matt said to the group, then headed for the elevators without a backward glance.

I wanted to stay on the ground. The very idea of being so high in the air made me nauseated. But, on the other hand … Matt.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. “Okay, let's go. But I'm going to need a shot the minute we get up there.”

The group cheered when I scooped up my shoulder bag and three people grabbed onto my arms, frog-marching me across the lobby with enthusiasm. My bag had mysteriously gained fifty pounds. It wanted me to stay on the ground. It was a wise bag with good ideas.

“You'll be fine,” Kerry promised, squeezing my arm.

“You can do this, Joss.” Geena squeezed the other.

I nodded and gasped, “I can do this.”

Then, just as the elevator arrived, Matt announced, “You know, I think I want to see the observation deck after all. I'll meet you guys in a bit.”

In the shuffle that followed, I ended up on the elevator, just inside the doors. Matt was still in the lobby.

Be responsible for your own happiness
. I needed to get off the elevator. “Wait! I don't wanna go,” I said, but the doors were already closing.

Matt stared at me through the closing gap, while Geena kept a fist curled around the wide strap of my bag and Kerry held me by the opposite elbow.

“Don't be such a chicken!” Kerry chided.

“No, I—” I started to protest, but I couldn't finish. The words died in my throat as the express elevator made a stomach-dropping move. My ears popped as the car shot up through the long shaft. A weird croak escaped my lips.

At last the elevator yo-yoed to a stop and the doors opened on a windowed lobby. All I could see was sky. I gasped and stumbled back into someone. Whoever it was caught me and tried to urge me forward, but I shook my head and groped for the wall.

All around me, my friends and a handful of strangers left the car with whistles and gasps of appreciation. As soon as they were all out, I stabbed the button for the ground floor. I had to get out of there. I had to get to Matt.

“Joss! Where are you going?”

“Oh, come on, at least have a drink!”

“It's perfectly safe.” This last was accompanied by jumping on the part of Mitch.

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

The elevator descended even quicker than it had gone up. My ears popped three times and I clung to the thin metal rail that lined the walls. At least being alone, I was free to make whimpering sounds with my eyes squeezed tight and my legs shaking.

“One … two.… three.…”
I panted each number to myself, trying the classic count-to-ten technique, but it was complete bullshit. As fast as the elevator was moving, the ride seemed to be lasting too long. Was I going to end up in some sub-sub-sub-basement? Had the cables snapped and I was in some hellish free fall?

Suddenly, the ride stopped, buckling my knees. I opened my eyes. The LED display read G with a star beside it. I was back on
terra firma
. The doors eased open and I burst out, sucking in sweet, street-level air. A small group was waiting for their turn to load and I got a few strange looks.

“'Scuse me,” I said.

My breathing was still too fast as I looked around for the entrance to the observation deck. There was a queue made of black stanchions and retractable tape near a ticket booth. Apparently, I was going to pay for the privilege of facing my number one fear. Wasn't that just fantastic?

Okay, okay—one step at a time. Just buy the ticket. You can handle buying a ticket.
“A ticket could be for anything,” I mumbled as I forced myself forward on legs that seemed to be suddenly devoid of knees. After a quick search of my bag, the security guard determined I couldn't take the tower down with clean underwear and a tank top. I turned down the free multimedia tour, much to the confusion of the woman passing out the small screens on lanyards. And I walked past the photographer who had a green screen that I could only imagine produced trick shots of the horrifying scene at the top.

And then my chant was,
This is the line to go home, this is the line to get the hell out of this place
 … It wasn't helping. My bra had shrunk three sizes, binding my ribs with every rushed breath. The line moved forward too quickly—there weren't enough tourists. How the hell had Matt gotten up so fast? Why couldn't the line be even fifteen minutes long? I could have found him in the crowd rather than submitting myself to torture. I was three people from the front of the line when I started to get dizzy. My turn was next—I had to get control of my breathing or I was going to pass out before I could even get on the elevator.

“Miss? Are you all right?” a strange woman asked me. She was wearing Bermuda shorts and a Day-Glo yellow T-shirt that read,
Wendy's Wandering Wenches
. I stared at the trio of W's. They were moving against that retina-injuring background. “Miss?” she repeated.

My lips twitched into a few random shapes before I managed to gasp out, “Fine.”

She may have responded, but I'd gone deaf with panic by that point. The elevator doors were wide open, and my vision had narrowed to a crystal clear tunnel that turned the innocent door into yawning void of the Grand Canyon.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod! MATT!
Some small part of my mind was still in control. It shouted to be heard and did a hostile takeover of my motor functions. I rushed into the elevator and pressed my back against one of the corners, my bag pushed around to the front, keeping everyone else at arm's length. Still there wasn't enough air. I felt each vibration as the rest of the ticket holders got on board. The car was jangling in the shaft—it felt like the clapper of a bell as far as I was concerned.

I could hear my own panting from inside my head. Everything else seemed distant, like I was underwater. Then the doors closed.

The sound track in my head turned to static and endless chants of
ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod, ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit, nononononononononononononononono, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!
I was starting to see spots.

One of my sweaty hands slipped off the rail. I pressed it flat to the wall as my eyes clamped shut. Again my ears popped as we soared to the ninety-fourth floor. What the hell was I doing?

With a soft bong and a terrifying jerk, the elevator settled into its topmost perch. The doors opened and the last of my breath escaped me. The whole place was made of sky. Everywhere I looked—windows. Windows and the cursed clear day that heightened visibility to its maximum. My eyes filled with tears.

“Are you getting off?” A blue-shirted employee looked in at me, his arm blocking the doors from closing.

I couldn't move.

“It's perfectly safe,” he said.

I stayed frozen.

He tilted his head. “It's probably safer than the elevator.” He pointed at the floor. “You do realize you're standing over an empty hole that goes about a thousand feet down?”