I hate her. I literally hate her.
I am immensely uncomfortable witnessing this exchange, and I would love nothing more than to slink out of Matt’s apartment right now. I consider it, but then Matt says, “Mac… would you mind taking Gabe back to his room for a moment so I can have a few words with Marissa.”
“Sure,” I say softly. “Come on, Gabe.”
Gabe looks from me, to his mom, to his dad. Matt nods at Gabe and says, “Go on, buddy. I’ll work this out with Mom.”
“Okay,” Gabe says, and he grabs my hand to lead me back to his room.
“Marissa,” I hear Matt plead softly. “Please don’t do this. He’s so excited about going to Coney Island.”
I can’t see Marissa’s expression, but I can almost envision it. She’s happy to have power and happy to have Matt beg her. I hear her response just before Gabe and I turn the corner to his room.
“Sorry, Matt. It’s not your weekend for visitation, and it’s my right to take him.”
I close the door behind us, and I content myself to look at his collection of toys that he parades before me. I can no longer hear their conversation clearly and for that, I’m glad. It’s painful hearing Matt have to beg on his son’s behalf, probably knowing he’ll never get anywhere with her.
After a few moments, Gabe’s door opens and Matt stands there. He looks resigned, sad, and pissed off all at the same time.
“Hey, little man,” he says quietly. “Let’s get your stuff together. Mom has important stuff she needs to do, and you’ll have to go with her.”
Gabe immediately starts whining, not that I blame him at all. If I had to go with that bitch versus going to Coney Island, I’d whine too. “No, Daddy… I want to stay here with you.”
My heart breaks… literally cracks right down the middle, particularly when I see the pain in Matt’s eyes. Kneeling down, he pulls Gabe into a hug. “I know. I want you to stay here, too. But go with Mommy, and I promise that we’ll go to Coney Island next weekend. Okay?”
Gabe grumbles a little but eventually nods his head. I watch while Matt packs his stuff up and leads Gabe back into the living room. Just before he leaves, he turns to me and hugs onto my leg. “Bye, Mac. See you next weekend.”
I tell him goodbye while I stroke the top of his head, and then Matt leads him back into the living room. I wait a few moments until I hear the apartment door open and close, indicating Marissa is gone.
Seeking out Matt, I find him in the kitchen. He has both palms on the kitchen counter, and his head is hanging low.
“Are you okay?” I ask him hesitantly.
He raises his head, and his eyes are dark and bleak. His generous lips are now flattened in anger. “No, I’m not fucking okay,” he snarls, and his voice is filled with so much hatred and bitterness, I actually flinch. “How can I be okay after that?”
Clasping my hands in nervousness, I can only say, “I’m sorry.”
He stares at me a long moment. He’s appraising me, looking deep to find something. I’m not sure what he’s seeking, but the desolate look in his eyes never lessens. Pushing away from the counter, he stalks up to me.
Slipping his hand into my hair and palming the back of my head, his voice is harsh and guttural. “Do you see, Mac?”
“See what?” I whisper.
“Do you see why I am the way I am?”
“Because of Marissa?”
“Yes… it’s all because of her.”
Matt just stares at me, his eyes flicking between mine. His face is hard and unyielding. Gone is the humor and easy sensibility. My stomach drops when I realize that Matt hasn’t let go of his bitterness. But how could he… if he has to deal with that constantly from his ex-wife?
He may have opened up to me a bit, but when it boils down to it, he has his heart firmly protected.