He doesn’t say anything. Maybe he doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t push me away, which is progress. He doesn’t lash out in fear that I’ll hurt him. It scares me a little, I think—the pressure. What if I do or say something that hurts him without meaning to? I’m a human. I’m inevitably going to make a mistake.
Logan plops back down on the couch. “I was thinking,” he says. I sit down next to him. “Maybe it’d be nice to get away from the city.”
Logan and I haven’t spoken about our plans now that the movie’s done. It was a subject I think we were both avoiding, afraid to talk about what comes next.
“Where’re you thinking of going?” I ask him.
“My family has a cabin near San Francisco,” he says. “It’s my dad’s, but he never goes there anymore.” He pauses. “Thanksgiving is next week.”
“Right.”
He shrugs. “I don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving.”
“Me either.”
“It’s a fucked holiday.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“But—I don’t know. Thought maybe we could spend some time together.” He chances a glance at me. “Would you want to come with me?”
He asks this like it isn’t a big deal, but the two of us going away on vacation? Maybe I’m not the only one who’s started to think of this as a real relationship. Even if he hasn’t said that he loves me, too, maybe he cares for me more than he’ll say out loud.
“Yeah. I would love to.”
Logan
We take a flight, shades and ball caps on. We only get a few lingering stares, a single “Is that…?” whisper. But most people ignore us. Actors getting away from LA to San Francisco isn’t new. I only have a duffel while Mattie has a backpack. He looks like a fucking Boy Scout. I laugh at him, and Mattie grins at me. “Shut up.”
I haven’t wanted to tell him the truth. How much I’ve missed him. Having Mattie around—I don’t know, he always kept me out of my head. That bright-as-fuck smile, his laughter. I kept hearing his words, over and over again. His voice shook a little, when he said that he loved me. I didn’t react well. I know that I didn’t. I guess I invited him out to my father’s cabin to make it up to him. Give myself a little more time to find the courage to tell him that I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with him, too. But—fuck, what’s the point of any of this if we just have to break up anyway? Matt seemed confident that we could make it work. I want to believe him. I really do.
The flight is only an hour, and when we land, I rent a car to drive another two. I haven’t been to the cabin since I was a kid. I used to spend my summers here. It’s like I can’t escape my father wherever I go, but this cabin, at least, has some happier memories for me. My mom would pull out of her depression the farther we were from LA. She would hug me more often and let me sit with her by the lake as she read.
The more we drive, leaving the city behind, the more buildings disappear, replaced by towering trees and a winding road. I pull off onto a rocky path that leads down to a lake. The “cabin” is basically a smaller contemporary mansion, gray and silver paneling. Matt’s close behind me, staring around in awe, as I fiddle with the keys and try the wrong one to unlock the front door. Shit. Why am I so nervous? I look back at Mattie. He isn’t annoyed. He only raises his eyebrows with a what’s wrong? expression. He’s always so patient.
When I finally manage to push open the door, I pause at the threshold. Dust floats through light. I’d called the old housecleaning service in the area and asked them to freshen up the place before we arrived, but I guess they could only do so much with the cabin abandoned for a few years now. The place hasn’t changed much. The furniture is contemporary, gray—the kitchen open with glistening white cabinets, appliances all stainless steel. The windows are floor-to-ceiling.
“God,” Matt says as he walks in. “This place is amazing.”
We go to the bedroom we’ll share, king-sized bed taking up most of the space, sitting area in a corner. It’s an ensuite. An open door connects to the bathroom that really looks more like a sauna, benches included, with a porcelain bathtub. The bedroom’s sliding glass doors open to a patio that has a pool, though it’s covered by a tarp. I never questioned it as a kid, but why does there need to be a pool right next to a lake? This is the sort of thing that happens when people have too much money, I guess.
I drop my duffel to the floor and fall onto the bedroom’s couch. I shut my eyes. Not looking at Mattie gives me courage. I didn’t expect this to be so terrifying—him being here, knowing we’ll have to talk about us. He’s already said that he loves me. He’s already said that he wants this relationship. What’s the big fucking deal, Logan?
Matt sits down beside me. “Thanks for inviting me.”
I peek open an eye. He’s watching me, completely unembarrassed, as if he really doesn’t mind that he told me he loves me, and I haven’t told him how I feel yet. Like he’d be happy to stay in this gray area for the rest of our lives.
“I was afraid I scared you off,” he says. “With—you know, me telling you that I love you and everything.”
Just diving right in, I guess. “You kind of did.”
He nods. “Yeah. I could’ve chosen a better way to say it. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”
“There isn’t really another way to do it, I guess.” Perfect opening. Perfect chance for me to just say the fucking words. I swallow and look away. “I didn’t think you’d agree to come.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen each other in a few days, since you said what you did.”
“You needed space. I understand.”
“Maybe a part of me didn’t believe you,” I tell him. It’s not like I think Matt’s playing a cruel joke on me, but maybe he’s tricked himself into thinking he’s got feelings, and the second I decide to be vulnerable about how I feel, too, he’ll only see that he doesn’t love me after all.
His expression looks like he might feel bad for me. It pisses me off a little. “Why don’t you believe me?”
A small laugh escapes me. Why would I believe him? “I don’t know. No one’s ever said they’re in love with me before. I’ve never had anyone stick around this long, either. Usually people realize they’ve got what they needed out of me and leave, or they figure out I’m too fucked up to deal with.” I pause. “Not saying that because I feel sorry for myself. It’s just the truth.”
“I don’t know if it’s feeling sorry for yourself. It’s self-compassion, maybe. That’s okay, too, isn’t it?”
I shrug, eyes closed. “People say I’m just playing the victim.”
“You are a victim,” he says. “It’s like you’ve been in survival mode your entire life. It’s okay to—I don’t know, grieve that.”
Shit. I can feel tears growing. I don’t want to go down that path. “The only reason you stuck around is because you were told to. It was a job.”