“No beer for us. We have wine,” Sandra called to her husband.
“The study was approved by an ethics committee. It’s not like it was personal. He didn’t single me out for his research. I was just one of many that fit a similar profile.” I’d lowered my voice so only she could hear.
“That’s exactly my point.” My friend thrust her needle into the air.
“What is your point? What exactly did he do that was so wrong?”
“I said you were just like everyone else,” Matt supplied, accepting the beer Alex handed to him over the bar. “She chewed me out about it the last time I was here.”
“Sandra,” I whispered harshly, feeling embarrassed. Especially since his comment about me being just like everyone else all those weeks ago still smarted.
But I didn’t want anyone else to actually know that.
“Don’t you Sandra me. Nobody calls Marie typical. Nobody. My God, look at you! You’re like the sexiest woman on the planet. You’re Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly and that delightful Kristen Bell from Frozen, except with better hair. And you’re also unfairly smart. And an excellent human. And an exceptional cook.”
I couldn’t maintain my glower. She was my friend, so of course she was over-exaggerating the existence and the extent of my positive attributes, but she also made me feel awesome.
“Again, I agree with Sandra on this.” Alex strolled out of the kitchen and lifted his beer bottle toward me. “That’s like calling Minsky’s Stochastic Neural Analogy typical.”
“Nice reinforcement learning reference.” Matt held out his beer to Alex.
“Thanks.” Alex clinked his beer with Matt’s.
They both drank.
Meanwhile, I was blushing because I was stewing in mortification.
Why does this bother me so much?
I left a short time later, wanting to get to the hospital around dinnertime just in case Quinn and Janie were in the mood for something not offered by the cafeteria. Saying my goodbyes to Sandra and Alex went as typical: hugs and cheek kisses with promises to see each other during the week.
When it came time to say goodbye to Matt, he offered me a handshake and a smile that definitely wasn’t reflected in his eyes. I kept replaying the handshake in my head all the way down to the lobby, because the detached quality to his gaze irked me.
Maybe he was still irritated or sore about the friend-zoning conversation.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
Maybe he just didn’t like me much.
I honestly didn’t know. He was so difficult to read.
As I exited the building, I decided to push thoughts of the professor from my mind. Not everyone was going to want to be friends with me, and that was fine. I’d made an effort and had been shot down.
Moving on.
My phone was in the bottom of my purse, so I paused just outside of the doors to send off a text to Quinn, asking if I could pick anything up on my way. I was just tucking it back into its place when Matt came running out of the building.
I watched as he jogged past, stopped, then turned and craned his neck from side to side as though searching for something. He’d turned completely around when he spotted me, taking a surprised step back.
“Oh. Hey.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “There you are.”
“Hey.” I pulled my purse strap more completely on my shoulder and met him halfway. “What’s wrong? Did I forget something?”
“No.” He hesitated, licking his lips and biting on the bottom one before continuing. “I’m on my way out. We might as well walk together.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” I examined him. His expression still struck me as cautiously dispassionate, I thought, as I picked the path that would take me to the El station. “Are you headed this way?”
“Where are you going?”
“I have to stop by the hospital. You know Janie? The tall redhead from our knitting group? She’s having some problems with her pregnancy.”
He fell into step next to me. “Is she okay?”
“Yes. She’s fine now.”
“You’re going to check on her?”
“Yes and no. I’m hoping she’ll be asleep when I get there. I’m mostly going to check on her husband.”
“Her husband? You mean that big guy who stares at people and doesn’t talk?”
I’d forgotten that Matt had met Quinn when I’d made pizza and watched Jack and Grace. It seemed so long ago.
“That’s the one.”
“Why are you checking on him?”
“Because he’ll talk to me. He’ll also talk to Fiona, but she’s got enough to deal with.”
Matt gave me a weird look. “Talk to you about what?”
“How he’s doing, how he’s coping, if he needs anything, if I can help.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because, Matt, I care about him. He’s my friend. When my friends need me—and even when they don’t—I’m there for them.”
I didn’t look at him, but I could feel his eyes on me.
Eventually, he cleared his throat. “You’re a good person.”
“Thanks.”
“Your friends are lucky. You’re one of those people no one deserves to know. You’re too good.” He looked and sounded so earnest, such that the effect his words had on my heart caught me off guard.
Matt turned away, and I found I was unable to drop my eyes. He looked . . . unhappy.
“Hey,” I took a cautious step forward, “you know, we’re friends, too. Right?”
Exhaling a short breath through his nose, he slid his teeth to the side before he nodded. “Yes. I know.”
Studying him, I decided that if we were actually going to be friends, then we needed the clear the air.
Lifting my chin, I asked, “Can we talk about the friend-zoning comment?”
He sighed. Loudly. And began walking with a quickened pace. “No need.”
“Well, I need. And you’re going to listen. So here goes.” I gathered a deep breath, preparing to launch into my monologue on why he shouldn’t have acted so strangely about being friend-zoned.
Before I could, he said, “That was a friend-zone maneuver. I know a friend-zone maneuver when I see one.”
“Yes. It was. But not for the reason you seem to think. I wasn’t trying to put you in a box or assign a label.”
Matt made a slight scoffing sound.
“I was making overtures to be your friend, not to be just your friend.”
His eyes darted to mine, then away. I imagined his mind working as though he were a computer and he sought to compile this new information. “Meaning?”
“I like you.”
That made him stop, which made me stop and walk backward, because he was advancing on me, his gaze arresting mine. “You like me?”
“Yes.” I endeavored to answer simply, but the look in his eyes made my answer less than simple. Forced to place my hand on his chest to cease his forward progress, I did my best to ignore how his attention was now singularly focused on my mouth. “Yes, I like you. You’re funny. Odd. Interesting. But even if I was attracted to you, nothing would—”
“So you’re not attracted to me.” Something shifted behind his stare, giving me the impression that everything he’d wondered about me was now clear.