I stiffened, wincing at the vulnerability behind the question. This was one of the times where he looked so earnest, I wanted to wrap him in a hug and kiss any trace of hurt from his memory.
I considered asking him about the kiss back at the hospital, about what it meant or why he did it, because I hoped it meant he’d changed his mind about long-term relationships. But then I reminded myself that my hopes were responsible for the current state of my heart. It was time for me to be pragmatic instead of hopeful.
I already knew the answer, it was time for me to believe him. Hadn’t he said over dinner the night before, “Some people don’t want to be fixed”?
He’s attracted to you, that’s why he kissed you, that’s why he made a pass at you in New York, and that’s why he’s wondering if he’s ruined our friendship now.
Asking about the kiss wouldn’t help make things any clearer. Things between us were already clear, I’d been blind. I didn’t need him to say it. My heart could not handle another rejection of my hopes. Nor did I think our friendship would survive if I laid myself bare and told him I wanted a forever with him.
I knew what he’d do and what he’d say. He’d let me down gently and try to salvage some sort of friendship. Or he’d try. He’d try to love me. And how devastating would that be? I didn’t want someone to try to love me.
No. Nothing of our friendship will survive if I ask him about the kiss. So instead, with a lump in my throat, I said, “No. Of course not.” And gave him a reassuring smile that felt both too big and too small. It was and wasn’t a lie. I was the one who’d ruined our friendship. I ruined it by wanting much more of him than he’d ever be willing to give.
As awful as that was, I had to own it.
He inspected me, as though endeavoring to read my thoughts, and the weight of his gorgeous dark eyes felt unbearable. “Don’t lie to me. Please.”
Dropping my gaze to the seat between us, I gathered a steadying breath. I had to. His words, his voice, and his watchful glare made me feel unsteady.
“I’m not lying, Matt. I think what’s between us isn’t really a friendship. Not anymore. It’s grown into an anomalous dependency, one that I believe is not what either of us want. Or deserve. And it’s not something you’ve ruined. It just is.”
Lifting my gaze, I found him staring at my neck. His features were devoid of all expression, but eventually he nodded.
I swallowed past a thickening lump in my throat, adding, “I care about you, Matt. I always will.”
He closed his eyes, turning away from me, giving me his profile. Yet I could tell his features were still blank.
Compelled, I continued, “But I also think we both need to return to our own lives and stop using each other as a crutch.”
Matt’s eyelids opened, but he kept his gaze studiously forward. “Am I going to see you again? After today? Or are you planning on avoiding me?”
A sharp, cutting pain originated in my chest and sliced outward, up my neck, down to my stomach, and along my arms.
Gripping my forehead, I struggled to speak coherently. “We’re supposed to see each other next week. When your friends are in town. I’m still planning on being there, as long as I’m still invited.”
“Yes. Of course you’re still invited.” He nodded slowly, clearing his throat.
I turned my attention to the window at my side, not looking at my reflection or the streets of Chicago, but rather turning my deliberations inward. The day had been a crazy one—crazy happy, crazy worrying, crazy concerning, and now crazy sad—and I wished I could live it all over again. I didn’t know if I would have done anything differently, but so many of the moments were worth treasuring and holding on to.
“I want you to know,” his deep voice, roughened with emotion, broke the silence and drew my eyes back to his profile, “that any part of yourself you’re willing to share with me—any time, any energy, any thought—I exist as a ready audience.”
A genuine—albeit small and wobbly—smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “This also goes for food? You’ll also be open to accepting food?” I tried to tease, infuse some lightness into this bleak moment.
His answering smile was just as genuine, but it was also desolate. So terribly, terribly sad. “Of course, Marie. That’s a given. Food always goes without saying.”
22
Relay
A robot that can be used by hotels (such as The M Social Singapore hotel) to deliver room service to guests. It navigates using 3D cameras, can negotiate elevators, and maneuver around people wandering down the corridors.
Source: Savioke
Matt didn’t text me over the next five days.
The lack of communication made life seem somehow both louder and muted. I zoned out frequently, staring out windows, at random objects. I also went on a lot of walks, all over the city, at all times of the day.
I felt . . . mournful. Like I’d lost something essential.
Someone essential.
But he’d never really been mine, so I struggled to push those thoughts away and buried myself in work.
Losing myself in a story was one of my favorite things about my job. The act of researching for writing was usually a minefield of rabbit holes for me, where I’d misplace hours of my life chasing the threads of interconnected topics. I loved it, but it was hard to stop. However, now I gave in to it; the time spent researching felt like a reprieve, the only time I wasn’t thinking about him.
Staring into space. Researching. Having no appetite. Going to bed early.
Basically, if you add political activism and woodworking to that list, I was becoming my grandfather.
Presently, it was Thursday afternoon, and I was staring at the nonexistence of particles in my water glass, wondering for the first time in over a week if I should message him. I’d wanted to message him many times, but didn’t, because I knew it wasn’t a good idea.
However, this was different. We were supposed to meet this weekend. I’d made a list of potential activities, and even though he’d said I was still invited last week, I had to wonder if he’d changed his mind.
“Knock, knock.”
I blinked away from my water glass, startled, and saw Camille standing just outside my office.
“Oh my gosh, you’re back!” I stood immediately and rushed to my friend, opening my arms for a hug.
“Yes. I’m back.” She sounded tired.
I pulled away, examining her. “Are you okay? I got your letter.”
She smiled, also tiredly, and walked past me into my office, sitting in one of the chairs across from my desk. “Yes. I’m good.”
I followed, opting for the second chair rather than walking back around my desk. “You’re good?”
“Actually, I’m great,” she huffed, shaking her head, then lifted her left hand to show me.
For the second time in less than a week, I was staring at an unexpected wedding ring.
My hands flew to my mouth. “Oh my God.”