—
Babs had (obviously) arranged for everyone to come over for Sunday dinner, and I was actually looking forward to it. Part of it was that I didn’t like being alone with Matt—when it was just the two of us, it was impossible to ignore that something was wrong—and I thought it would be nice to have the distraction of his family.
Our car was in Texas, so we took an Uber to the Kellys’, and I hoped that since Matt didn’t have to worry about driving, he’d be able to relax and have a few beers. He spent the car ride looking down at his BlackBerry, which I’d started to think was just a convenient excuse to ignore me.
When we pulled up, Babs opened the door before we even had a chance to get out of the car. “They’re here!” she yelled over her shoulder and into the house, not taking her eyes off Matt. She hadn’t seen him in six months, which was the longest they’d ever been apart, and it looked like she wanted to run right over to him, but she managed to wait until we got to the door before folding him into her arms. “You look tired,” she said to him, and he pulled away from her. “I’m fine,” he said. She frowned, looking first at him and then at me. “And you look like you’ve lost weight. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“He’s been working so hard,” I said.
“Well of course he has,” Babs said and put her hand on Matt’s back as she led him into the house.
—
For once, I was grateful for the noise that the Kellys made. It was hard to think about anything amid the chaos. My nieces ran toward me, shrieking and jumping into my arms, being overdramatic and silly as they took turns hugging me. Jenny and Nellie grabbed me and took me out to the patio. “We already got you a glass of wine,” Nellie told me. Rebecca greeted me with a smile, sat outside with us for an unprecedented fifteen minutes before going to check on Jonah. “We really missed you,” she said before she got up, putting her hand on my forearm. It was the most affectionate she’d ever been with me. Even Meg hugged me before returning into the house to resume texting.
Jenny and Nellie chatted, and I kept an eye on Matt, waiting to see if he’d smile or relax or at least look less miserable. I did see him smiling when he talked to Babs, but even from across the lawn, I could tell it was a weak smile, an obligatory one.
For whatever reason, we were there for over two hours before we sat down to dinner—maybe Babs thought everyone would want extra time to visit or maybe something had gone wrong in the kitchen. (Although I don’t think that was the case, because Babs didn’t seem annoyed, which she would’ve been if Rosie had messed something up.)
A little before 7:00, most people had gone inside, but Matt and I were still sitting on the patio. “Are you okay?” I said. I asked him this question all the time during those months—when he was quiet, when he was mad, when he seemed spaced out. It probably made him angrier that I kept asking, but honestly, I couldn’t help it.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m just tired. I’d like to eat at some point. This is taking forever.”
“Your mom said it was almost ready,” I told him, and he nodded.
Our nephews Bobby and Conor were on the lawn, still playing with a kickball, getting goofy and kicking it high in the air, twirling to make themselves dizzy before trying to catch it. They stumbled close to where we were sitting, and Matt said, “Watch it, guys,” but they barely paid attention to him. He didn’t normally discipline them, but we were the only adults in the backyard at the moment, so maybe he felt like he had to say something. Still, it was unusual.
On the next kick, the ball sailed to our table and knocked a few almost-empty drinks over, one of them landing right in Matt’s lap.
“Jesus Christ, you guys. I said to watch it.” Matt’s voice was so sharp that even I was taken aback, and the two boys stood there, frozen.
“Matt, take it easy,” I said quietly, but he just pointed to his pants and said, “Look at this. I’m a fucking mess.”
“Sorry, Uncle Matt,” the boys said together. They sounded so somber, and I waited for Matt to tell them it was fine, but he just made a big show of wiping himself off with a napkin, before saying, “Fuck,” and then standing up and walking inside.
“Is he mad?” Bobby asked me. His eyes were wide. Normally, they would’ve laughed at Matt’s swearing, but they just stood and stared at me. Bobby and Conor weren’t strangers to getting in trouble—they were rough boys, mischievous—but I don’t think they’d ever heard Matt yell, and they’d certainly never had him yell at them.
“He’s just in a bad mood,” I told them. “Don’t worry about it. Really, it’s okay, I know it was an accident. But maybe let’s cool it with the game, okay?” The boys nodded and abandoned the ball on the grass, then ran inside themselves.
—