Dating-ish (Knitting in the City Book 6)

by Penny Reid

  Presently, Jack, Grace, and I donned our scarves and wands, but Grace couldn’t find my wizard hat, so I’d been forced to wear one of her princess tiaras instead. Which, all things considered, I thought it suited me quite well.

  Once again, I’d made pizza and once again it smelled delicious.

  “You know who likes pizza?” Jack grinned as he set the table, showcasing a gap-toothed smile and a mischievous glimmer in his eyes that I was certain had been a genetic gift from his father.

  “Who?” I asked warily, packing up the board game.

  “Professor Simmons,” Grace supplied, practicing her twirls instead of helping set the table. But this was Grace’s modus operandi, confirmed by her mother. I could ask the seven-year-old to do something ten times and on the eleventh she’d act like it was the first time she’d heard the request.

  Kids.

  “Ah, yes. The good professor.” I nodded, smiling to myself. “He does indeed enjoy the pizza.”

  “Can we ask him over?” Jack was already inching toward the door.

  Without waiting for my response, Grace sprinted into the kitchen, shouting, “I’ll get another plate.”

  “Fine. Fine.” I tried to cover my own surge of excitement by sighing wearily. “I guess.”

  “Yes!” Jack made to leave.

  I crossed to my purse. “Wait. I’ll text him, see if he’s home. Wait, Jack.”

  Jack pretended he didn’t hear me and darted out the front door.

  “Darn kids,” I grumbled, stepping quickly after him out of the apartment and into the hall, finding Jack already standing outside of Matt’s place.

  “I just knocked.” He motioned to the door. “No need to text.”

  I stood with one foot in Fiona and Greg’s place and one foot out of it, shaking my head at the willful nine-year-old.

  “Jack,” I warned.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “I do this all the time.”

  We waited as one minute stretched into two. Jack’s expression fell from hopeful to confused and he stared at the door with such intensity, I almost expected it to burst from its hinges.

  I was just about to suggest that Jack come back inside and we text Matt instead, because he was likely still at the office, when the sound of the elevator dinging pulled both of our gazes down the hall.

  Matt’s laughter greeted my ears and my heart leapt.

  But then it promptly fell.

  It fell hard.

  It fell from the top floor of the Sears Tower onto the pavement below hard.

  Because Matt’s laughter was joined by the sound of a woman’s laughter, and in the next moment they were both visible. But they didn’t notice us. They were too busy. With each other.

  Matt tugged her forward, then pressed her against the wall, his mouth fusing to hers. Her hands roamed freely and I heard her moan, which was kind of incredible because they were at least fifty feet away.

  Apparently, Matt enjoyed the moaners.

  Good to know.

  Except, not good to know. Not at all good to know.

  I hadn’t recovered from the shock of witnessing Matt making kissy face with someone not me when Jack called out, “Professor Simmons!”

  Matt lifted his head, glancing down the hall.

  I stiffened, unsure what to do.

  He spotted Jack first, and gave him a quizzical smile, immediately stepping away from the woman.

  Then he spotted me.

  And do you know what? His smile didn’t slip. It didn’t falter. If anything, it brightened. Like he was happy to see me.

  What.

  The.

  Fuck.

  I thought I might be sick.

  Matt whispered something into the woman’s ear as they moved from where he’d been mauling her, and then took her hand and pulled her forward.

  “Hey, Jack.” He grinned at the young boy, then lifted his attention to me as they approached, his gaze traveling over my hair before meeting my eyes. “Hi, Marie,” he said easily, like we were meeting on the street. On a Sunday. After Church. “What’s going on?”

  My heart thundered between my ears as I glanced dumbly—still blindsided—from the woman to Matt, then to Jack.

  “Um . . .”

  Matt’s smile slipped, then fell, his frown increasing by degrees. I barely registered the confusion in his face before I tore my gaze away.

  “Are you hungry?” Jack asked merrily, clearly oblivious to everything as only nine-year-old boys can be.

  Or maybe it was all boys.

  Maybe all men are oblivious.

  Or maybe they don’t care.

  “Nice tiara,” the woman said, drawing my attention back to her as she sent me a friendly smile. She indicated with her chin to my head.

  She was really pretty; dark eyes, dark hair, taller than me, svelte. And she was wearing a Star Wars T-shirt with Rey and BB-8 on it.

  So this is his type.

  Basically, the opposite of you.

  Crap.

  It’s not as if I should have thought otherwise. He’d been blatantly truthful. Hadn’t he said, “It’s a relief you said something first. Pragmatically it saved me the conversation. You’re not at all my type.”

  Instinctively, my fingers lifted, and I realized I was still wearing the princess tiara Grace had lent me earlier.

  “Oh. Thank you,” I said, feeling and sounding winded. In addition to winded, I was also feeling exceptionally confused. And maybe a little shitty about myself.

  But back to the tiara.

  I tossed my thumb over my shoulder, saying, “My other crown is at the jewelers, so . . .”

  Unable to stop myself, my eyes flickered to Matt’s and then away, jumping around the hall. He was frowning at me now, but I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t quite think about anything, which was crazy. I was usually so good in emergencies. Calm and collected, level-headed.

  Except, this wasn’t an emergency. It was merely a disaster.

  Wordlessness became silence as I struggled. I still could feel Matt’s gaze on my face, but I could not for the life of me meet it. My cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. I knew they were, because I felt hot and sweaty, but also cold and wretched.

  The moment was just on the precipice of becoming awkward when Grace burst out of the door.

  “What’s taking so long?” she complained, but then she stopped short when she spotted Matt and his lady friend. Grace turned a confused frown to me. “Is she coming too? Because I don’t think we have enough pizza.”

  “Uh, no.” I forced a grin and smiled down at Grace, managing to speak without my voice shaking. “No. I think Professor Simmons and his friend have other plans. Come on, kids. Let’s go eat.”

  “Aw man.” Jack’s glower was severe, and I saw he sent the woman a hard glare just before he turned and marched back to where I stood, brushing past me into the apartment.

  I know how you feel, buddy.

  Grace followed.

  Pasting a polite smile on my face that didn’t feel at all natural, or right, or good, I lifted my eyes as high as their necks and waved. “Well. Goodnight.”

  I thought I heard Matt say my name, but it was too late. I couldn’t stop my forward momentum if I tried.

  Moving quickly, I shut the door behind me. Then I locked it. Then I flipped the deadbolt. Then I leaned against it, wondering if it would be overkill to move the heavy console table in front of the door as well. But then I stopped.

  I didn’t need to erect any more barriers between Matt Simmons and me. There was no need. He’d already done that himself.

  16

  Weighted Myopic Matching

  Helps physicians match kidneys with donors using AI technologies (a process called dynamic matching via weighted myopia).

  Source: Carnegie Mellon University

  I decided that there was something seriously wrong with me.

  Matt had texted me not a half hour after Hurricane Hallway—because that’s how I felt, like I�
�d been stranded outside in a hurricane—and I felt nothing but numb as I read his message.

  Matt: Can I come over?

  He wanted to come over?

  Why?

  I didn’t want him to come over.

  Marie: No. I’m trying to get the kids ready for bed.

  Matt: I can help

  I didn’t respond. I felt hollow. But also, too full. I couldn’t eat the pizza, so I made tea instead. But I couldn’t drink that either.

  When Fiona and Greg arrived home, I left immediately after, claiming a headache. It was the truth. I did have a headache. I tried not to think too much about my instinct to sprint down the hall past Matt’s apartment and how I’d pressed the elevator call button seventeen times.

  A rush of both relief and misery washed over me as soon as I stepped onto the lift and the doors closed. I walked home in a daze, my mind unable to concentrate or focus on any one thing. Instead, I played the five minutes of seeing Matt with his date over and over and over in my head.

  I watched it. I analyzed it. Until I realized doing so made my heart ache anew each time, so I eventually stopped repeating the scene in my head.

  The next morning, after not sleeping much, but not crying either, I needed to hear my mother’s voice. A phone call didn’t feel sufficient, so I went online and arranged for a rental car. They even picked me up.

  Listening to loud angry music on the way helped me concentrate on driving and not the odd splintering sensation in my chest. I made it to my parents’ place just after 11:00 AM, parking behind my mom’s Toyota in the driveway.

  I hadn’t told them I was coming, and so I hesitated, sitting in the rental car.

  What if they have plans?

  What if my mom isn’t even home?

  What if they have a woman over and my being here will make things awkward?

  My last crazy thought made me laugh, but it was a sad laugh. Regardless, it was enough to push me out of the car. I walked up the path and hadn’t quite made it to the rose bushes before the door opened, revealing my mom.

  She wore a big smile, one hand on the door, one hand on her hip. “Well, if it isn’t the most brilliant and beautiful woman in the world! To what do we owe this honor?”

  I returned her smile.

  And then I promptly burst into tears.

  “Sometimes a person just needs their mom, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” My mom sent me a loving smile from where she stood stirring the lemon curd, then shot my brother an irritated look.

  “What? What did I say?” He stood next to her, cutting the butter into the flour for pie crust.

  Presently, I was sitting at the kitchen table in my parents’ kitchen, watching my mom make my favorite foods while my brother teased us both.

  Upon my watery arrival, I cried for several minutes. My mother and I sat on the couch and hugged. When I’d calmed down enough to form words, I told her about Matt.

  I told her how we’d met, who he was, how I’d coerced him into showing me his research, and how we’d subsequently become friends. And then I told her how I thought, maybe, we were becoming more than friends.

  But I was wrong. How wrong I was became painfully obvious to me as I related the story from the night before.

  I didn’t realize it at the time I was pouring my heart out to my mom, but my brother was visiting from New York and he was in the other room. He must’ve overheard the entire conversation, because he’d been making peanut gallery comments since entering the kitchen.

  But getting back to my mom, after listening patiently to my wretched tale, she dabbed at my tears and made me tea. And then she started cooking. Everything.

  For dinner we’d have crab cakes (my favorite), roasted beets (my favorite), mushroom risotto (my favorite), and lemon meringue pie for dessert (my most favorite).

  “Thanks, Mom.” I sipped at the tea, letting the aroma of chamomile sooth my frazzled nerves. It smelled like home. Like tea parties from when I was little, and late nights when I couldn’t sleep. It felt like a salve to my heart.

  “Honey, I know you’re still feeling sore, and I understand why after hearing your story. But I have to say, I think what happened last night was a good thing. Seeing things with your own eyes can give a murky situation clarity.”

  “I know.” She was right, of course.

  “I don’t understand women. Didn’t he tell you from the get-go that he wasn’t on the market for a committed relationship?” This came from my brother.

  My mother hit him lightly on the shoulder. “You can keep your comments to yourself, Abram.”

  “Yes,” I answered him anyway as I examined the bottom of my cup, wishing I could read tea leaves.

  “And didn’t you two agree to be friends? You friend-zoned him, right?” Abram continued, shifting away from my mom so he was out of her reach.

  She tossed daggers at him with her eyes, which made me smile.

  “Yes.” I nodded, confirming his question.

  “So the man told you the truth,” Abram moved to the fridge and placed the crust inside, “and now you’re surprised to discover he didn’t lie.”

  I chuckled at that, appreciating how he’d worded it. I didn’t need to read tea leaves to visualize the picture he was painting.

  “Leave your sister alone, I mean it.” My mom held up her wooden spoon, to show my brother how much she meant business.

  “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t mind.” Then to my brother, I responded, “That’s exactly right. We both agreed we just wanted to be friends, so I guess that makes me the liar.”

  My mom sighed and my brother gave me a sympathetic smile.

  My family would never say it, but I’d been acting like a fool.

  “I know it hurts, honey.” Mom flipped off the gas stove and wiped her hands on her apron, turning to face me fully. “And it’s okay to hurt. Hurting is just as much a part of life as joy, maybe even more important. Falling down teaches you how to stand up.”

  I traded a secretive smile with my brother. We’d heard this advice before, many times. But it hadn’t resonated with me until I’d become an adult.

  “We’re making all your favorite foods. And we’ll have a feast tonight. We’ll curl up on the couch and watch one of those Jane Austen movies. You’ll stay the night, sleep in your old bed. And we’ll make breakfast together in the morning, crêpes suzette. I even have fresh marmalade.” As she said this she poured a cup of tea and crossed to the table, putting it down in front of my brother.

  “That sounds really nice.” I smiled my gratitude, and it felt good to smile.

  “I don’t want tea.” He frowned at the cup, then at Mom.

  “You’ll drink it. And you’ll be kind to your sister.” Then to me, she said, “It will be nice. It’ll be great. But, honey, this is all the falling part. Tomorrow, when you get home, and the day after, and the day after that, that’ll be the standing part.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” Her words were gentle, concerned. “Because that man may have let your hopes down, but he’s still your friend. Granted, he might be the biggest idiot in the whole world for not wanting to change your mind about being just friends, but that’s beside the point.”

  I chuckled at that, surprised she’d lasted this long before calling him an idiot.

  “Only you get to decide how you stand, what you stand for, and when you do it.” She squeezed my shoulder before bending and giving me a kiss on the cheek. Then she stood, glanced around the kitchen, and mumbled to herself, “Now I need to message your father to pick up the mushrooms. Where did I put my purse?”

  Mom drifted out of the kitchen in the direction of the dining room, leaving me with my brother. I lifted my eyes to his, and found him giving me a funny look.

  “What? What is it?”

  Abram’s chest expanded as he pulled air into his lungs, and the usually sardonic set to his brows cleared, like clouds parting, revealing a sincerely thoughtful expression. “So, you’re assuming this guy
isn’t interested in you as more than a friend, right?”

  I scoffed. “Uh, I don’t think it’s an assumption at this point. He comes home with a woman, I witness him making out with her in the hallway, clearly they’re going to his apartment for one reason, and when he spots me, he acts like he’s happy to see me. I friend-zoned him and he took me seriously. If he was ever interested in me that way, he isn’t anymore.”

  “Maybe . . .” Abram was chewing on the inside of his lip, his eyes having lost focus as he stared over my shoulder. Abruptly, his attention cut back to mine and he looked hesitant to share his thoughts.

  “What?”

  “I still think you should believe him and act accordingly. If he says he doesn’t want a long-term thing with anyone, believe him. But maybe—maybe, he thinks you’re out of his league.”

  “What?”

  “He was happy to see you, right? Sounds like for a guy who’s a workaholic, he’s been making a lot of time for you. A guy doesn’t do that for friends. Not for guy-friends, not for woman-friends. Not that much time, not for one person. So maybe he does think about you like that, a lot, but he thinks he’s not . . . worthy of you?”

  I stared at my brother, processing his words, at first rejecting them. Because how could Matt possibly think he wasn’t worthy? Of me? That was crazy. I was a nice person, but I wasn’t some amazing catch. Hadn’t he said early on that I was just like everyone else?

  “I’ll never say this to you again, so listen up. You’re pretty badass, Marie.” Abram interrupted my thoughts, leaning forward like he was telling me a secret. “You’re wicked smart. And cool. And drama free, which is a huge deal. Drama free is at the top of my list these days. You can be intimidating.”

  “Me? But I’m a Hufflepuff.”

  Abram gave me one of his rare, genuine grins. “Yeah. Being a good person can be intimidating. Look at Mom. And Dad. They’re the best people I know. I’m twenty-four and I’m still afraid of letting them down. Think about Mother Teresa, would you want to meet her? I mean, when she was alive. Not zombie Mother Teresa. I’d be scared shitless, like she’d see into my dark, dark soul and be disappointed in me.”