by Penny Reid
I hadn’t seen Dr. Merek again. Matt never wanted to go back to his office after the last time we were there, when I’d arranged my story notes on his floor, insisting there was no reason to do so when he could access his data off campus.
“Yes. Behavioral science is his expertise. I’m just the engineer. He wasn’t just confused, he was shocked. He said if more people focused on finding the right person rather than making sure their potential partner satisfied the requirements of some arbitrary list—mostly defined by societal priorities—then we’d all be happier.”
“Is this part of your proposition?” I eyed him. “Are you trying to set me up with Dr. Merek?”
Matt visibly stiffened, a severe frown immediately arresting his features. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Why not? He’s not married, is he? Does he have a girlfriend?”
His jaw ticked, all traces of his earlier smile now gone. “No.”
“Is he nice? He seemed nice.”
“Sure.”
The server approached with Matt’s food, placing a large stack of pancakes, bacon, and fruit in front of him, along with an extra-large glass of water and coffee.
“Then why not?” I pressed. “Unless you don’t think I’m nice.”
Matt leaned back farther to make room for the plates. But when the server had gone, he pushed the food to the center of the table, leaving them untouched.
“You know you’re more than nice,” Matt muttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and glancing at the screen, his forehead knit with deep creases.
“Then you should set us up,” I said, not understanding why I was pushing.
What did I want from him? A reaction?
What is wrong with me? Why am I so crazy?
Eventually, Matt shoved his phone back in his pocket and lifted his eyes to mine. They were devoid of emotion. “Sure. Sounds good. I’ll talk to him and let you know.”
Nodding once, and not examining too closely why my heart had plummeted at his response, I said, “Good. Thanks. I look forward to it.”
“Hmm.” He examined me in that unapologetic way of his. Except this time I felt like he was peering at me from behind a wall.
Lifting my chin, several seconds passed while we swapped stares. The moment grew increasingly uncomfortable. I decided it was time for me to go.
“I have to—”
“So, on—”
And both of us stopped at the same time, laughing lightly, but with very little humor. I gestured for him to continue, picking up my tea.
“So, on Friday, you were babysitting Grace and Jack?”
Now I stiffened, my eyes dropping to the table, unable to hold his probing stare. “That’s right.”
He hesitated, leaning forward by placing both of his elbows on the table. “Sorry I didn’t introduce you to Keira.”
I shrugged, glancing to a spot over his shoulder, and pasting a small smile on my face. “It’s fine. I had pizza in the oven, so it’s not like I had a lot of time anyway.”
What? What did that even mean? What does pizza have to do with anything?
“I should have introduced you.” He deepened his voice, sounding solemn and sincere, which drew my eyes back to his.
His features were still mostly clear of expression, but his eyes were focused on mine with blunt intensity.
“Why? Is she your girlfriend?”
Wow. Go me.
Let the record show, my voice was steady and impressively nonchalant, so the opposite of how I was feeling.
“No.” He gave his head a subtle shake, his tone shaded with frustration. “I should have introduced you because you’re my friend. I should always introduce you. To everyone.”
Aaaaaaand, I’ve just been friend-zoned. Hilarious.
I would’ve laughed at the irony if my heart hadn’t chosen that moment to shatter.
One week later, Matt showed up at my office.
I’d told him where I worked a few weeks ago, but when I glanced up from my laptop, finding him hovering just outside my door watching me, my first thought was that I was surprised he’d remembered the address.
“Hey.” I sat back in my chair, wanting to put more distance between us. “How long have you been standing there?”
He shrugged, strolling through the door and closing it behind him. “Not long. I didn’t want to disturb you in the middle of a thought.”
“Thanks.” My gaze moved over him, taking note of his gray suit pants and jacket, and white button-down shirt. No tie. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a bright white undershirt. It was a gorgeous suit, beautifully tailored, and he looked damn sexy in it.
Damn, damn sexy.
Fortunately for me, I was deeply entrenched behind my figurative wall of aloofness. My heart demanded it.
“What’s with the outfit?”
He glanced down at himself. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. It’s just not what I typically see you wearing.”
“Do you like it?” He grinned, sitting in one of the chairs opposite my desk. “If you do, I can play dress up more often.”
I ignored the question and his teasing, not in the mood for silly Matt. Actually, I wasn’t much in the mood for Matt at all. In some respects, I was really sad about that. For a while there, I had always been in the mood for Matt. Serious, silly, curious, thoughtful. I had wanted them all. But now? Now that I knew who I really was in his life?
No. Not in the mood.
I liked my fortress of indifference, because looking at him through this lens saved my heart from more bruises.
“Why are you here?”
His smile waned, the light in his eyes dimming by degrees as he openly inspected me. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation the other day, about my proposition.”
“Oh.” I closed my laptop and reached for my glass of water. “Go for it.”
Matt scrutinized me for a long moment, as though searching for . . . something.
Eventually, he cleared his throat and asked, “How have you been?”
I stared at him, confused by his question. “Fine. And how are you?”
“Did anything happen? Are you—is anything—is there something I should know?”
Shaking my head, I made a show of moving my eyes to the left and then up. “No.”
“You haven’t been responding to my texts.”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve been really busy. With work. You know how that is.” That was actually true. I’d been focusing on finishing several articles, none of which related to his research or my story on replacing relationships with paid services. I needed some distance from subjects that made me think of Matt.
“Are you angry with me about something?” The muscle at his temple jumped and his eyes turned hard, frustrated. “Did I do something wrong? If so, I wish you would tell me.”
I straightened in my seat. He’d caught me off guard with his directness—though, I shouldn’t have been surprised, he was always direct—but I didn’t know how to respond to his pointed questions. I wasn’t angry with him. Not really. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
I was irritated with myself, with my stupid hopes, with how dejected I’d felt after seeing him with his date. My mom’s words of wisdom repeated between my ears. Only you get to decide how you stand, what you stand for, and when you do it.
He’d been honest with me, and now what? I was punishing him, pushing him away for his honesty? That didn’t seem right. Looking at him now, at the hard set of his jaw, the unhappy curve of his lips, I felt a pang of regret so strong, it sent the walls I’d built between us crumbling to the ground.
I’d been a bad friend. I’d been inconsistent. Knowing what I now know about his childhood, his parents, how could I be so unfeeling and selfish?
I rubbed my temples and shook my head, exhaling a tremendous sigh, and with it—I hoped—my residual anger.
“No. I’m sorry. I have been busy with work, but I should have returned your messages. So
, I’m sorry.”
He continued inspecting me, and I couldn’t decide if my response relieved him or frustrated him further.
Eventually, he twisted his lips to the side and nodded once. “Fine. Apology accepted. But it’s going to cost you.”
“Oh no.” I made a scaredy-cat face, going through the motions of our friendship. “Have you finally come to collect? Are you going to make me take the rest of your deception interview?”
Right on cue, his eyes grew cartoonishly shifty. “No. Not today. I—uh—left the guided questionnaire in my other jeans, or at work, or something.” This nonsense was always his excuse for not administering the questionnaire. At this point in our friendship, I felt like it had become a running joke and would be shocked if he ever actually followed through.
“Likely story,” I teased, waiting.
I can do this.
I can open my heart to a friendship with Matt. I can let my hopes go, and my anger go, and stop noticing how much I like everything about him.
“What are you doing next weekend?” he asked, not quite his normal (peculiar) self yet, but getting there.
“Oh, I have to go to New York for work. I thought I mentioned that.”
He slumped a little in his seat. “No. You didn’t. Is that next week?”
“No. Sorry. Not next week, this weekend. I’m leaving on Friday.”
He straightened again. “You’ll be in town next weekend?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Because my friend—um, my ex—Kerry, and her husband, Marcus, will be in town, and want to go out. I’d like you to help me show them around.”
Matt had lived in Chicago for less than a year and therefore didn’t know his way around with complete proficiency.
“Sure. I can do that,” I said, but then immediately wondered whether it was a good idea. I suspected that, in addition to what Fiona had divulged about his parents, he had unresolved feelings for his ex-wife. And these unresolved feelings were the main cause for his avoidance of committed relationships. Spending the day with him pining after his ex would be unpleasant.
“You sure you don’t mind?” he asked, scrutinizing me. “You don’t look sure.”
“Yes. I don’t mind. But . . .” I paused, trying to figure out what to say. “Are you sure?”
“That I want you there? Absolutely.”
“No. I mean, are you sure you want to be there? Isn’t it difficult? Watching your ex move on with someone else?”
Matt looked at me like I was cute and weird. “No.”
“It’s not even a little bit hard?” I didn’t know why I was pushing.
I thought I heard him mumble something like, “It wasn’t hard with her for years.”
“Pardon?”
“No. It’s not even a little bit hard. We all get along really well. I promise I’m not asking you to come along and be an unwilling participant in some sort of spectacle. I wouldn’t do that. Plus, I think you two might get along.”
“Okay,” I said on an exhale, confused. “Sounds good.”
He truly seemed to believe that he was over her, over their marriage. Maybe he was deluded.
Or maybe he is over her, and is simply one of those guys who didn’t want to be in a relationship, like Fiona said. Like my mother said. Like Abram said.
What the heck was wrong with me? Why was I doing this to myself? Wishing for a way to fix this part of him?
There is no fixing something he doesn’t want fixed. Believe him and let it go.
“But one warning,” Matt flipped over one of the glasses I had on my desk and poured himself some water, “they’ll probably want to pay for your dinner, as payment for acting as tour guide.”
“That’s fine, but not necessary.”
“Just wanted you to know.”
“That’s it? That was the entire proposition?” I sipped from my water.
“No. There’s another part. But first, remind me why you’re going to New York. I don’t think you ever said.”
He was right, I never told him why I was going. It wasn’t entirely on purpose, at least not at first. As time progressed and we were spending more and more of it together, I began to feel strangely about the trip, wondering if I should cancel it. But now that all my delusions of grandeur had been dispelled so effectively, I’d decided to go.
And there was no reason to keep him in the dark.
I waited until he’d brought the glass to his mouth and had taken a gulp before I said, “It’s so I can be dry humped by a professional.”
Matt choked, his eyes bulging, and he covered his mouth with a hand. I smiled serenely as he coughed and struggled to draw air.
Eventually, after drinking several more gulps of water, he recovered enough to rasp, “What?”
“I mentioned weeks ago that the article I’m writing will include dry humpers, right? New York is where the best dry humpers are. Well, New York and LA. But my writing partner is covering the ones in LA, so I’m flying to New York to check out one in particular. I had to book the spot over a month ago, as this guy is very popular.”
“A guy?” He choked on nothing this time, making a face.
“Yes. A guy. Tommy—in LA—will be visiting a female humper.”
Matt was quiet for a long moment, inspecting me, and then asked, “This weekend, you say?”
“That’s right. I fly out Friday morning. My appointment is Friday late afternoon, then I’ll fly back to Chicago Saturday morning.”
“What airline?”
“Why?”
“I fly a lot. Just curious.”
“Midwest Air.”
“Hmm.” He was frowning, inspecting me with a new kind of intensity. “Are you going by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“What if he’s a serial killer?”
That made me laugh. “He’s not a serial killer. I had to call in a few favors just to get his number. He’s the most sought-after dry humper in New York.”
Matt shook his head at me, his face telling me that he either thought I was crazy, or something in his mouth tasted like garbage. “Can you hear the words coming out of your mouth? ‘The most sought-after dry humper in New York.’ You’re insane, admit it. You’re insane, this is a cry for help, and you need your best friend Matt to step in and save you from yourself.”
My cell phone buzzed from my bag, prompting me to reach for it. “Says the man who wants to replace human relationships with companion robots. Maybe one of your robots could specialize in dry humping, then would you think it’s crazy?”
“No. Because it would be a robot and not a human man shoving his—” Matt shook his head, cutting himself off and looking a little nauseated. “I can’t even say it.”
I glanced at my phone screen, sighed, sent it to voicemail, and placed it on my desk face down.
Matt’s attention moved between the phone and me. “Was that your ex?”
“Yep.”
“You’re still sending his calls to voicemail?”
“Yep.”
“It’s been months. You still haven’t talked to him?”
“No. Not yet.” I squirmed in my seat.
“Marie . . .” Matt shook his head at me, as though I disappointed him.
“You know he won’t leave a message. Who calls twice a week for months and doesn’t leave a message?”
I snapped my mouth shut after asking the question because it actually sounded like something I would do. David was being stubborn, giving me a heads-up that we needed to talk without giving me any hints as to why. And I was being stubborn, refusing to pick up or call him back.
In a nutshell, this was exactly the kind of behavior that caused our relationship to fail.
“If you want to know, it appears you’ll have to call him back.” His tone was heavily laden with sarcasm.
“Or I could change my number.”
Matt gave me a plaintive look. The look distracted me long enough for him to swipe my phone.
“Wait, what
are you doing?” I reached across my desk.
“Let’s call him.” Matt was tapping through screens, navigating to my recent call list.
“Let’s not.” I tried to grab his wrist, endeavoring to snatch my phone back, and cursing myself for not making it password protected.
“Too late.” He flashed me the screen, then brought it to his ear.
“Matt, don’t—”
“Hi? Is this David? Hi, David. Long story short, this is Marie’s boyfriend, Matt. Nice to meet you. I’d really appreciate it if you—wait, what was that?”
My mouth dropped open at his claim and I shook my head, whispering adamantly, “Stop it!”
“The party? Oh, yes. We got the invitation, but we’re not sure if we can make it. Marie has a work conflict that she’s been trying to reschedule.”
I buried my face in my hands, continuing to shake my head.
“How about I contact you tomorrow with a firm answer? Does that work?”
He paused, as though listening to David on the other end. I peeked through my fingers and found Matt had retrieved his own phone and was entering something into it.
“Yep. I have your number. I’ll text you either way. Okay. Yeah. Ha ha,” Matt’s eyes sharpened on me, “tell me about it. Yep. Okay. Bye.”
I pulled my hands from my face and accepted my phone back, glaring at my so-called friend. “You overstepped.”
“I pushed. Big difference.” He gave me a look that was somehow both apologetic and unrepentant.
“Yes. You did. And you lied.”
“Technically I didn’t lie. I’m a boy, who is your friend.”
“The last time I heard someone say those words, I was thirteen.”
His gaze softened. “If you’re ever going to find happiness, then you need to get over this guy.”
I fought the urge to surrender to uncontrollable laughter. Pot. Meet Kettle. You have everything in common.
“I am over him.”
“No. You’re not. Evading his calls for weeks—no, months!—isn’t the way to do it. Avoidance isn’t the way. You need to confront things head-on.”
“Like you confront things head-on?”
“Yes. Exactly like me. Which brings me to the second part of my proposition.”
I braced myself, honestly worried about what it could be.