by KD Fisher
“Wanna dance?” I asked. The look of genuine surprise that blossomed on Mikah’s face was more than worth the awkwardness of my terrible dancing.
“I wasn’t even going to ask. I figured you’d be like ‘Nope. Don’t dance.’” He dropped his voice low and squinted his eyes like a cowboy in a spaghetti western.
“Are you mocking me?”
“Yup.” Mikah hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, apparently still intent on impersonating me.
“Come on.” I set our glasses down on the bar. Then we were on the dance floor, and Mikah was in my arms. I tapped my forehead to his.
All around us couples drifted and swayed in time with the music. Glasses tinkled, and the lights above us cast everything in a silvery shimmer. I nodded at my brother, who had indeed been wheedled into dancing and was shifting from foot to foot, each movement out of sync with the swinging beat. Katie looked thrilled nonetheless, her arms looped around his neck, dark hair gleaming down her back in pretty waves. Through the mass of partygoers, I stared out the window at fat snowflakes catching and twisting in the wind outside.
Mikah was compact and perfect in my arms, clinging to me like a lichen on a tree trunk. He was beautiful in the twinkling light as he dropped his head to my shoulder. A new song started, and I took both of his hands in mine. Joy welled up in my chest, spreading to fill my body. I felt buoyant. Distantly I heard someone yell, “Twenty minutes till midnight!” I let go of Mikah’s hands and drew him into a tight hug. My breaths came steady and slow. We weren’t really dancing anymore, just standing on the dance floor holding each other. But I needed him close. Needed him with me.
Chapter Thirteen
Mikah
WHEN the jazz trio started playing the slippery notes of “Moonlight Serenade,” I snorted. I hated this song. Really, I had never been much of a Glenn Miller fan. I basically saw him as the fast food of composers, enjoyable but ultimately too generic to be truly satisfying. But, damn, if my eyes didn’t blur with tears when, as the music rose, I caught a glimpse of Matt’s and my reflection in the snowy, dark window, his cream sweater standing out among the sea of black formalwear. We swayed slowly, his arms tight around me, his big body relaxed into mine. We looked happy. And now I knew I was going to cry every time I heard this stupid song.
“What’s so funny?” Matt tipped my face up to his.
I hiccupped a half laugh, half sob. The lights overhead sparkled through the blur of my tears. My heartbeat felt strange, like it raced hard against my rib cage and slowed to a crawl and then raced again. My emotions were all mixed up. I was fizzy with happiness, drifting along the rolling notes of the music. I was almost stepping on Matt’s heavy boots in an effort to stay as close to him as possible. Never in my life had I felt so simultaneously content and desperately terrified. The mess of feelings overwhelmed me, making my lips form the words before I could overthink them.
“I’m pretty sure I’m kind of in love with you. I get that it probably sounds ridiculous since we, like, barely know each other. But… yeah.” I was talking fast, the confession coming out a blurred mess.
Matt froze. The couples around us kept giggling and sipping champagne. The music played on. A peal of laughter floated in from the kitchen. A heavy gust of wind rattled the windows. Then I was in Matt’s powerful arms as he lifted me against him, quite literally sweeping me off my feet. He squeezed me tight, and his mouth claimed mine. Laughter rumbled through him. I grinned against his lips. Next to us someone whooped. Matt and I laughed harder.
“Kind of?” Matt shook his head, still grinning.
My face was glowing hot. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut, suddenly unable to speak.
“I love you, Mikah. So much.” He kissed my forehead and set me gently back on my feet.
I took a deep, slow breath and made myself look directly into Matt’s summer-sky eyes. “And I’m going back to New York in three days. On Thursday. I have that job interview, and it kind of seems like a sure thing… so.” I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips. “Now what do we do?”
Matt’s lips were so soft as he spoke into my mouth. “I don’t know.”
The air between us snapped clear and bright, like a cold wind had cleared away any remaining hesitation. Being in love didn’t change reality. It didn’t mean I would magically decide to throw away the opportunity at Walton. It didn’t mean Matt would suddenly decide to leave the farm he’d spent over a decade building. But it did mean that I felt warm and safe and seen. That Matt knew how deeply I cared for him. That I had given voice to a feeling that I knew was right. And that was enough for now. It had to be.
Dimly, I was aware of the people around us counting down from ten, the rhythmic chant of numbers rising over the music. I pressed up on the balls of my feet to graze my lips over Matt’s as confetti swirled down around us. A surging swell of “Happy New Year!” and those horrible noisemakers Elena insisted on buying filled the room. Time was a strange thing. The last month and a half had flown by. I was confident, however, that this upcoming year in New York, falling asleep without Matt, getting teary-eyed whenever I heard Elvis, would be a long and lonely one.
Matt smiled into the kiss, dragging his lips to my ear. “Happy New Year.” His voice was husky and sent a delicious shiver rippling over my skin.
I closed my eyes and pressed my face into the rough fabric of his sweater, trying and failing to hold back a yawn. I was suddenly exhausted, drained from the emotional marathon I insisted on putting myself through. All I wanted was to curl up in bed with Matt, to fall asleep surrounded by his big body and even breaths.
“Tired?” Matt sifted his fingers through my hair, gently lifting my face so he could look into my eyes.
I nodded. “Will you stay?”
His face went serious, his expression shifting from tender to sad for just a moment. Then he grinned and disappeared into the sea of bodies to say good night to his brother and sister-in-law.
ALL traces of my earlier sleepiness had evaporated as I stood next to Matt in the harshly lit bathroom. Making occasional eye contact in the mirror, we brushed our teeth and washed up for bed. Matt had shed his sweater and jeans and laughed when he caught me ogling his reflection. I was a little worried he might tease me about the elaborate nature of my skincare routine, since the nights I’d slept over at his place I’d opted to leave my toiletry bag and six-step system at home. As I patted my cheeks with a vitamin C serum, however, Matt sheepishly asked if he could use some. Then all bets were off, and I spent a solid ten minutes talking him through the importance of night moisturizers and daily sunscreen. For someone who spent almost all of his time outside in harsh wind and glaring sun, he didn’t seem particularly concerned about the risks the elements posed to his beautiful face.
“Well, at least promise me you’ll start wearing sunscreen every day.”
Matt’s eyebrows drew together. He looked genuinely confused. “In the winter? I mean, in summer I wear a hat.”
“All year. Every. Single. Day.” I annunciated each word carefully. “I don’t want you getting skin cancer.” I kissed the corner of his mouth, which was sweet and minty from the toothpaste.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “I promise.”
“I’m holding you to it.” My smile was forced as I flipped off the bathroom light and padded over to my bed. What, was I going to text him to check that he was taking care of his skin? Hey, it’s me, the guy who fell in love with you and then bailed like a total asshole. Hope you put some SPF 25 on this morning!
Matt had, of course, lit a fire in the hearth the moment we undressed and he noticed I was shivering. I neglected to tell him my trembling had far more to do with the feelings clawing at my gut than the chill in the air. Now, though, the soothing, earthy smell of woodsmoke and the soft crackle of flames filled my bedroom. The party was still in full swing. The jazz trio and a good chunk of my dad’s business associates had left shortly after midnight. Now the heavy thump of pop music and the odd, drunken shriek oc
casionally pierced the quiet enveloping us as we slid between the sheets.
I wanted Matt to fall asleep right away. I wanted to lie next to him in the dark and do nothing more than memorize the cadence of his breathing. I wanted everything to be peaceful and easy. I didn’t want to do the big what-does-this-all-mean talk. I didn’t have any answers, and I knew Matt didn’t either.
We did spend the whole night talking. But, for once, I didn’t overanalyze or shut down. We just talked. Never had I enjoyed the hours between midnight and sunrise so much. We talked about stupid stuff: TV shows we watched as kids, favorite foods, awkward date stories. I learned that Matt had watched hours of late-night Brady Bunch reruns and had been heartbreakingly jealous of the fake family’s pleasantly chaotic suburban life. Laughing at himself, he told me about his intense childhood crush on one of his brother’s 4-H buddies, a guy who went by Bud and apparently had the same soulful eyes as Elvis. Matt loved desserts with cinnamon and had never tried sushi. He blushed to his ears in the dim firelight when he told how lucky he felt to go on actual dates with me. That he’d always hooked up with the occasional tourist and a few closeted guys he knew from growing up. I learned that his middle name was James, and that he, thankfully, was not a Republican.
We delved into heavier things too: how we first became aware of our own queerness, how badly Matt wanted a family but was pretty sure it would never work out for him, how the idea of letting someone really get to know me made my stomach pinch with fear. His voice was so distant when he talked about wanting kids that I pulled him close and held him for a long time. I couldn’t tell him it was something I wanted too, knowing the admission would just add another layer of difficulty to this whole thing. I could taste an edge of salt on his lips and felt dampness on his cheeks as he held me close when I told him how safe I felt with him, how he made the world seem like a calmer, better place.
Matt drifted off around dawn, his face relaxed and bathed in diffuse gray morning light. I didn’t sleep at all.
EVERYTHING around us was chaotic movement. In the front seat of his truck, though, Matt and I were motionless. Cars honked. People fumbled with tickets and luggage. A short man with a bushy beard hugged a young woman goodbye. He waved as she tugged her rolling suitcase through the sliding automatic doors and kept waving as she disappeared into the airport. Behind the low-slung building, the snowy peaks of the Tetons rose against a cloudless sky. We were as silent as the mountains. We’d been sitting here for twenty-seven minutes, not speaking, not getting out of the car, not even unbuckling our seat belts. My flight boarded in a half hour.
“Well.” Matt rubbed his hands on his jeans and glanced at the green digital numbers on the dashboard clock. “You better go in, huh?”
I nodded but still didn’t move. My throat tightened and my nose itched. I pressed my lips together. It was my nonna’s voice in my head, lilting and soft, that jolted me into motion. Breathe, caro. So I did. Then I turned to Matt, trying for a smile that probably came out looking like a grimace. He was gripping his knees hard, his lips pressed so firmly together they were almost white.
“I’ll be back in June.” My voice sounded weird, fake and way too bright. “I’m flying back to get my car so I can drive it back to New York once I have a place. We’ll talk. Stay friends, right?” My voice cracked on the last word. Acting like leaving the man I loved was no big deal made me feel shaky and hot. I worried I might actually throw up.
Matt shrugged and unbuckled his seat belt. I couldn’t tell if he was angry. He certainly didn’t meet my eye as he lifted my suitcases out of the bed of the truck and lined them up neatly on the curb.
“Okay, well, uh, I’ll text you when I land.” The need to press my face against Matt’s chest, to inhale his clean pine smell, to wrap myself in his quiet stability was overwhelming. But at the same time, everything was starting to feel foggy and detached. My gaze pinged wildly, from Matt to the airport to the little girl trying to balance her teddy bear on the handle of her tiny purple suitcase. My thoughts were a tangled blur, moving so quickly, I couldn’t seem to grab on to one. I needed to get on the plane before I started publicly weeping.
Then Matt pulled me into his arms, gripping the back of the coat he’d given me. He hugged me exactly as tight as I needed. That weird homesick feeling twisted through me. The wind was bitterly cold against the tears sliding down my cheeks. My eyes fluttered closed as I melted against his broad, sturdy frame. I could feel Matt’s chest rising and falling fast. He kissed the side of my head, resting his lips against my hair. He held me for a long time. A plane roared above us. I wished it was mine, leaving without me. It wasn’t.
Matt moved his hands to my shoulders, squeezing them gently as he stared into my eyes. His blue eyes were too intent, too pleading. My gaze crashed to the ground. Our feet were so close together, I was almost stepping on his boots. “Please stay.” His voice was low and rough.
“I can’t.” I pulled into myself as my heart broke.
Matt’s eyes asked why, but his lips remained firmly pressed together.
I wanted to tell him why I was leaving: because you’re all I want and I’m terrified, because I need you but I’m too afraid to take what I need, because I’m a coward. Instead my silence left me feeling like I was scrambling to pick up the pieces of myself as the wind whipped them away.
My mouth was thick with fear. I was really about to do this. I was about to leave the only man I’d ever truly loved. This wasn’t a movie airport scene. Matt wasn’t the type to run out onto the tarmac. And I was too worn out to even think about springing up out of my tiny airplane seat at the last minute, ditching my bags and running back into the airport right before the plane rolled away from the jet bridge. Okay, well, maybe I was thinking about it a little. But I knew even if Matt asked me to stay one more time, my answer would be the same. New York made sense. The job at Walton made sense. There, I had a concrete future. Here I had nothing but possibilities and questions. “Let’s just know that what we have is good.” The words were bitter in my mouth.
I kissed Matt fast and with my eyes squeezed shut because I knew if I lingered I could never leave. Then I walked away.
BY the time I pulled my giant suitcase off the baggage claim conveyor belt, it had passed me by three times. I was hollow. My shoulders ached and my head pounded. Having gone through the motions of getting off the plane, turning on my cell phone, texting Elena and my dad, and walking through the sea of disgruntled businesspeople and cheerful families, I had depleted my last stores of energy. Rationally, I knew I couldn’t stay at LaGuardia Airport forever. But the idea of sliding into a taxi and sitting on the slick seat protector as the driver navigated to my mother’s empty penthouse sent a jolt of pain to my stomach. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Figuring it was Elena, nagging me for the hundredth time to come hang out at her place in the Village instead of resuming my broodathon, I unlocked the screen without thinking. My heart flipped. Matt.
Hey, Mikah. I checked the flight tracker thing and saw you landed. Sorry if that’s weird. I should have said this when I dropped you off, but thank you. You made me happy. Wish things could have been different, but I’m real glad we spent the holiday together.
-Matt
Weirdly it was the fact that Matt actually signed his text that had me sagging back against the wall, the force of my sadness crumbling me. It was so… sincere. My fingers were shaking as I tapped the text icon, rereading Matt’s words again and again. But I didn’t respond. Instead I found a relatively quiet corner, opened Skype, and called the one person who would say the words I needed to hear.
“Mikah?” Her voice was groggy. It was almost midnight in Palermo.
“Nonna….” My throat was so tight, I was surprised I got the word out at all.
“What’s wrong?” The sleep was gone from her voice now, and I made out the rustle of sheets and the click of her bedside lamp.
“I made a huge mistake.” In a convoluted mess of shaky words and sniffles, I told he
r the full story of how I met Matt, about how I’d fallen in love with him. I told her about the Walton job and the English opening at the Teton School District. That in the span of six weeks, I had completely rearranged myself. I let all of my fears and hopes and anxieties flow out, and when I stopped talking, I felt better.
My nonna said nothing.
“Like, this is crazy, right? You can’t fall in love with someone that fast. It was just a holiday fling. I’m being dramatic, right? And who knows if it would even work—”
“Mikah.” She said my name sharply, but not harshly. “This is the man I spoke to on Christmas Eve, yes? The tall, handsome one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The way he looked at you.” She sighed into the phone. “He looked at you with love in his eyes. The way your nonno looked at me.”
Shit. I didn’t want to actually start bawling in the middle of baggage claim, even if it was pretty deserted.
“Do you know how I met your nonno?” she asked, the mischievous edge I knew so well creeping into her tone.
I didn’t. I knew almost nothing about my grandfather. He’d been a dockworker. He loved comic books and baking bread. I knew he’d worn the necklace I gave to Matt every day until he died. My face was hot. Would nonna be angry if I told her I’d given my nonboyfriend her late husband’s necklace? “No,” I said finally.
“You know I loved teaching,” she said.
My brows furrowed, confused. I did know this. My nonna’s endless supply of stories about her students was part of the reason I’d become a teacher myself.