Chapter 40

Dr. Conlon(who I am now apparently calling Matt) sets down some ground rules for our little relationship. We don't want to get caught, so we decide that we should maintain a purely academic relationship on hospital grounds. And we definitely can't meet in public or at my dorm, so that pretty much just leaves Matt's house.

"What did you do in the past?" he asks me. "You know, with the other professors that you, um…"

"It never really got this far," I admit. "It was usually a one- or two-time thing."

"Oh yeah?" Matt asks, and he looks pleased.

I decide not to share the fact that all those other men were completely repulsive to me.

So I end up driving to Matt's house, which is about ten miles from campus—far enough that the risk of some student or staff member driving by his house and seeing my car there is small. Matt's place is a modest one-story ranch house with two steps to get to the front door. It looks like the kind of place a guy would live all alone.

It's mildly disturbing how much Matt's house is a shrine to the study of anatomy. He has two skeletons—one full-sized named Jill and the other about three feet tall named Jack. He has a model of the human heart and lungs. He keeps it on the dining room table. I'm not even kidding.

"You know, your houseguests are going to think you're a necrophiliac," I comment as I finger the plastic heart. I can't imagine how he eats with that thing in front of him.

"Why?" Matt asks, genuinely puzzled. Because doesn't everyone keep life-sized models of human organs on their dining table? Sheesh.

He has several bookcases, and while not every book is related to anatomy, they're all medical texts without exception. I bend down to scan the shelves for something related to another interest or hobby, but nothing isn't related to his work. The most surprising book he owns is a chemistry text.

Matt doesn't use his cane around the house. Instead, he grabs onto the furniture as he walks to support himself. As we make our way through his living room, he keeps one hand on the couch then holds the doorframe as we enter his bedroom.

Thankfully, his bedroom is decorated a little less morbidly. It's a typical guy bedroom, all browns, blacks, and grays. It looks like he got his bedroom set from Ikea. As I look around, I can't help but wonder if he's got a whole drawer full of bowties somewhere. Before I can stop myself, I'm opening his dresser drawers, searching for bowties.

I don't even realize I'm being extremely rude until I notice Matt is staring at me.

"What are you doing?" he asks

"Um, I was just looking to see where you keep your bowties."

To my relief, Matt laughs. He opens a drawer in the desk by his bed, and there they are: at least a dozen little bowties in all different colors.

"Pre-tied!" I gasp. "You're kidding me! What are you—five years old?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, well, you ever try tying a bowtie with one hand?"

I look down at his right hand. I want to ask about it, why he can't use it, but I sense we're not quite there yet.

"Why bowties, anyway?" I ask instead.

Matt grins. "I don't know. I like them."

And then when he kisses me and gently pulls me into bed with him, we forget all about bowties.

Matt and I are very,very careful not to interact at the hospital. A few times, when nobody else was around in the lab, he winked at me. But even that felt like a big risk. Nobody can know our secret. If they did, we'd both be in so much trouble.

And worse, it would be over between us.

I have to admit, I'm infatuated with Matt. It's honestly a little hard to even concentrate on lectures because I get so excited just by the sight of him. I didn't even know that was possible. I wonder if he feels the same way about me, but I can't imagine he does. He's much older and, dork or not, I'm sure he's had many girlfriends before. This can't be nearly as special to him.

"How old are you?" I ask him one day as he's leading me through his house to his bedroom.

He winks at me. "Older than you."

"No, seriously," I say. When he doesn't answer, I add, "I'm twenty-two."

"I was right," he says. "I'm definitely older than you are."

I follow him to his bed, where he sits as he always does—very ungracefully. I'm not about to let this go, though.

"Why won't you tell me?"

Matt doesn't answer right away. He pulls off his right shoe then removes the thick plastic ankle brace he wears that goes nearly up to his knee.

"Because I'm really, really old," he finally says.

"If you're not going to tell me, I'm going to guess."

"Do your worst."

I squint at him, pretending to size him up. I'd already guessed he's in his late thirties, but I decide to tease him a little. "Fifty-two?"

Matt's eyes widen. It's priceless.

"You don't really think I'm fifty-two…" he says, looking somewhat worried.

"Well," I say thoughtfully. "My dad is fifty-three, and I figure you're younger than him, so…"

Matt just shakes his head.

"Older?" I say. "Fifty-four then?"

"Oh, that's it," he grumbles.

He picks up a pillow from the bed and smacks me in the shoulder with it. I laugh at him, and then he tackles me onto the bed. As I let out a squeal, it occurs to me that this is a noise I don't think I've ever made before in my entire life.

After a few minutes of making out, Matt says to me, "I'm thirty-eight."

"Ancient," I say with a grin.

"I'm sixteen years older than you," he says. "When you were born, I was a junior in high school. I'm sleeping with a girl who was a toddler when I started college."

"I was a very sexy toddler," I say.

"Undoubtedly," he says. "But it still makes me feel like a creep."

"Don't stress about it," I say. "I could never relate to people my own age. That's why I don't have any friends in the class."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Matt says.

It never occurred to me that Matt realized I have no friends. I wonder how long he'd been paying attention to me. Or maybe it's just that obvious that I'm a total loser. But I don't want to have a conversation with him about my lack of friends.

"Anyway." I clear my throat. "I'm okay with you being an old man. Just as long as you can still keep it up."

"Hell yeah," he says, and over the next hour, he very much proves it to me.