44. Fischer

44

FISCHER

M atthew still hasn't quit his job, and I'm starting to wonder if I need to sit him down and have a face to face conversation with him about it instead of the half-asleep murmurings when I most often bring it up. But it's been over a week, and spending his overnight shifts in the loft alone and then waiting around for him in the morning to take two trains home is getting old. Not to mention—he hasn't touched his art as far as I can tell. There aren't even any doodles on my legal pads. Nothing.

I've considered just going where he goes. If he's working, I could easily stay at my apartment, meet him in the middle of the night for a kiss or whatever he has time for, but the idea of my own apartment depresses me if Vaughn's not in it. Everything here in the Bronx is more comfortable. The bed, the couch, even the shower is better. I'm more productive whether Matthew's here or not, and I'm not sure if that's because I'm basically surrounded by his personality, or if this loft inspires me the way it's done for him. I stare at the tree a lot.

Every day I find a new word twisted through it. Today's word is "hook." I noticed it in the trunk when I was sipping my coffee. It takes some will power not to snoop through his sketchbooks, but I get the feeling there may be things in those I may not want to see, and so far I've managed to respect his privacy.

After a shower, I'm pulling on some sweats when there's a knock on the door. I check my watch. Matthew is due any minute, but it's his place, and the door was locked when I got home last night, meaning he has his keys. I pull on a shirt and grab my cane to make my way over and peek to see who it is.

Fuck. Maggie.

It wouldn't surprise me if Matthew forgot to tell me whether he's told her about us yet, but still…odds are, he would've mentioned it, and I can accurately account for almost all his time. I'm an intense stalker when it comes to him.

I don't answer right away, unsure what to do. But then, when I don't open the door, Maggie simply walks to the other side of the hall, pulls her phone out of her bag, and sits down on the floor to wait.

I call Matthew.

"I'm five minutes away," is how he answers the phone.

"Your sister's here."

"She's your sister, too, bro."

I roll my eyes. "What does she want?"

"She didn't say? Where are you calling from?"

"The loft. She's waiting outside."

"You didn't let her in?"

"Matthew!" I whisper shout. "Does she know about us?"

"I've been trying to sit down with her, but she's been swamped."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let her in. I'll be right there."

"What do I tell her?"

He laughs. "I don't know, but I can't wait to hear about it." And then he hangs up on me.

I inhale deeply, putting the phone in my front pocket and unlocking the door. I open it slowly, my anxiety rising. My face feels like it's on fire.

She glances up, and her sardonic expression quickly morphs to one of total confusion. "Fischer?"

"Hey."

She scrambles up from the ground, shaking out the skirt of her flowy cotton dress. Her dark, wavy hair is down, and I hadn't realized how long it is. Almost to her waist. "I keep missing Matty, and I was hoping I'd catch him."

"He's uh…yeah, he should be here soon."

She takes me in, the casual sweats, the plain tee, the bare feet. I must look pretty at home… "Come in."

I remind myself Matthew will be here any second as I swing the door wide. She walks past me, taking a look around. The kitchen table is my workspace now with both my laptops and hundred of pages of notes. The bed is unmade. There's no sign of anyone having slept anywhere else.

It might not scream, I'm sleeping with your twin , but there's certainly no evidence to the contrary.

I almost offer her coffee, but then stop myself. It's awkward. It's really fucking awkward. She smiles at me, like she's expecting me to let her in on the secret.

"How're the wedding plans going?"

"Good. Picked out all the dresses. Menu's set. The biggest fight we're having right now is over the honeymoon."

"Oh?"

"I want the beach, he wants an experience ," she says, mocking a male voice.

"South Africa has beaches and experiences," I offer.

"Hm." She stares at me strangely, and I get even more uncomfortable. "I'll look into it."

Matthew appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath, like he started running after he hung up on me. Thank fuck. He probably figured after laughing at me that I was in no way equipped to field any questions about what the hell I'm doing here.

"Hey, Maggie."

She brightens immediately on seeing him and hurries over for a hug. "Hi! I miss you!"

"Miss you, too. You just show up now?"

"Apparently. Surprise!"

He gives her a tight squeeze and lets go, glancing over at me and catching my contagious uncertainty.

"So!" She bursts and gestures toward me. "Fischer's here!"

"Yes. He is." And then he says, "Barefoot," like he wouldn't be able to explain it with anything but the truth either.

"Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?"

Matthew runs a hand through his hair and takes a few steps toward me. I stay put, and so does Maggie. "Yeah," he says, and I swear I can physically feel him wanting to touch me. Or maybe that's just me— needing it .

"Should I go?" I ask.

"I—" He looks between me and his sister. "Do you want to?"

"Kind of."

Maggie is on the move, coming to stand with us, completing a triangle. She crosses her arms and stares at her twin. "Why are you guys acting so weird? It's not like you don't have these brother sleepovers all the time."

I rub the back of my neck and lean heavily on my cane. "I mean, we're not technically brothers," I say.

Maggie gives me a look of disappointment. "We used to have a joke between us, that you never miss a chance to mention you were adopted. Still at it, huh?"

Matthew claps a firm hand down on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "He's just reminding you that we're not related."

She stares directly at him. "Except you are."

It was one thing—this theoretical conversation where Matthew was going to tell her about him and me, but being here to witness it—I could die of humiliation. I have never not wanted to be somewhere this badly.

Matthew takes a deep breath and lets my shoulder loose from his death grip. "Try not to make this weird, but Fischer and I—we're—seeing each other." He says the last three words painfully slow.

Maggie swivels her head back to me once more, her arms uncrossing until her fists are planted on her hips. "That's not funny, Matty."

"It's not a joke. Either."

She turns to glare hard at me. "What's going on?"

"I um…" Jesus, I shouldn't have to be here for this. "He's not joking. Matthew and I…"

"He said you weren't gay!" she shouts at me.

"I'm bi."

"Since when ?"

"There's not a good answer for that," I manage to say.

"It's a long story, Mags. We're not gonna get into it all right now. He's about to burst into flames from embarrassment."

"Well, yeah , because what the fuck !? And since when do you date men?" This time she directs the question at Matthew. "Mom is gonna fucking die ."

I clear my throat and walk away from the conversation. I might lock myself in the bathroom, or I might put on my shoes and go for a walk.

"He's thirteen years older than us!"

"Yes. I know. What is your problem?"

"He has a little boy ."

"I'm aware of that, Maggie, and?—"

"Why are you doing this?" she bursts. "Your life's not a big enough mess?"

"Ouch," he replies loudly.

"I'm just saying—why the fuck can you not control yourself? He's our brother . What is wrong with you?"

"Stop it," Matthew snaps. "Look, I'm sorry you had to find out like this, which is why I wanted to talk to you in private, and why you should let someone know before you show up at their place at eight in the morning."

"You think talking to me in private would have made this okay ? That anything could?"

" Yes . Because in private I could have told you that I'm with the person who is it for me. And I don't date men because no one else is him ."

"What?" she asks softly, the word shaky like she might be about to cry.

I give up and sit down on the bed, elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

"How long has this been going on?" she asks, the words dark and loaded.

"It's complicated."

"Well, I'm not stupid," she snaps.

Matthew shuts down. I don't see it, but I can feel it like a ripple in the atmosphere. "I'm not prepared to argue a case right now. Fischer and I are together, Mom and Dad will deal with it, and you'll figure it out. And there's nothing wrong with me," he says to her. "I'm just sometimes a messy person."

My heart aches. Out of everyone in our family, he'd been so sure she'd be supportive. This has to be killing him.

"I need to get out of here," she says, barreling toward the door.

He follows her. "Please. Can I explain?"

"You have five minutes."

"Give me two seconds," he says. "I'll walk you out."

"Fine. I'll wait in the hall." Maggie doesn't acknowledge me as she leaves, and it's another punch in the gut.

Matthew squats down in front of me and grabs me by the back of the head. "Hey. Look at me."

I do.

"If she'll listen, I'm gonna tell her everything. And then I'll be back."

I nod.

He stretches to plant a firm kiss on my mouth, as reassuring as he can make it. "I care about her opinion, Fischer, but not half as much as I love you," he says.

"Okay," I whisper.

"When I get back, I'll make it all better, promise."

I grab another kiss for myself. His passion is undeniably intoxicating. "I love you so much," I tell him.

He gives me a grin. "It's gonna be okay."

I let him go.

Knowing I won't be able to get anything productive done with this hanging over us, I crawl up the bed and scroll my phone, looking at but not really seeing the news of the day. I skip everything Afghanistan related. It's not exactly fresh, not exactly PTSD, but the reminders of the desolate, war torn country still don't sit well with me. I have too many feelings about it. About the hostilities and the unfairness of it all. The women and children who didn't ask for this, who—by no fault of their own were born into it.

It's incredible how easily I can still get caught up in "first world problems" having seen all the terror and abject poverty I've seen. It's the reminder I need this morning. Perspective. I'm lucky. So fucking lucky.

Matthew returns less than ten minutes later and throws himself down next to me on the bed, a heavy sigh blowing out of him. I roll to face him and rub his lower back.

"It didn't go well," he mumbles, half muffled by the pillow.

"I'm sorry."

"She'll see. Deep down she wants us both to be happy, so…"

"Did she say that?"

He hesitates a beat too long. "It was always me and her growing up, and I'm usually up front with her about who I'm seeing, so I get this is a blindside. But the truth is, she's been with Stuart eight years. This is about the wedding. How it might reflect poorly or whatever. It's about the Marches. She's a different person— the fucking Pierre ? I don't know what I expected."

I expected more, but I don't say it. I run my hand up his back and play with the thick waves of hair at the top of his neck. "Are you okay?"

"She'll come around after the wedding. At least that's what I'm telling myself."

"I'm sure that's true," I say. However, now that he's brought it up, I address the other elephant in the room. "Speaking of the wedding, it's probably a good idea to break this to Dick and Donna before then."

"You think?" he asks.

"Don't you?" I respond, his question putting another twist of unease in my gut.

"You just never said whether you wanted to be out with me."

My hand moves in slow circles beneath his shirt. "I'm sure if it comes down to it, we'll figure all that out."

"Stop saying if," he murmurs, reaching for me.

I move closer, and he props himself up until we're both on our sides. He kisses me, dragging my leg to wrap around his waist, shoving our chests together and using his entire body to make out with me.

I dissolve into the moment. This was what I waited all night for. What I woke up in the dark several times missing, what I need and crave with every fiber.

When he pulls away to take a breath, he strokes my rough cheek with his thumb. "What'd you do last night?"

"Wished you were here. I want you to quit your job," I say, blurting it out before we get too involved in each other that I forget to say it.

"Why?"

"Because you should be able to focus on your art. You should be molesting me in my sleep, and you can't do any of that when you're not here."

"You don't think I'd be too idle?"

"I don't think you have it in you. But you've barely touched your work."

"I mean…" He glances down my body. "I've been a little distracted."

"You said you could multi-task."

"I was flirting with you. But I'll think about it," he says, pulling up my shirt. I help him take it off, and then I go for his. Chest to chest, we fall into each other's mouths again, the kiss growing deeper and dirtier with each passing second. We both have rock hard erections to work against as we grind against each other, grabbing assess and fistfuls of hair.