51. Matthew

51

MATTHEW

T hunder rolls outside, and my insides continue to gnaw away at themselves. I'm in an unbreakable cycle of sleeping, hydrating, and puking. Something has to give, and in the end, it's my mind.

Gavin hasn't left, but he's a quiet presence who doesn't do much to interfere with my grieving process. He's keeping me alive. Feeding me electrolytes in the form of popsicles and helping me off the bathroom floor and back to bed.

While he quietly stirs soup in the kitchen, I curl into the fetal position and quit my job. I text Maggie that I'm not coming to the wedding, and then I block her number. I send an email to a realtor inquiring about listing my loft. And then I start reading articles about which European cities are the best places to live. Gavin suggests Amsterdam.

After another full day passes where I'm afraid to move for fear of the sickness cycle starting over, I get a call from my mom. I frown at the phone because I know Maggie is behind it—hell, it might even be her because she knows I always answer when Mom calls despite the shitty email that made me throw my laptop—she's too old to ignore. Every time her or Dad's name is on my phone screen, I find myself bracing for the worst.

Cautiously, and as mentally prepared as I can be, I answer the phone on speaker. "Hello?"

"Matty…honey…it's so good to hear your voice." She sounds relieved. I get the feeling the next step was a wellness check from the police.

"Hey, Mom."

"I'd like to come see you for myself."

"I'm okay," I lie.

Gavin comes to sit next to me, offering his presence and silent support. While he says Fischer didn't send him, his being here does make me feel like I haven't been totally abandoned.

"I'd rather you didn't come," I tell Mom. "I've been a little under the weather. I don't want to get you sick."

"I know you think your father and I are upset with you, but we're actually worried about you."

My stomach turns. I'm not sure I'll make it through this conversation. I don't say anything, too afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I open it even slightly.

"I need to hear from your mouth that it's not true," she says.

I press my lips shut and glance at Gavin. His glare at the phone says it all.

"Matty? Did he ever…hurt you?"

I can tell she's crying. She loves the fuck out of Fischer. He's broken her heart a million times, and yet she's exactly like me, hopelessly wrapped up in whatever spell he casts. "Hurt can mean a lot of things," I whisper.

"You know what I mean—what I need to know."

"He never hurt me," I say, except that Fischer is always hurting me. Even when he's making me happier than I've ever imagined, that hurts somehow, too.

I don't know what all my mother knows about me and Fischer—other than that I'm somehow standing in the way of her getting to see her grandson. I don't know what Maggie told her.

If it was everything—including what I told her in confidence about our time when he was recovering—then forgiveness from me is going to take about a decade longer. I should have never told her about that, but I was too busy trying to convince her that what I felt for Fischer was different and real that I didn't care what it might have looked like to someone like, oh, say, our mom . Or the Marches.

So I tell her the truth. "We were both adults. It's aways been consensual. That's all you need to know."

"Matthew…"

"I'm not kidding, Mom. Drop it."

She makes a noise of dismay.

Look, I'm not the golden child. That was Maggie's job. I've always been the incorrigible one. The baby. The one who never kept to curfew. Who smoked pot and cigarettes at fifteen. Who started having sex at sixteen, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to find a place to park and hook up with anyone who was willing.

Stonewalling my mom is old hat. She's on a need to know basis.

"Look, I'm sorry Nicole is being a bigoted bitch. And I'm sorry if it's causing you or dad any trouble, but we'll survive."

"I was calling to make sure you know I'm here for you."

I scoff. "Is that right?

"Is Fischer…there?"

My laugh is mirthless. "No, Mom. Fischer is most definitely not here ." The words make my head spin. I try to find a focal point, settling on the fucking tree. On a pale green leaf that hangs perfectly still near the top. It reminds me of Fischer's eyes, but I keep staring at it, allowing the pain of missing him to settle in my chest without fighting it so hard. I need to learn to live with it.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I just don't think I understand."

"Do you want to?" I ask.

She harrumphs. "Good question."

"Well, thanks for checking in," I say flatly.

"You should call your sis?—"

"I'm hanging up now."

"Matthew, I love you. Take care of yourself. Promise me."

"I'm doing my best." And I add a soft, "I love you, too," out of habit. It feels like a betrayal the moment the words leave my mouth, and I hang up after that.

I try sitting. Gavin's hand lands on my lower back to hold me up. I'm weak, dehydrated, starving with no appetite. He hands me the glass of water on my nightstand. I take a sip. As it threatens to settle poorly once again, Gavin says, "Breathe through your nose."

I do everything he says, so I try this, too. My will strengthens as I manage to keep it down for a full minute, and I take another, longer sip, testing my limits.

With Gavin's coaching, twenty minutes later, I finish the glass.

By evening, I've had some of his soup and two more liters of water. I'm staying upright, pacing the floor, stretching my arms, legs, back, and neck. And I need more.

With more energy comes anger. It starts small as irritation, an itch, and then it builds into a ball of fire in my chest, demanding fuel.

All my rage at the circumstances that brought me to this place needs an outlet. I'm furious with myself. For wanting too much. For letting him go. For falling in love with the one person I knew would hurt me more than anyone else possibly could. For not being able to shake him loose from my soul.

I wish I had the nerve to call him up and yell at him for not fighting for us. For not making things right with Nicole. For his shitty text message followed by radio silence. But here's what's sick—so fucking sick — I don't want to make him mad at me . Like I literally don't think I could take it. I'm trapped inside this ferocious love I have for him, and I have no desire to tear my way out of the cage. Without him, I'm chaos.

I only make sense with him. Things I never thought I could piece together—my creativity and my desires. My attention span and my shyness. For him it's one tidy package made to please and entertain him, and he loves it. He loves me . I wish I could believe anything else—that if he cared about me, he'd be here, that he'd fight for me, but I know exactly how he feels about me, and that hurts the worst.

Because I'm not Vaughn. I'm not his flesh and blood. And I may need him so fucking much that not having him almost kills me, but my heart's still beating. Vaughn deserves a dad, the same way Fischer did. I can't imagine the pressure he feels right now to stay in his son's life. The broken glass he would crawl through to get there.

But I can't bring myself to initiate a breakup or even give him the opening to break up with me officially. Right now, we're in limbo, and he may be just as unsure how to handle what's next as I am.

"I think I'm gonna be okay," I tell Gavin after about an hour of pacing the loft.

"I think you are, too."

"Will you make sure he is?" I ask.

"You two are so fucking sweet," he says from the couch, shaking his head, a soft smile on his face.

I resent that. There's nothing sweet about this. My glare doesn't deter him from elaborating. "I still mean what I said when I got here. It's gonna be okay. I don't know how or when, but there's no way you don't end up together."

"You're a romantic."

He gestures at the tree. "Aren't you?"

"I'm a disaster."

"He loves his kid. But he's not gonna let you go without a fight."

"That explains why he's been blowing up my phone."

"Can you forgive him?" Gavin asks.

I scowl. "What's there to forgive? He's doing what he has to do. I get it."

"What I don't think you get is what you mean to him."

"The reason he's gonna lose his kid, you mean?" I ask, so fucking bitter.

"He may be reeling, but he's not stupid, Matthew. And neither are you. You're both re-grouping. Fine. That's great, actually. It'd be ideal if you could do it together, but for whatever reason, he feels like staying away is the right move. For now . I don't think he's gonna last though."

"How would you know? You've been here."

Gavin holds up his phone. "He texted me last night asking how many times I've seen Ravenna at the club."

"And?"

"More than the one time she told him about."

"So what? She has almost nothing to do with this."

"No, but she's a Gallo. Her mother is Stef March's best friend. And she has a business and reputation to protect."

"Unless you've got something on Nicole, I don't see how the Gallos or the Marches matter."

"They matter because no one covers shit up like Upper East Side society. It's like the fucking Pentagon. What Fischer and I both know is that if The Gallos and the Marches don't want something to come out— they'll get to Nicole. And he's about to start making a lot of noise."

I flinch. I don't want this for him. I don't want for us to exist at the mercy of rich, entitled assholes who don't want their baby girl's good name associated with a sex club. "Why does it have to be so complicated?"

"It's the UES. I'm not sure people like you and me are meant to understand how things work there."

He's right, of course. I've worked at The Eastmoor for over a year, and I still can't fathom the wealth and influence I see every day, or my own invisibility. Ravenna didn't even realize where she recognized me from when she showed up in Fischer's apartment that time.

As I'm considering this, the knock on my door scares the shit out of me.

"Matthew?" A female voice.

I swear to God, my sister.

I bottle all my rage, pain, and confusion and start for the door. Flinging it open, I couldn't be more surprised if it were my dead grandmother.

"Uncle Matty?"

My eyes drift down from Nicole's face to Vaughn's.

"Mom, you didn't tell me we were gonna see Matty. I had a toy for him."

"Sorry, sweetie. I wasn't thinking. Hi," she says to me.

I don't know Nicole well. She's one of those picture perfect women who smiles easily and always has a witty comeback. But she looks nervous, that easy smile only a slight twitch of her lips. Like she just can't make herself.

"Hi."

I squat down to give Vaughn a hug before I realize Nicole might not want me to.

But she lets go of his hand, and he comes into my arms.

"Hey," I tell him. He smells like sweat and fruit snacks. He's sticky as usual.

"Is Dad here?"

"Not right now, bud."

"I have a toy for you, but it's at home."

"What is it?" I ask.

"A truck, but when you push it really hard, sparks come out of it."

"Sparks?" Is he a pyro, too? Jesus, this kid scares the crap out of me.

His eyes light up as he nods.

"Yeah, I'd love to take that off your hands," I say.

A slight laugh comes from Nicole, and I look back up at her.

I put my hand on Vaughn's head and use it as leverage to stand and face her. "Come in, I guess."

"Thanks."

"Oh. My. God." Vaughn says.

I turn to find him looking at the tree.

"Wow," Nicole murmurs.

I swallow hard and turn my back on them both, choked up suddenly and not knowing what to do with this punched in the chest feeling. I also realize I'm not wearing a shirt. God.

Gavin gathers his things as I walk to my dresser, pull out the first thing I grab—a tight black tank—and pull it over my head. It's not as tight as it was last time I wore it—a result of the last week.

I wonder if I look as wasted as I feel.

"Fischer mentioned it was incredible," Nicole says. She hasn't noticed Gavin. She's still staring at the tree.

I'm a fucking mess. I close my eyes and give my head a slight shake to pull myself together, trying to get Fischer's image out of my mind. But it's impossible with his son in the room.

Nicole turns as Gavin passes me, giving my arm a squeeze. "Call me if you need anything," he says quietly.

"Hey—" I grab for his hand, stopping him.

He looks at me, wide-eyed and expectant.

"Thank you."

He gives me a soft smile and nods. "It's gonna be okay," he reminds me once again.

I nod and let him go. He slips quietly out the door, and I turn back to Nicole who looks like she's trying to solve a physics problem.

I should probably offer her something. Coffee or water or…what could she possibly want? There's barely anything left of me.

"Maggie gave me your address," she says when my words fail to materialize.

I nod. I figured.

"Everyone's worried about you."

I can't read her tone, but I lift my arms like what you see is what you get. "Still standing," I tell her. "That's why you're here? Because there are a lot of people who want to see him, and I figured I'd be at the bottom of that list." I nod toward Vaughn.

"Can I climb it, Matty?"

I look at my nephew, horrified. " No . Look. Come here." He walks with me to the couch. I open up my iPad to the sketching app and hand him the digital pencil. "Draw it for me. You know how to change the colors, right?"

"I'll figure it out," he says, squinting across the loft at the tree.

"It's glass, dude." I feel compelled to add. "You can't climb things made of glass."

He sighs like that's the dumbest rule ever.

"It's supposed to be art. You take art class right?"

"Yeah."

"It's for looking at. Draw it. There's thirteen hundred leaves on it. Can you count that high?"

"Maybe."

"Go for it."

He accepts the challenge, immediately changing the pen's color to green. I leave him to it and walk back to Nicole, gesturing at the kitchen table, where all of Fischer's notes, pads, and pens still litter the surface. I start stacking them up as she takes a seat. My hands are shaking, and I hate that for myself.

I give up trying to organize his mess and collapse into a chair. But I can't look at her. "What's up?"

"I have a lot of questions," she says.

I inhale deeply. "I can't promise I'm gonna answer any."

"I had no idea Fischer was attracted to men."

"I didn't either until a couple months ago."

"No?"

I shake my head.

"I'm not sure I knew you were either."

"No offense, Nicole, but it's never been any of your business."

"I know. I want you to know that's not the issue."

"To be honest, I don't know what the fuck is going on. All I know is one second, I'm trying to keep myself from getting too excited about being in love with someone for the first time, because it's terrifying, and the next second he's gone, and I realize I was right to be scared. So in terms of the details about you wanting to keep Vaughn away from his dad—that's about all I know. I don't know what he did wrong. I don't know what you heard. So what do you want?"

She speaks without pretense or filter. "I want to know who Fischer is. Because I might have been married to him, but all of a sudden people are telling me things, and I feel like I don't know shit. Which means as far as I know, my child is with a virtual stranger who's screwing one of my friends and his brother?—"

Indignation flares. A sign of life. "I'm not his fucking brother. He was never there. He never acted like one. He never treated me like one, and I don't mean that in some sick, perverted way, or whatever the fuck my mother thinks now—I mean he wanted nothing to do with us."

"He did tell me that," she says softly.

"Well, believe it. He was an asshole . I've never even heard him call my parents by anything other than their names. He calls my dad Dick for fuck's sake."

"I know," she says.

"Right. So what else?"

"Sex clubs?"

"It's his friend Gibson's club."

"Gibson?" she says loudly enough to make Vaughn's head jerk up. And then she leans in and whispers, "Gibson has a sex club?"

"Best kept secret on the Upper East Side apparently."

"Oh my God."

"Look—I don't know about your sex life, and I don't want to, that's not me asking, because it's none of my fucking business. I wouldn't want to tell you about mine either, but you've been single in this town before. You know how it goes."

"I mean…right, but…"

"Anyway, no one's having threesomes in his living room that I'm aware of. I know he had a thing with your friend Raven for a few months where she'd come up and keep him company some nights, but?—"

"She mentioned another man in his apartment."

I shut up and look at her, my gut twisting. "What?"

"A blond? Kinda feminine?"

"Gavin?" I point at the door Gavin just exited. "His assistant?"

"Was that him?" If it's possible, she looks even more concerned.

"Yeah. What? What's that look?"

Nicole shakes her head and seems to sink inside her own frame. "I just want to understand what the hell is going on."

"He works for him, and he was checking on me—that's it. What the hell do you think is going on?"

"Raven made it sound like?—"

"Like what?" I snap, reaching the end of my rope.

Her voice is small when she answers. She can't seem to bring herself to look at me. "Like parties and hookers and drugs…"

" Drugs? He's just bi, Nicole. He drinks too much sometimes, but there aren't any drugs. No parties, either, and I would know. I'm the fucking doorman."

"Right," she whispers.

"Maybe you should try talking to him ," I suggest, not kindly.

"Vaughn said you were kissing."

I bite down on my lips. "And?"

She shakes her head. "Snuggling…"

This is exasperating. "So not snorting lines with our dicks out, then. Or taking turns on Gavin."

She takes a deep breath. Her tone changes, softening. "He's changed so much."

"Fischer? Yeah. He's been through a lot."

"I wish he'd have let me know him. Better."

That's not something I can speak to, what Fischer decides to share with whom and when. I just know his heart. And I love it more than anything.

"Where is he?" she asks.

"Got me. I assume he's at his place."

"You haven't talked to him?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Matthew."

"What'd you expect? That he'd pick me over him?" I nod toward the couch where Vaughn looks like he's trying to get the job done.

"That's not—I wasn't trying to?—"

"I don't blame him. You either. Kinda figured it wasn't meant to be a long time ago."

She makes a sympathetic noise, and it makes me want to ask her to go.

"He's so fucking easy to love," she says. "I used to tell him that, and he'd blow me off, remind me how his mother gave him away and never came looking. Like that was because of him somehow."

I suck in my cheeks, trying hard not to tear up.

"But he just runs from it, you know?"

"Yeah," I choke out.

"I'm sorry he ran from you," she says.

"Don't take his kid, Nicole."

Our eyes meet. "Can you swear to me that I overreacted? That nothing Raven implied is remotely true."

"I shouldn't have to," I mumble.

" Please ."

"Yes. Fuck. It's just me and him. It's always been me and him. If he touched another man, I'd lose my fucking mind, and I imagine he feels the same way."

She looks stricken. Hurt, and also ashamed.

Good.

"Okay," she whispers.

"Did Vaughn say he felt unsafe?" I ask, not letting her off the hook that easy.

"No. No…" she rushes to assure me. "He says you give the best snuggles."

I swallow hard, tears burning my eyes.

She puts her hands on the table and scoots back. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. Thank you for talking to me. Vaughn? Wanna say bye to Uncle Matty?"

Vaughn runs over way too fast with my iPad and shows me how far he got with the drawing. It vaguely resembles a tree. Not the tree, but a tree. "I counted to five-hundred and twenty-five in my head while I was drawing."

"Not bad." I sniff, extracting the tablet and pen from his sticky hands.

Vaughn turns and looks up at Nicole. "Can we go see Dad now?"

"Yes," she says. "Let's go see your dad."

"Yes," Vaughn says with a victorious gesture. "Bye, Matty."

I rub his head. "Bye, bud. Give your dad a hug for me, okay?"

I don't know why I said that. I wish I could stuff the words back into my mouth.

I show them out and sink to the floor with my back against the door. Alone again, my insides feel hollowed out. I fight the urge to cry, afraid I'll get sick again. But the restlessness won't let me sit still.

Fischer's nightmare might be over, but mine is just beginning.

So while I can't end what I feel for him, how much I still want him and frankly fucking require him to function properly, I need to end something . So the question becomes—what do I know for sure, without question, I can live without.

I've been going down the list:

Maggie's condescension.

The Eastmoor. Fuck that place.

This loft.

This city.

This language.

This country.

But it's not enough. Because I still can't fucking breathe.

The royal blue leaf I dropped on the floor when Maggie told me Fischer wouldn't be coming home winks at me from a distance.