Matt's Story (6 page)

It’s been a few weeks since Chris and I finally talked. We’re better now. We hang out, we eat dinner together, and not just for our mother’s benefit. For ours, too. We’re making up time lost, and relearning what the other likes. We’re brothers again.

“So what do you guys want for dinner?” Mom asks, putting her purse on the counter.

“Pizza?” Chris suggests from the chair opposite me at the table. We’ve found our old seats again, the ones we always sat at, with Mom at the head of the table, me to her right and Chris to her left. It was weird without Chris last year—weird when his seat was empty.

“Yeah, pizza,” I agree.

The front door opens and our dad walks in, home earlier than normal, which takes us all by surprise.

“Hey, guys, what’s going on?” he asks, looking, and seeming, exhausted.

“Pizza night,” Chris says triumphantly, and I laugh. Mom’s been especially happy that her boys are getting along again. I’ve been especially happy that she’s been leaving me alone about everything now that she assumes Chris is my confidant again.

“I thought you were cooking?” Dad asks, and I give Chris a look. He rolls his eyes, because Dad always gets like this when things aren’t how
he
wants them.

“I came home late,” Mom sighs. “The boys seem excited about pizza.”

To emphasize her point, Chris chants, “PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA.”

“Okay, fine, that’s fine,” Dad sighs, kissing my mom on the cheek. “Good day, boys?” he asks, squeezing my shoulder and smiling at Chris. They haven’t had the best relationship since we’ve been here, but they’re working on it. Well, Chris is, at least.

“Yeah, fine,” I say, flipping a pen between my fingers.

“Good, good,” Dad says before he, along with all the tension, leaves the room.

“Your dad’s having a tough time at his new job,” Mom says sadly. “Here.” She gives me some money. “Do you mind
picking it up?”

“I’ll go, too,” Chris says, hopping up and giving me a look. I nod and get up to leave, knowing he’s close behind.

“Hey, how was Dad when you guys were away?” Chris asks once we’re in the car.

“The same, really,” I say. “Always busy.”

“That’s Dad. I don’t know why Mom puts up with it.”

“Well, she got him here. I mean, she was livid when he didn’t want to move. Like, threaten-divorce angry,” I explain.

“Oh shit, go Mom.”

“Seriously,” I say, smiling at the memory of my mom starting to pack despite my dad’s reluctance. She’s stronger than she looks, stronger than I am, that’s for sure. I think Chris has a lot of her in him.

“You think they’re okay though? Like, here and stuff?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, she hasn’t left him, so there’s that.”

“It just sucks Dad doesn’t, like, take the time out for her. Or us . . . ,” he says, drifting off. It’s been tense between him and Dad. The ease they once had is gone, and it shows.

“I’m just used to it. And I’ll be gone soon, so.”

“Yeah. Oh, hey, remember Sofia? From Italy?” Chris asks, changing the uncomfortable subject.

“Yeah,” I say, picturing his extremely hot girlfriend. She was tall with dark hair, dark skin, and she kind of spoke
English. Kind of.

“She messaged me on Facebook the other day. Dude, she got hotter somehow.”

“Impossible,” I laugh, then pause. “Wait, you still talk to her?”

“Sometimes,” he answers with a shrug. I glance at him before turning onto Robinson.

“She remembers you?” I ask.

“Why wouldn’t she? I’m Christopher Grayson. No one can forget me,” he says, back to his cocky self. He’s not recovered, not fully yet, but he’s getting back and I think part of it has to do with me forgiving him.

“Uh-huh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “No, seriously, I figured you didn’t talk to anyone from the past. I don’t.”

“That’s because you’re weird,” he points out, and I shove him.

“Shut up.”

“No, really, it’s weird. Why don’t you keep in touch with anyone?”

“I just figured they went on with their lives after I was gone. Why would they want to keep in touch with me?” I ask.

“Because you were friends with them. Because they were in your life. You make it out like they just forget you when you leave.”

“Don’t they?” I ask, still sure in the fact.

“No. Maybe your crazy ex-girlfriend who talked to cats
did, but other people remember. Especially Sofia,” Chris adds with a wink.

I shake my head and signal to turn into the restaurant. “And what does Delilah think of Sofia?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know.”

“Dude.”

“It’s not like I’m going to Italy to cheat on her or anything. I’m not even flirting with Sofia. She’s got a boyfriend, some model or whatever. And Delilah and I trust each other. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, especially considering she’s still with me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, seriously. I’m serious about her, man.”

“Uh-huh,” I say. “You’ve never been serious about a girl. Ever.”

“No, really. She’s awesome. And how she’s stuck with me this whole time? It’s crazy. She’s, like, okay being around someone broken.”

Naturally Ella pops in my mind. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mind, either. But I can’t think that.

“You’re still hung up on Ella, aren’t you?” he asks, as if reading my mind once again. I don’t respond. “Why did you leave her again?”

“Because we moved. Because of . . . everything,” I say, pointing to him.

“Hey, don’t blame your poor relationship decisions on me, man. I kept mine going, even in jail. You’re the one who
gave up.”

“I didn’t give up, I just—” I pause, because that’s exactly what I did. I gave up on her.

“Let me ask you something—if you were in my position, God forbid, would Ella come visit you in jail?”

“What did I do to land in jail?” I ask.

“Doesn’t matter. Answer the question.”

“I don’t know, I guess it depends on the situation, but, yeah, she’d probably visit,” I answer. “Well, I mean, she would have.”

“And if it was her?” he asks. I park the car and sit there. The thought of her in jail is preposterous, but going along with his line of questions, I guess he’s right. I would be there. I wouldn’t give up on her. So why am I letting her hurt now? When I can at least try to make things better?

Chris sees my face and nods. Like always, he knows what I’m thinking without me speaking. We used to think we had telepathy. We’d try it, try to send each other messages during dinner. Not surprisingly, it never worked.

“Think about it,” he says, patting me on the shoulder, and then opening the car door.

I will.

The next day I go to the bookshop. Cindy called for an emergency meeting on a Saturday, so I drive over there, but not before checking the mail.

I walk in and they’re both sitting there, grinning at me.
They look possessed, crazed.

“What’s going on . . . ?” I ask, sitting down across from them.

“Can I tell him? No, you tell him. It’s your news, but OH MY GOD MATT,” Cindy shrieks, and my eyes widen. I look at Kat.

“You got your letter?” I ask.

She nods, a quick excitable nod.

“Out with it!” I command, and she explodes.

“I GOT INTO Boston University!”

“Oh my God!” I yell, jumping up to hug her. “When did you find out? That’s awesome. Congratulations!” I say everything at once, bumbling my words together. Cindy is dancing around, practically floating on air.

“Earlier today. I had to open it, I was just . . . like I said, I already had a few rejections,” she says. “But, oh my God!”

“That’s really awesome!” I say again excitedly.

“And she’s so close to me!” Cindy squeals. “It’s, like, a train ride away. Or a bus ride. Or a quick drive. Whatever. It’s doable.”

“It is,” Kat says, practically glowing. “I know it is,” she says again, taking Cindy’s hand. The transformation was easy for Kat, from nervous to certain. I hope my words might have helped her, but I’m pretty sure it was all Cindy.

Cindy blushes, and then turns to me. “So, yeah, that’s our big news. Now we’re just trying to pick out dorm room stuff, and ugh, it’s so hard.” She pushes a catalogue to me
and points at a page of microwaves.

“Do you like the pink one or the purple one?” Cindy asks, pointing to two bright microwaves in a catalog.

“Does it
have
to be pink or purple?” Kat asks, flipping through the other pages.

“Yes, so it’ll go with my yellow mini refrigerator!”

“How did you find a yellow fridge?” I ask.

“Don’t ask,” Kat says, shaking her head. “I’d much rather pick out classes than this stuff,” she sighs.

“Well, hey, can I ask something else?” I say, twisting my watch.

“What’s up?” Cindy asks, looking up from her catalog. She looks me in the eye and when I start to smile, she shrieks. “YOU DIDN’T! YOU GOT YOUR WASHINGTON LETTER?! AND YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING?”

“Picked it up before coming here,” I say, placing my letter on the table in front of me. It’s thick, like Cindy’s was, so I’m optimistic. But still.

What if I don’t get in, what if my plan falters? What will I do next year instead? I didn’t apply to a backup school, which was stupid, but I just couldn’t be bothered to. I wanted to get away, I wanted this.

“Open it! Open it!” Cindy says, jumping in her seat.

“I . . . ,” I start, looking at the letter. “I can’t.”

“Oh my God, yes you can. You got in, look at it,” Kat says, pointing to the envelope.

“But what if I didn’t?” I ask, and they see the look in my
eyes. They see that I’m worried.

“Give it to me,” Kat says, grabbing the letter. Yes, she’s abrasive, but I need abrasive right now. “Dear Matthew Grayson. Your last name is Grayson? Huh,” she says, and I stare at her, begging her to continue. My heart is racing, my head throbbing. “We’re pleased to inform you that . . . blah blah blah . . . YOU GOT IN.”

I register them cheering in the background. I register the hum and dull noise of the bookstore. I register the table in front of me, and the paper being thrust in my hands. But it doesn’t feel real. And then everything becomes Technicolor and I break out of my haze. Because I’m doing this. I’m really doing it.

“You did it!” Cindy screams, and I break out laughing, eyes-closed laughing, because I did it. I’m making my own path instead of following my family’s. I’m taking things into my own hands.

I’m starting over.

I know we cheer, and I know we hug, and I know we decide that the purple microwave is much better than the pink one. But I’m not here anymore. I’m not in Houston. I’m already in Seattle, staring at the new life ahead of me. And despite the excitement, there’s still a nagging feeling, a string getting thinner and tighter around me that feels like it’s about to break. But I shake my head and ignore it. Leave it for another time. Let me enjoy my moment now.

“Matt,” my mom says excitedly when I get home, “I’m in the kitchen.”

“Coming,” I say, acceptance letter in hand. I know she’ll be thrilled. “Hey, I have good news.”

“And I think you’re about to have some more!” she says, handing me a large envelope. I look at the return address—University of Central Florida.

“What’s this?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s your response from UCF. And by the looks of it, it looks pretty good!” She’s standing next to me, bouncing excitedly.

“Oh . . .”

“Oh?” she asks, her smile dropping.

“I forgot—I mean, I just . . . I don’t want to go there.”

“At least see if you got in, honey. It’s an option,” she says, trying to reassure me, but I didn’t want this. I wanted to forget about that school, especially now that I’ve got another acceptance letter. “I know something went on there, but it can’t be so bad that you can’t go back for school.”

I shake my head. She’s right that people can’t keep me from a city, they can’t kick me out, but why go back to somewhere that holds such mixed memories? Why not move on?

“I didn’t—I just—ugh,” I say, crashing onto the counter. I know I’m being ridiculous, that I shouldn’t complain if another school wants me, but ugh.

“You don’t have to go there, you know, you can just say no,” she says.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, wondering if saying no could be as freeing as saying yes.

“At least open it,” she says, pushing it toward me. I look at the envelope and know what’s going to happen. This isn’t like before—Cindy and Kat aren’t cheering in unison. I’m not envisioning my future. I open the paper and, yes, I did get in, and yes, they’re excited to have me. I even got a scholarship. Great.

“I got in,” I say. “I also got into University of Washington.” I hand her my letter from earlier. “I’m going to go there.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so proud,” she says, sweeping me up for
a hug, but I’m not in a hugging mood. I’m done with hugging and thinking. The excitement is completely gone. I thank my mom and take my letters to my room, shutting the door behind me. I sit at my desk and look at both of them.

I can go to Seattle. I can move on.

Or.

Or I can go back to Orlando. I can start over there. I know I can’t undo everything I’ve done, I know I run the risk of her hating me, and I deserve it, I do. I’ve been horrible. But I can try to make it better. Maybe it’s that simple.

Kat planned her school to be close to Cindy because she believed in them. They were up against life, but they survived. They didn’t run and duck out like me, they embraced their problems and fought. I should have done that from the start. I shouldn’t have escaped, I should have held on.

I get up and walk across the hall to Chris’s room. “Hey.” I hold out both papers.

“UW AND UCF? That’s awesome!” he says, leaning over on his computer chair to give me a high five. He settles back down and looks at me. “But judging by your face, you’re not happy.”

“I am,” I say. “It’s awesome that both schools want me. It’s just—”

“It’s just you had your heart set on UW, but now you have another option that might be more tempting.”

“But it shouldn’t be, right? I left there. I can’t go back there, to all that.”

“Why not?” he asks, still trying to figure it out.

“I never told Ella about you,” I admit, finally. “I kept it all from her.”

“Why?” he asks, confused.

“Because I didn’t want to involve her. I didn’t want her to be wrapped up in our drama.”

“Well, that was stupid.”

“Yeah, I know that now. And then when we got here, Mom and Dad didn’t want me to because—”

“Of me,” he sighs. “Got it.” He looks back at his computer, then turns around again. “But you loved her?”

“Yeah,” I say, sitting on the ground, leaning against his wall.

“So why can’t you tell her now?”

“It’s just so much, and it’s been too long.”

“Matt, didn’t we just discuss this?” he asks, swirling in his chair to study me, stare me down.

“I’m scared,” I admit. And that’s it. That’s really it, I’m just absolutely terrified. Of hurting her. Of getting hurt. I know if I go back I’ll have to do it as me, and not with notes or messages. I’ll have to show her the real me in order for her to trust me again. And that’s terrifying. I don’t know how to do that with someone I care about so much when everything relies on it.

“Dude,” Chris says, kicking my legs. “Man up.”

I look at him, raise an eyebrow, and smile.