2. Matty
Chapter 2
Matty
WILLA
Lock up the clinic and get over here, birthday boy! We’ve got a pitcher of margaritas with your name on it!
I don’t even like margaritas
Shots then. We have lots of shots. Get your ass over here old man
I don’t like your tone
I do what Willa asks, checking to make sure everything is put away and the front is mopped clean of all the random slobber, fur, and occasional pee that makes its way in during the average vet clinic day. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that Liv, my receptionist, has taken care of it for me. She’s supposed to do it every day, but sometimes it doesn’t happen.
I walk into Los Amigos ten minutes later and find my best friends in the world: Willa Dash, her boyfriend Reid MacKinnon, and Goldie Dash, Willa’s little sister. They all cheer as I make my way to them, making such a ruckus that the rest of the restaurant has no chance of missing what’s going on.
“Happy birthday, old man!” Willa says gleefully, standing up to give me a hug.
“You’re never going to get over me being a year older than you, are you?” I grin, squeezing her back.
She pulls away and laughs. “No way. Especially not now, when it matters.”
Reid stands and claps me on the back. “Happy birthday, man. Welcome to my decade.”
Goldie gives me a soft smile, staying seated and raising a margarita in my direction. “Happy birthday!”
I lean down to give her a kiss on the cheek, catching her perpetual scent of summer and sunshine in the process. “Thanks, Goldie.” I take a seat next to her, then pour myself a margarita and tuck into the chips and dip.
Before long, the food is on the table and the evening is well underway, and I relax into the camaraderie. It seems I might just make it through the night without Willa doing something to embarrass me, which has been her usual approach over the last decade. But then, our server Carmen comes out with a cake and the restaurant’s massive sombrero—brought out only for birthdays—and I know I’m sunk. The Mariachi band that comes every Thursday arrives at our table with a flourish, leading the entire restaurant in a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. It’s impossible to be mad, even if I don’t love all the attention.
Beside me, Goldie angles out of her chair to light the candles while Willa aims her phone at me, capturing the entire thing. I wink at the camera, and then, holding the brim of the sombrero up, I blow them out and try like hell to ignore the twinge in my chest that wants something more.
A chorus of cheers and Happy birthdays ring across the restaurant as the candles go out. I should be happy. Grateful. I’m with my favorite people in the world, in the town I love, and I’m healthy. I shouldn’t feel so… greedy for more. Maybe it’s the milestone birthday that’s got me so introspective. Maybe it’s the fact that I still haven’t gotten so much as a text from my parents acknowledging the day. I didn’t expect one, not really, but there’s no denying the sting of it.
Maybe some of it is that my best friend has Reid now. I’m incredibly happy for her, and she deserves everything in the world, but all that coziness is a little nauseating at times. Then there’s Goldie. Willa and Goldie. Goldie and Willa. They’ve been my constants for years, and while Willa has truly only ever been a friend, there were a few quick times I’ve looked at Goldie and wondered. But I figure that’s no good. Willa would have a conniption, for one thing. And Goldie? She’s always been the life of the party, the exciting, interesting woman who can command an entire room the second she walks into it without even trying. She lives in technicolor, while I’m over here with a boringly steady life. It’s only a matter of time before she’s chasing news stories across the state, or even the country. There’s no way a boring, steady guy like me even crosses her mind.
Not to mention all the romance novels that I can’t stop inhaling. Liv left one at the office a few years ago, and I read the whole thing overnight. I was a zombie the next day, and when Liv figured out what happened, she started feeding me books. Damn things are addictive, and they’re making me all googly-eyed.
I see Willa, and I read all these books, and all I can wonder is when my turn will come. If ever.
“Everyone, get together for a picture!” Carmen grabs Willa’s phone and gestures for us to squeeze in. I’m between Goldie and Willa, like always, and Reid is on Willa’s other side.
“This hat is ridiculous,” Willa laughs, snuggling in and tugging Reid with her. “Get in, Goldie—we’re sharing!”
Goldie scoots even closer, her cheek resting against mine as we all ham it up for the camera. As we all break apart, Goldie’s soft smile captures my attention again.
“What’s up?”
She meets my eyes. “Me? Nothing.”
I look closely. Nothing’s changed. “Are you sure? You’re quiet.”
She laughs as she scoots her chair back to her side of the table. “I’m never quiet, Matty. You’re the quiet one, remember? Now slice up this cake!” She hands over the knife.
The flavor is carrot, my favorite, and it’s a huge sheet cake, with plenty to dole out to everyone in the restaurant. We all know each other; it’s impossible not to. I’m their vet.
“How’s Sammie?” I ask Carmen about her schnauzer as I hand her a slice.
She beams. “He’s great! Much better now that I’ve got him on that special food.”
“Not feeding him leftovers from the restaurant is probably helping,” I say with a grin.
After we demolish the cake, Carmen comes back with a round of tequila shots. Reid begs off, so I drink his. I only turn thirty once, right?
I might have another shot—things get a little fuzzy after a bit.
Is Goldie looking at me a little longer than usual?
Nah. That’s wishful thinking.
Wait. Wishful? No. More like suicidal, because honestly, now that Willa’s dating a cop, she could just ask for him to have me offed. The guy was undercover with a drug cartel, after all. He knows things. Techniques.
I snort. I’m drunk.
“Um, yeah, you are, big guy,” Willa laughs.
I swivel my head to her. “Yup.”
“I think that’s our cue,” Willa says, standing and waving for me to do the same. “Let’s get you home.”
“I’ll drive,” Reid says. “ All of you.”
Goldie makes a face. “I’m fine.”
“I’m a cop, Goldie. Do you really think I’m going to let you drive buzzed?” Reid gives her a look that might make a lesser person shrink.
Goldie is definitely not that person. Giggling, she concedes. “You’re right. Also, you’re funny when you’re growly.”
He grins at her indulgently. “Okay, buzzed girl. Let’s go.”
Goldie and I climb into the back of Reid’s F-150 and Willa takes the front. She turns to us as Reid pulls onto the road. “Goldie first, then you, yeah?”
I nod. At least, I think I do.
“Ooh, turn it up!” Goldie commands.
It’s Open Arms by Journey. “Really?” Reid sighs.
Willa turns it up, and Goldie proceeds to belt the chorus at the top of her lungs.
All I can do is laugh, because Goldie may have a lot of amazing qualities, but being a good singer is not one of them.
She pokes me in the side and grins maniacally. “Join in!”
I shrug and join in, and I’m positive that Reid breaks the speed limit to get us home faster.
By the time I’m letting myself into my house, I’ve sobered up about five percent. Kitty, my German Shepherd, and Spot, my calico cat, greet me like they always do. My other cat, a grouchy orange tabby named Crush, stares at me in silent judgment from his perch on top of the couch as I walk past.
I give him a salute. He blinks and looks away.
I let Kitty out and feed and water all three, then check in on Hedgie, my hedgehog. He’s ridiculously cute, and happily munches on the dinner I drop into his habitat.
A little later, I flop onto the couch and grab my laptop. My head is still pleasantly fuzzy, so it’s the perfect time to create a profile on the app I’ve seen way too many advertisements for.
Blinding Love.
It’s a stupid name, right? But the concept is that the app won’t let you see the person’s face until you’ve talked for a certain length of time. And then, it only lets you post pictures that don’t include your face. The whole thing’s bizarre and no way can it actually work, but tonight? I need to be a little less boring.
In fact, that’s my resolution for this decade: No more Boring Matty. No more all-work-and-no-play Matty.
Yeah. That sounds good. I can do this. I have no idea what being less boring looks like, but I can figure it out. Maybe I’ll make a list.
My first step is this app. It can’t hurt. Not like the women of this town are shoving each other down to go on a date with me, anyway. So I’ll do it.
With a fake name.
Or at least, with a name that doesn’t let the good people of Lucky know that their number one vet is using a blind date app. I may have resolved to be less boring, but there’s no shaking off the pragmatism. We’re not making miracles over here.
I pull it up and get to it.