Chapter 2 Noah #2
The bedroom area of the boat laid just beyond that.
He still had the same faded blue bedspread on the double bed with the crocheted afghan his grandmother had made for him laid across the bottom, neatly folded.
There was a small shelf on the side, lined with rubber ducks.
One caught my eye more than the others. The painted sweater was chipped, but I could still make out the small MIT logo painted across the front.
I smiled as I picked it up delicately. “You still have this?”
His eyes moved to the duck I was holding. “Like I’d ever get rid of it.”
I felt a warmth in my chest that I hadn’t felt in years, a warmth that I associated solely with Matt.
Because he’d been the only person that had ever been able to make me feel that way.
I looked between him and the rubber duck a few times before placing it back on the shelf.
I’d made that duck for him when he’d gotten his acceptance letter to MIT.
It had been a part of our plans. I was going to Brown; he was going to MIT.
Except it hadn’t worked out that way. He’d chosen a college in California, and it had been the end of our relationship.
I’d have thought that he’d have gotten rid of the duck over the years.
It was a sentimental present, not something that most people would have kept after a breakup.
I wondered if it meant anything, the fact that he’d kept it all these years.
It was a stupid thought, because while not much on this boat had changed, I knew that the two men on it had.
I had.
The duck was likely nothing more than a memory of first love or something.
Matt opened the door off the bedroom area, and we climbed the small ladder up to the top of the boat.
The heavy chairs on top had changed. The double-seater that we’d spent nights cuddled up on, kissing under the stars, was gone.
It had been replaced by the metal frame of a double lounger.
He noticed me looking at it and grinned.
“It has a cushion,” he assured me, like that had been on my mind at all.
I figured it had to. Matt had always been a bit strange, but I didn’t think he’d choose to have a seat that was just metal bars.
He’d never been a masochist.
“I’d offer to get them out so we could relax up here, but they’re all the way at the front of the boat,” he explained.
I noticed the way he was shifting from leg to leg, almost like he was anxious.
Or maybe he just had to pee. With the Matt I remembered, it could have been either. I wondered if that had stayed the same.
Either way, I wanted to put him at ease. “It’s fine,” I assured him. “We can hang out up here another time. Besides, it’s better when the stars are out.”
“Or sunset,” he agreed. “Or sunrise. Really any time but midday. I mean, it’s nice up here midday, but not as nice, you know?
” He paused. Like, actually paused. He stopped moving completely, like someone had hit a pause button and froze him in place.
Then, his smile grew about ten sizes. “Wait, another time?”
“What, did you think we were only going to hang out once?” I questioned with a chuckle.
He shrugged, and that warmth bloomed in my chest again. It really was just a Matt thing.
We climbed down the ladder back to the main part of the boat and went to the small living room.
He plopped down on the couch, and I sat beside him.
I was careful to leave space between us.
I had to admit that while the couch was hideous, it was comfortable.
The fabric was still soft, worn with age.
The design might have been faded to the point where if I hadn’t known that it had once had a floral print, I might have questioned what the details were.
I traced my fingers over the faded shapes.
“Have you ever thought of reupholstering this thing?”
“No. It serves its purpose.”
Matt never had cared as much for aesthetics as I had, so I shouldn’t have been surprised.
We talked a little longer. He told me about the website he was working on, some commission for a company halfway across the country.
They’d reached out to him online because he’d worked on stuff for people the owner knew.
According to him, it was a pretty big project, and it would lead to a lot more work if he did it well.
I knew Matt. He’d do it well. He might not have an eye for interior design, but he seemed to know how people’s minds worked when it came to almost any kind of tech.
Every design I’d ever seen him do was instinctive.
Even the small apps he’d played around with building when we were in high school had that same instinctive flow to it.
I told him a little about one of the exhibits I was working on at the museum, and he asked a lot of questions about the history of the art pieces I mentioned.
He was more engaged in the conversation than anyone I had talked to about it.
Most people got a glazed over look in their eyes when I talked about my job, but not Matt.
He hung on every word and asked intelligent questions.
Time passed quickly, and we might have stayed there talking well into the evening if his phone hadn’t chimed with a text message. I watched as he pulled his phone out and sighed. “I forgot I made dinner plans with Holden,” he groaned. “I’ve got to head out.”
It was hard to believe that it was already close to dinner time. “Walk you back to your car?”
“I’d love that.”
We left the boat with him once again offering his hand to me to help me over the gap between the boat and the dock.
Our hands and arms bumped each other’s as we walked back up the narrow boat dock.
They kept bumping as we walked along the sidewalk back to the parking lot of the restaurant.
I didn’t know if it was on purpose or if he was still just incapable of walking in a straight line.
Whatever it was, I didn’t think I minded.
I walked him right to his car. We stopped by the driver’s side door. There was a weird sort of tension lingering in the air for a moment. I didn’t know how to say goodbye to him. I swallowed hard before nodding. “Goodbye, I guess.”
“It was good seeing you today.” I could hear the nerves in his voice.
Then, he pulled me into a hug. His arms wrapped around me, and I noticed how much thicker they were now than when we were in high school.
When I pressed against his chest, I noticed how much more solid he felt against me.
He smelled like the salt air with some kind of woodsy undertone, a cologne or something he’d never worn when we were younger.
I’d noticed the ways he’d changed while we’d hung out, but I didn’t notice any of that until I was up close and personal with him.
My mouth was dry, and my tongue felt like cotton.
The hug lingered for a few moments longer than it probably should and left me feeling unmoored when it ended. Matt climbed into his car, and I watched as he left the parking lot.
I could still feel the heat and weight of his arms.