Chapter 4 Noah #2
The other half of the dreams might have been worse.
They filled in the blanks of where that kiss might have gone.
They were cut through with memories of the way Matt had touched me when we were younger, hesitant at first and then more confident.
They were filled with things I’d learned since we’d broken up, and the ghost of the sounds he used to make when he came.
It might not have been a problem if those dreams were about literally anyone else, but jacking off to memories of the ex who had just rejected me seemed like a terrible idea.
It felt like I would be crossing fifty lines, even if he never knew about it.
Needless to say, I felt like the walking dead when I got to work.
I was exhausted, and I was pretty sure I had unsightly bags under my eyes.
I hadn’t noticed them in the mirror when I’d done my morning skin care routine, but then again, I hadn’t looked too closely.
There was no way in hell I could handle that on top of a near sleepless night. I was too vain for it.
The worst part was even after dreaming of the kiss, over and over again until it was warped into an almost nightmare-ish version of the event, was that it didn’t even untangle any of the knots it had left me in.
I wasn’t any more clear on why Matt had rejected the idea of going upstairs.
I didn’t have any more clarity about how I felt about him. It was all a big mess.
I tried to think it through as I went about my daily duties.
On one hand, Matt was the only person I’d ever really loved.
The crush I’d developed on him was the first time I’d ever felt anything like that at all, and nothing since had compared.
He’d seen me in ways that no one else ever had, and he’d loved me despite my numerous flaws.
He’d listened to me ramble about art and science and books that I was reading.
He supported my dreams, and he’d dreamed them with me.
On the other hand, he’d broken my heart in a way that made me think that I was broken for years.
We weren’t the same people that we were back then.
Time and life had shaped us into new people.
We were practically strangers to one another, even if we knew parts of each other that a stranger wouldn’t.
Of course, that begged the question of whether those parts were still there.
Was his favorite color still forest green, or had that changed?
Did he still wear shirts with nerdy sayings sprawled across the chest?
Did he still hate artificial fruit flavors?
Once upon a time, I knew all those facts just as well as I knew my own favorite color, my own fashion sense, my own likes and dislikes. I’d known him as well as I’d known myself.
It was complicated. Kissing him had turned my life into one big complication, and a part of me felt like I should regret it, but I didn’t.
I didn’t regret the moment our lips touched or the flood of memories that came rushing back to me in that moment.
I didn’t regret spending the day with him.
I didn’t even really regret suggesting that we go upstairs, even if his rejection had stung and made me doubt pretty much everything about myself.
I didn’t know how I felt about him now, only how I’d felt about him when we were younger.
I only knew how much I wanted to kiss him again and learn the answers to all those questions.
Maybe then, I’d figure out how I felt about him in the present tense, learn if it was just nostalgia or if there was something real there.
Moira was right, like she always was. I needed to talk to Matt.
When my shift ended, I was going to do it.
I was going to text him, and I was going to set a time for us to meet so we could talk about it for real.
I wanted to know where his head was after our kiss, and I wanted to know why he didn’t want to go back to his apartment.
Maybe Moira had been right about that too, and he just didn’t sleep with someone on the first date.
Whatever it was, there was only one person that could sate my curiosity.
I just had to make it through the rest of my shift.
Unfortunately, I still had six hours left.
My agonizing had only filled two hours of my eight-hour shift.
Knowing I had a potentially unpleasant task ahead of me made the day drag.
By the time I hit my lunch break, I felt like I’d worked three weeks without sitting down.
I was so exhausted that I could only choke down half of the ham sandwich I’d bought from the small cafeteria in the museum’s basement.
Which, for me, was a major red flag. I could usually eat a horse.
Four hours left, I reminded myself as I dragged myself out of my office after lunch.
I made my way through the exhibit we were opening in a few days, checking that labels were affixed to the right pieces of art and that the laborers were hanging the frames perfectly straight and that the flow had the right vibes.
There were a few paintings that needed to be swapped around, because they were next to other loud pieces that made that bit of wall feel almost overwhelming. Not the right fit for a museum.
I was studying another series of paintings when I felt someone watching me.
I ignored it until I couldn’t. When I finally turned around, I saw Matt leaning against the arched frame that led to the gallery, watching me from across the velvet rope that closed it off to the general public.
He gave me a tentative smile, and I knew that the moment had come hours earlier than I’d planned.
There was no avoiding it.
It was time to talk about that kiss.