Track 49 Real Love
Track 49
Real Love
Matt
Late that night, after Matt had watched Maggie walk away in the moonlight through his bedroom window, he had fought the overwhelming desire to run downstairs, sweep her off her bare feet, and confess everything he had been feeling since the first moment she’d smiled at him.
Meeting Jason had only made matters worse. Matt had scrutinized and evaluated him, searching for faults, but found none. He may have been the nicest guy Matt had ever met. Plus, their bond seemed unbreakable. Not unlike his and Dylan’s. But his feelings for Maggie were completely different from his feelings for Dylan, or anyone else for that matter. Even though they had only just met, he worried he might never stop thinking about her.
When she had walked out of the shower the other day, completely enveloped in his big old bathrobe, he went weak at the knees. The only other time he remembered feeling that sensation was when he was a kid at Yankee Stadium. Ben had hung a set of press credentials around his neck and taken him into the locker room to meet his hero, Derek Jeter. Jeter went to shake Matt’s hand, and Matt had to press his knees together to keep them from buckling. He couldn’t even speak, hardly able to wrangle himself enough to get his ball signed. Matt begged Ben not to share the incident with the guys on the Bay Harbor ball field but Ben couldn’t resist. Matt had barely survived the ribbing he got that summer.
How would he get it together to say goodbye to Maggie at the boat in a few hours, when looking at her out the window, for possibly the last time, made him want to vomit?
All the possible scenarios ran through his head, and none were good.
He canceled his alarm and drifted off, composing different versions of banal texts in his head: Sorry I overslept, it was great to meet you. Good luck with everything.
Turned out his alarm went off anyway—in the form of Dylan clanging two pots in his ear.
“Wake up, Romeo!”
“Stop,” he whined, burying his head under his pillow.
“I heard you last night promising that girl you would see her off. If you want to brush those rancid teeth first, you’d better get out of bed.”
“I’m not going. Leave me alone.”
“What do you mean you’re not going?”
“I’m not going. What’s the point?”
“My point is you are clearly crazy about her.”
“Not your point—I know your point. What’s the point of me going?” he groused, with the sourest of expressions. “Don’t answer. I don’t need you to be my cheerleader here; just leave me be.” He rolled over to face the wall.
Dylan climbed over him and wedged herself between the wall and his face, demanding his attention.
“I can’t. I can’t leave you be. The last time I saw that holy crap look on your face was when that guy from Scoops gave us a five-gallon vat of birthday cake ice cream to take home on Tumbleweed Tuesday.”
“And I was sick to my stomach for a week after.”
“Yeah, well, my bet is it will be two weeks this time. Maybe longer.”
“Leave me alone. I mean it, Dylan. I’m hungover and not doing this.”
The newlyweds stuck their heads in the door.
“Not doing what?” Renee asked.
“He’s not going to the boat to tell Maggie how he really feels about her.”
“I told you!” Jake swatted Renee’s arm.
“This whole conversation is moot. It’s too late.” Matt tapped on the decades-old alarm clock next to his bed. “Look: nine fifty-eight. The boat leaves at ten.”
“Well, it’s a good thing your new dad is the one person on this island who can hold a ferry,” said Jake.
“Oh my God, that’s the first time you said that,” Renee gushed.
“I love you, Jake, really I do, but even if you do stop the boat, I’m not calling you Dad.”
“Does that mean I should stop the boat?”
Matt paused. Dylan screamed, “Nine fifty-nine!”
“Fine,” Matt conceded.
Jake whipped out his cell and dialed a crew member. When the call was answered, he commanded, “Hold the boat!”
Two seconds later, he held the phone out to his side and addressed the three anxious faces in front of him.
“It already left.”
“No!” Dylan and Renee shouted.
“Oh well, you tried,” Matt conceded—clearly relieved.
Jake put his phone back to his mouth.
“Turn the boat around!” he ordered. “Of course I’m serious. Have you ever heard me make a joke?”
He put his phone aside again, this time with a big smile.
“It’s done. Go get her.”
Dylan licked her fingers, wiped down Matt’s cowlick, and took her gum out of her mouth.
“Here,” she said, popping it in his mouth, “it still has lots of flavor in it.”
Aside from the chewing, he froze.
“I don’t know what to say to her,” he bemoaned.
“Just say anything,” Dylan advised.
Matt’s face lit up at her suggestion. He grabbed his old boom box from on top of his desk and bolted, stopping only to warn the three of them:
“Don’t follow me.”
Obviously, they didn’t listen.