Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
M att flies to New York to join me for the hospital's big gala scheduled for the third Saturday of April. It's another big event that will be photographed excessively, and I am still not entirely comfortable. Our relationship as far as the media is concerned is still neither confirmed nor denied by Matt in any kind of official statement or social media post—though it's obvious we are together. I ask him what would be so bad about just saying something? He balks when I suggest it, reminding me of his darkest moments. I try to not get bogged down by the optics of it and default to whatever makes him comfortable.
I'm nervous going into the gala, in part because of the pressure to make it a success—we need a very specific number in donations to make the dream of the unit a reality. The other part is the strange sensation I’m feeling about bringing Matt into my work world. Like the first time you bring your boyfriend home to meet your parents and he's covered in tattoos and drives a motorcycle. You know they're going to have opinions, and frankly, I don't want to hear any of them.
It doesn't help that every chance he gets, Dr. Kampf mentions how spectacular it'll be to have Matt Johnson photographed in front of a New York Grace backdrop.
He comes straight to my apartment with his luggage and several guitars. He's staying in New York for a few nights, heading over to a studio in the West Village to work. After a quick rendezvous in the shower together, I'm slightly more relaxed and begin the process of getting ready.
Matt lounges in my bed, scrolling on his laptop. As I dry my hair, I see the frown on his face. He seems miffed.
"What's up?"
"Nothing, babe."
"Liar."
"It's nothing. Nothing to talk about—it's your night."
"It's not my night, it’s the hospital's night. And I want to know what's got you looking like that."
"These fucking emails. All the travel is getting booked for tour, and it just feels daunting to know I'm pretty much gone until July. Plus, I just got the details about all the PR stuff I have to do for the album. It's bumming me out. So much has to do with social media. And engagement. The label says you either go viral on TikTok or you're doomed. It just doesn't make sense for me and my music. I'm not doing songs people can necessarily do a dance to. I don't even think TikTok is my demographic. The whole thing just makes me feel very old. And tired."
"A TikTok dance? That's the metric for success now? Yikes."
"Tell me about it. And once the press stuff is done, the tour starts. And I'm excited about that. I love touring. But that just means I'm not going to see you as much."
I step out of the bathroom to look at him. "I know, that is bumming me out, too."
"But maybe it doesn't have to?"
I raise an eyebrow.
"You could come with me. Take a leave of absence."
"Ha ha. No way."
"Seriously? You're just going to shoot down the idea that quickly?"
"Were you serious? You want me to leave my job and follow you around the country for four months?"
"Yes, I do," he says quietly. "And I think that's a big part of the reason I've been feeling so ambivalent about the idea of going back on tour. There are a lot of long travel days and lonely nights. I always imagined at some point I wouldn't be doing it by myself anymore. I imagined that the person I love the most in the world would be with me. At least for some of it."
I freeze.
"And since we're talking about things I want, I want you to move to LA with me until we figure out the Virginia house. I want to be with you as much as I possibly can, and I think we can get more time together in LA. And I know there's opportunities for you out there. You even said it yourself, that doctor you used to work with at UCLA …"
I interrupt him. "What? How long have you been sitting on this pitch? Doesn't New York make more sense? For both of us? Your dad is here, your mom is a short drive. My mom is a train ride away. You can do the same things here that you can do in LA. Plus, I don't think I like LA."
He stares at me, confused, like this wasn't what he expected of me.
I take a breath. "Can we table this for now? I need to think, and it deserves more than a rushed conversation. We've got to be at the gala in an hour."
"Okay. That's why I didn't want to say anything tonight, Jules." He rakes his hands through his hair.
I walk into the bathroom and finish getting ready, my mind racing. Living in New York seems like such a no-brainer. It dawns on me I just assumed this is where we'd land. Where I'd stay. That we’d go to the house in Virginia, someday, when we needed to get away. I try to focus on the speech I have to give tonight. I squeeze into my dress, a long-sleeved black velvet gown by Alessandra Rich. It's classy enough for a work event but still sexy.
"Will you zip me?"
Matt fumbles with the cuff links on his black tux. He walks behind me, and I can feel the tension between us. It's uncomfortable. He must feel it too, because he bends down to grab the bottom of my zipper and kisses each inch of skin along my spine as he closes it. It feels like an apology—for what, I'm not sure. At the top, he secures the hook and brushes my hair over my shoulder to kiss my neck. I instinctively lean into him, relaxing.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs softly.
"We'll figure everything out, okay?"
He nods, and we head down to our waiting car.
* * *
We arrive at the gala and meet Meredith and JP on the way in. Meredith looks radiant in a blue satin Galvan gown. Her blond hair is piled in a messy updo. JP looks dapper in a midnight blue tuxedo. The four of us walk into the step-and-repeat area together and spend twenty minutes taking photos. I answer questions for the press, explaining our goal, the mission of the unit, and the need it will serve. I can feel Matt's eyes on me as he stands off to the side, and when I catch his glance, pride shines back at me. As soon as I'm done, the reporters rush to him.
"So, Matt, are you going to be one of the big donors this evening?"
"Will you be performing tonight?"
"Is this confirmation of your relationship?"
He answers the questions quickly and succinctly, dodging the ones he doesn't like. He says he will not be performing and is happy to be here as a guest, in support of the hospital. The hospital, not me, I note. Then he says that of course he's donating to the unit, that he can't think of a greater cause. This is news to me—I never expected him to, but the fact that he does it without being asked touches me so deeply I have a fleeting thought that I'll pack my bags for LA tonight.
I am all over the place tonight and it is annoying.
We go inside and hit the ground running with a whirlwind of introductions. The hospital executives and big donors are eager to meet Matt, and I find myself biting back laughs watching these stuffy old guys act like fangirls. He disentangles himself from them and heads off to find Dave and Christine by the bar. I chat up several people while tracking Matt from across the room. I am not alone. Lots of other eyes in the room find their way to him, like he's magnetic.
Eventually we take our seats for dinner. Matt and I sit at a table with Meredith, JP, and several of the hospital executives, including Dr. Kampf, who is eager to talk Matt's ear off. The conversation and wine flows and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. I sit quietly, mentally preparing myself for the speech I'll give once dessert is served.
As I run through notes on my phone, I hear Meredith, JP, and Matt talking and laughing next to me. Something about margaritas and pickleball, and then JP's voice, clear as a bell, saying, “You should've seen Julia's face when Nick walked in.”
My head shoots up.
"When was that?" Matt asks. Casually. But I have become so attuned to him, I feel the microscopic shift.
"You're a moron, JP," Meredith mutters under her breath.
"A few weeks ago. It was no big deal, she didn't know he was coming. We just crashed girls’ night," JP says, oblivious.
"Gotcha," Matt says. He turns to me and gives me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
Shit.
* * *
I hear Dr. Kampfs voice over the speakers, “And please let me introduce clinical director of New York Grace Hospital and the person who has been championing this project from its very inception. Please give a round of applause for Ms. Julia Anderson.”
I walk toward the stage in a daze, a smile plastered on my face. I get through my speech without stumbling. I look at Matt, who is watching me intently. After thunderous applause, I make my way back to my seat. I grab his forearm to counteract the distance I feel. I pull him close and softly whisper into his ear, "I ran into Nick a few weeks ago when I was out with Mere. He was with JP—it wasn't planned. It was nothing. I didn't mention it because it felt like there was nothing to mention."
I hope he will pick up on the similarities between this situation and the one I've been all wound up about with Kerri Taylor. In both cases, it’s ultimately nothing. He nods, but his mouth is set in a firm line. My stomach drops.
"I just wish you’d said something. It seems like kind of a big deal to have drinks with your ex-husband," he says evenly.
"I'm sorry."
We get through the rest of the night, and it turns out to be a banner event. We raise more than our initial goal, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, from Matt alone, which means we’ll have even more resources for the kids and their families, plus additional staff. My elation is juxtaposed by a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach. I watch Matt do and say all the right things, but I know he's upset. I try to bring it up in the car on our way back to my apartment, but he is quick to shut it down.
"It’s fine, Jules. I'm exhausted. Let's just go home and go to bed."
It feels like suddenly our unshakeable foundation is very fragile.