Chapter 24
MATTEO
I wake up and for a moment I don’t know where I am. The ceiling looks unfamiliar, the room small, the air smells like coffee and laundry detergent.
Then it all comes back.
Elizabeth. Central Park. The kiss, the pedicab, the hotdogs. I'm in her apartment, and I must have fallen asleep with my head on her lap. She was stroking my hair, my face, and I felt the most relaxed I've felt in a long time.
It’s not surprising that I dozed off with her running her soft fingers through my hair. My cock twitches back to life at the memory. Then I remember that I didn't even help her get the couch ready for me, as she made up my bed.
I get off the couch, just as she walks in, a cup of coffee in her hand. Her mouth falls open, her gaze slowly trailing south. I stare down, inwardly groaning because I'm only wearing boxers. And packing a lot of morning wood.
She chuckles softly. “Someone's happy to see me.”
I remember waking halfway through the night, feeling too hot in her furry blanket, so I stripped down to my boxers. I hold my hands in front of me, trying to hide my tell-tale bulge.
“Morning,” she says, with a grin.
“Morning.” I can barely meet her eyes.
“You want coffee?”
“Always.”
She disappears into the kitchen and I frantically look around for my clothes.
Find them on the floor, at the side of the couch, and try to hop one leg in then the other.
I put my T-shirt on before raking a hand through my hair.
I’m sure I look a mess, even though I don’t feel like a mess.
I feel relaxed and ready to spend another day with this woman.
Unfortunately, with my morning breath, kissing is out of the way. She comes back and hands me a mug.
“Thank you.” I love a cup of coffee first thing in the morning.
“You're welcome.”
Elizabeth smiles and we stand facing one another.
“Sleep well?” she asks.
“Unbelievably well. I must have dozed off.”
“You did. You were telling me about your brother, and your voice just … faded.”
“You should have woken me.”
She shakes her head. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to.”
“Did I snore?” Suddenly it matters. She makes a face like I did. Damn. “Did I drool?”
She winces again, not denying, not admitting. Jesus. I don't want her to see me like a drooling, snoring loser.
“Does it matter?”
I shrug, but it does matter. I take another sip of my coffee, feeling a little self-conscious now, and aware that I don’t smell shower fresh. Still, my Sunday morning just got off to the most awesome start.
Usually I’d head for the gym, then maybe a few hours in the lab, then see what the guys are up to.
“What are we doing today?” I ask, realizing that I don't have a fresh change of clothes, or a toothbrush, and I need a shower. But going home is the last thing on my mind.
“You’re helping me,” she announces, like she’s made plans already.
“Happy to. What with?”
“The senior center where I volunteer. I won't have time to bake anything but I help out with computers and moving things and ... just general stuff. I’ll probably go and get some groceries first. Wanna come?” she asks, looking at me expectantly.
“Why not?” Anything to spend the day with her, and also, I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.
“Because you look like you could be useful,” Elizabeth adds.
I stare at her in disbelief. “You’re recruiting me for manual labor?”
“Emotional labor, too, because Arthur will probably tell you his entire life story. Or Irene will.”
“I have to hang out with Arthur?” I dread to think what he might say to me this time.
***
Hours later, I'm carrying grocery bags into a neighborhood senior center like this is my normal Sunday morning routine.
The place is warm and smells like warm soup and bread. It's filled with elderly people. Men playing chess. Women knitting. A few people watching a game show on a TV that is set to very loud.
A couple argue about the state of the world and how it was nothing like this in their day. Their faces light up as soon as they see Elizabeth. She walks in like she belongs here, like this is her second home, and they gaze at her with affection, as if she’s family and they’ve been waiting for her.
“You’re late, Lizzie!” The elderly woman says, hobbling towards us with a walking stick.
“I’m not late,” Elizabeth replies, smiling sweetly. “I’m fashionably delayed, Mimi.”
“And who is this?” Mimi asks, looking at me.
“Uh ... this is Matteo. He’s free labor.”
The woman looks me up and down like I’m a piece of meat. “Good shoulders. He can move furniture.”
Before I can respond, Elizabeth leads me to the kitchen area where I set down the groceries. She introduces me to some other helpers who help with putting the shopping away.
Once we’re done with that, Elizabeth steps out to the main area, scanning around the room.
“There they are,” she murmurs, before pulling me along with her over to a table where an elderly man is sitting next to an elderly lady.
They have their backs turned to us, but when we reach them, I see that it’s Arthur, and I assume the lady next to him is his wife.
Her silver hair is neatly pinned back and her pale grey eyes linger on me a moment too long, as though she's trying to decide whether she knows me from somewhere.
Arthur fusses over her, stirring her cup of tea.
“Hi, Arthur,” Elizabeth says cheerily. “This is Matteo. Matteo, this is Arthur. You’ve already met.”
Arthur squints at me. “You're back.”
“I am.” I fold my arms and stare at him in defiance.
Elizabeth's hand rests on my arm. “Steady, tiger,” she whispers under her breath. “Be gentle.” Then, louder, “This is Irene, Arthur’s wife.”
I put my arms by my sides and nod. “Nice to meet you, Irene.”
She smiles, before turning back to a small radio beside her.
“How are you, Arthur?” I ask, slapping on a cheery grin.
A burst of static crackles in the air.
Arthur immediately frowns. “That darned thing,” he mutters, reaching for the radio. It looks ancient. Even older than he is. He gives it a thump with the palm of his hand, but the static gets worse.
Elizabeth moves closer. “What's wrong with it?”
“I found it at a thrift store last week.” Arthur sighs. “Irene likes listening to the old stations. Sinatra and Dean Martin. Nat King Cole, too. Songs that sounded like songs, not any of the nonsense you get these days. But it doesn’t work too well.”
Irene smiles from her chair. “It sounds lovely when it works.”
Another burst of static fills the room. Arthur glares at the radio, then thumps it again.
I hold out my hand. “Let me see.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “Why?”
“I work in computers, remember?”
He narrows his eyes, pushes his spectacles back up, before reluctantly handing me the radio. I turn it over in my hands and immediately spot the problem. The battery compartment is hanging loose, and one of the metal contacts has bent out of place.
Two minutes later, I’ve fixed it. I clean off some corrosion with a tissue that Elizabeth gets for me, then turn it on. There's a moment of static followed by music.
“Sinatra!” Irene's face lights up. “Oh, Arthur.”
Arthur takes the radio from me and sets it on the table in front of Irene. She giggles excitedly. “Did Richard fix it?”
Arthur pats her on the shoulder gently. “Yes, he did.”
I turn to Elizabeth. “Who's Richard?”
“Their son,” she whispers. “She gets confused sometimes. Calls me Tillie. She thinks I'm her granddaughter.”
“Oh.” I stare at Irene again, a heaviness in my chest. Suddenly her confusion feels cruel, not amusing.
Arthur comes up to us before I can say anything. “You fixed it.”
“I did.”
“You're a wizard.”
I laugh. “No. Just reasonably competent.”
He pushes his spectacles up again. “You're useful,” he says, nodding. “I like that about you.”
I nearly choke. “Why, thank you. I’m glad to be of use to you.”
He nods at Elizabeth. “You can marry her, if she'll let you. You've passed the test.”
I blurt out laughing. “What test?”
Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “Arthur, you can’t just marry me off to random men.”
“I’m not random,” I say.
Arthur grins. “See? I like him. I like him a lot.”
One of the helpers comes over, and asks if I can help, so I do. Some more groceries have been delivered and I help carry boxes into a storage room. When it’s all done, I lean against the wall for a moment, watching Elizabeth with Arthur and Irene.
She’s so good with them; patient, and gentle, stroking Irene’s hand like she has all the time and attention to offer her.
Elizabeth is like a chameleon. She can fit in anywhere.
She fits into the tech department, and she fits in here.
Maybe she’s had to learn how to fit into places, like the foster homes she was sent to.
A pang of sadness punches in my gut, and I’m about to go over to her when she gets up, turns around and catches me staring at her.
“What?” she mouths, walking towards me.
I wait until she reaches me. “You’re so good with everyone.”
“I like being here,” she says, moving her bangs out of her eyes.
“These people don’t want anything from me.
They don’t care where I work or how much money I make or what I look like.
They just want help opening jars and fixing laptops, but most of all they just want someone to sit and talk to them. To listen to them.”
She’s good at those things, too. I fell asleep with my head resting on her lap. I felt the most at peace I’ve felt in a long time. I’m not even sure what I was blabbering on about, but she listened.
Elizabeth leans toward me slightly. “They’ve been married for fifty-eight years,” she whispers. Just then Arthur reaches over and adjusts Irene’s scarf like it’s something he’s done a thousand times.
Elizabeth gazes at them adoringly. “That’s love,” she murmurs, a hint of yearning in her voice.
“Not the big dramatic stuff. Not expensive dinners in fancy places, or champagne and glitz. That is true love.” She nods at them.
“Making someone tea every morning for decades. Knowing where they leave their glasses, or their teeth.” She giggles.
“Arguing about sugar, or medication because you want them to live longer. Sitting next to each other even when neither of you has anything left to say.”
She looks at me, waiting for a reaction, but I’m barely listening to her words anymore, because what I see in her face isn’t just admiration—it’s hunger.
A yearning so deep and wide that it catches me off guard.
It’s like she’s spent her life looking in through a window and seeing what everyone gets to have.
It’s like she’s looking for a place to belong, and for someone to belong to, just like Arthur and Irene.
Elizabeth is looking for home.
The realization hits me hard. I swallow, trying to tamp down this sad feeling rising from the pit of my stomach. “It’s pretty sweet, I guess.”
“A love like that,” she says softly, “… is timeless and precious and everlasting.”
I don’t say anything, because it’s alien to me. I’ve not seen love like that before. I’ve not witnessed my parents around each other. Rio says they were happy, once upon a time, before the dirty secret came out, but I don’t really remember it.
In my world, love has always been a transaction. Wrapped around money. Marriage for alliances. Relationships for appearances. Loyalty for power. Silence for money.
I pause for a second. What I’m seeing now is something else.
And then it hits me.
My brothers. They have something like this, most of them. They seem genuinely happy in their relationships even though we've all shared the same disrupted childhood.
I look away. Maybe it's not outside the realm of possibility for me to have something like that, either.
I shake my head, unsure and confused, as I watch Irene bite into a cookie. Arthur instinctively wipes the crumbs off her lips with a napkin. Maybe this is what love looks like.
Maybe.
Elizabeth has walked back over to them and is now laughing at something Irene said. Something inside me shifts. A new understanding. I think I’m already in too deep with her, even though we’ve barely begun.
“What?” she mouths, catching me watching her again. Arthur helps Irene to her feet, and they wander off, just as I go over.
“Nothing,” I say, lifting my shoulder. “I just didn’t know you did all this.”
Usually I'd be in the tech lab chasing down a problem. At the gym, or in the sauna. At one of Rio or Enzo's places. Doing something productive. Something measurable.
Instead, I'm standing in a senior center watching Elizabeth laugh with a room full of people who adore her.
I can’t remember the last time I spent a weekend as amazing as this.