Chapter Thirty Six
We stayed at his parents house. Neither of us wanted to spoil the evening by going back to whatever state Matt had either put himself or the house in.
Noah's father cooked us breakfast before sending us on our way to work - I had almost forgotten that Noah doesn't work Wednesday's until I watched him pull on gym shorts and a fitted t-shirt.
He dropped me off before going to workout, promising not to go back to the house to approach Matt until we could do it together.
I didn't have the heart to tell him about Matt's ultimatum.
It's what's eating away at me as I try to keep five coffees balanced in their little tray in the elevator.
I should've told him. He would've wanted to know about Matt's outburst - the either he's moving out or you are. Not that he meant it - I hope. He would always say shit like that in the heat of the moment when we were kids so I'm just going to assume this was heat too.
Tonight. I'll tell Noah in the car and we'll deal with Matt together, whatever mood he's talked himself into this time. Maybe all of our glassware is now in pieces, but that'll have to be a worry for another time.
The elevator dings.
Balancing the coffees, I step over the threshold and beg walking towards Zach's office. He's moving out of it soon and into a bigger one a floor above ours. Chelsea will be having his, although unofficially at the moment, until all her promotion paperwork is actually passed over to her.
After a quick run around the desks, I finally arrive in front of Chelsea. She's already working, a complicated spreadsheet open on her desktop and another similar looking one on the tablet in front of her keyboard.
"Microsoft excel before your espresso?" I tease. "My God, you must be trying to impress the big boys upstairs."
She looks up to me with a deadpan expression before faux struggling to drag the small coffee cup towards her mouth.
"It's probably hot," I warn.
"The burn will sooth my headache."
My eyebrows raise of their own accord.
She's not usually so dark. Sure, she dresses in fishnets and chunky boots full of straps and wears more eyeliner than cotton, but she's usually quite the ray of sunshine - at least when her mother isn't stressing her out.
Or when her plants are alive and well (it's best to avoid Chelsea's desk if you notice wilting leaves on her office herbs - there'll be anger and tears will follow.)
I eye her newfound work concentration at - glance at watch - three minutes to nine and try to work out what happened between our celebration drinks yesterday and now.
My question is asked with a degree of caution. "Everything okay?"
"Ugh!" She huffs. "Tony stood me up last night - and I told my mother that I was going on that date. I willingly told her. Can you even imagine-?" She shakes her head. "Men, Madelaine. I should just piss on them all."
"If pissing on them helps," I offer meekly.
"I need to submit these figures. Catch up in an hour? Oval room?"
I barely manage to nod my head before she's shooing me away from her desk like some pesky fly that won't stop circling her space.
Huh. More Mierro drama. Maybe Tony Mierro is just as bad as his brother, though perhaps in other ways.
Where Damien is quite literally a criminal forcing children to run county lines, Tony is just his fuck-around brother who won't text a girl back until she's gone crazy waiting for it.
(Alright, maybe Tony isn't as bad as Damien. Maybe.)
It takes me an hour to get through my unread emails and a further half an hour to finish off my cold coffee in the oval room whilst I pretend to work.
Chelsea looks frazzled at her desk the entire time.
Even now she's running her fingers through the green sections of her hair, staring at a document with such tiny font I'm surprised she's not straining her eyes. She takes a sip of water and then dramatically throws her chair backwards, spinning whilst looking at the ceiling.
We meet eyes through the window I'm staring through.
With a huff, she stands up and pushes the chair back towards its place under the desk. She doesn't even check it reaches its destination, just begins dragging her feet towards the oval room while clutching her iPad to her chest.
"Anyway," she sighs as soon as she's through the door. "How's your life?"
I wait for her to drop into the seat opposite me before I answer. She does so, and then picks up her tablet to begin scrolling through yet more paperwork.
Better clear my throat for this conversation.
Chelsea doesn't even look up, so lost in whatever she's been tasked with doing before this big company re-shuffle.
Sighing, I reach forward with my palms up and place them against the table under her iPad.
"Matt knows."
"Knows what?" She asks, nose scrunching.
"I-" almost throw my hands up in despair, but decide keeping them firmly under the electronic is probably best. "Matt knows that I'm fucking Noah?"
Her eyes dart up to mine, comically wide. The iPad drops into my hands with a thud, metal cold on my palms. I place it down whilst she goes into overdrive.
"What?" She squawks. "You didn't think to call me when this happened? You let me sit out there for two hours doing fucking maths, Mads? How? When? Did you tell him? Did Noah?"
"Skye told him."
"Skye told him?!"
It's a good job this room is relatively soundproof once the door is closed because I'm sure only dogs can hear the sounds that come out of her mouth next.
Eventually she throws her hands out towards me in some sort of helpless gesture.
"What did he say?"
"Skye telling him isn't even the worst part," I lean back. "Skye told him early Tuesday morning - like 4am early right. Because he's staying around her house for the night. Except he doesn't want to stay the night because he's using her for sex, so in the middle of the night he tries to sneak out-"
"No," she gasps, as if she's suddenly worked out what I'm going to say.
"Yes," I confirm. "So she told him to try and make him stay."
"No," she repeats.
Chelsea half leans over the table now, mouth permanently dropped open, hair pulled in every direction. She looks like a cartoon caricature - I'd laugh if I weren't so desperate to get the rest of the story out.
"But he doesn't believe her. So he comes home at 5am."
"No," she whispers, leaning back a touch.
"And he hears us having sex and says nothing - just waits for us to leave and then tears through all my stuff while I'm at work. Ugh, it did not go well."
"Well, what the fuck, Maddie? Call me next time!"
I wave her off.
"It wasn't all bad. Noah and I are official now."
Another squawk.
After going through each and every detail of yesterday afternoon twice, we finally resume with our work. Occasionally Chelsea will look up at me, smirk, shake her head, and then return to whatever is failing to capture her attention on the iPad.
We spend a good amount of time enshrouded in silence.
I potter with various difference jobs but spend most of my time scrolling through social media - I have those days at work sometimes.
Days where I'm so mentally tired I can't physically bring myself to actually get any of the work done that needs doing. The work will still be here tomorrow.
My phones buzzes on the table and I snatch at it - anything to get away from social media analytics.
"Down, girl."
Rolling my eyes at Chelsea's playful mutter, I open my recent messages.
The swelling of my heart doesn't last long because that isn't right; an unknown number shouldn't be cryptically messaging me about the Matt situation.
My face scrunches. I click on the unknown message, older - I hadn't even noticed it. It was sent in the early hours of the morning, delivered at almost 4.30am. In my delirious morning state I'd not even seen the notification.
"Huh."
"What's up?" Chelsea asks, popping her gum.
"I got a weird message this morning."
She appears over my shoulder, close enough that I can smell the mint from her mouth.
"Have you tried searching the number up?" I shake my head no. She reaches around me, copying the number and pasting it into my google tab. The search results show up nothing. "That's incredibly odd. Do you think it could be Sara? Maybe Dan?"
"Maybe," I breathe, leaning back. "I'll send the number to Noah and see if he has it."
"Gag." Chelsea drops back into her chair and spins. "You know, I've been thinking."
"Uh oh."
Her eyes roll as a smile cracks into place.
"This could be my mother talking but I think I'm ready to settle down. I want a Noah - nobody ever picks me up from work or fucks me against their car-"
"Chels," I hiss, glancing at the closed door.
She smirks. "I'm just ready to live my soccer-mom life now, is all I'm saying."
"With Tony?"
"Bleugh- no. But he did message me to rearrange our date this an hour ago."
My phone buzzes.
"It's Skye's number," I repeat aloud.
"What?" Chelsea squeals, jumping up from her seat once more. She briefly chokes on her gum as she reappears behind me, reading over my shoulder. I send Noah a screenshot of the message and then go back to it.
I'm sorry he found out like that.
"Found out?" Chelsea coughs. "Bitch, you told him!"
I can't help but laugh.
"That woman is a few pins short of a full bowling set, honestly."
"Chelsea," I scold.
"She told him. How is she going to pretend that she didn't? Why even message you about it at all?" She suddenly gasps. "What are you going to say back?"
There are a few options: fuck off, my brother will never love you, we aren't friends and we're definitely not going to be, you're the biggest fucking liar I've ever met.
"Nothing," I say.
"Nothing?" She echoes in deadpan. Her face drops. "That's funny. It's painfully funny. Seriously, it's painful."
I can't help but laugh.
She doesn't understand though. If I message Skye back it'll only open some sort of conversation between us; one that I'd just rather avoid entirely. I don't want to argue with her and I certainly don't want to be her friend.
The issue will fade into the background entirely. Matt won't keep seeing her (with any self restraint he has left) and I'll never have to think about what she did again. Hopefully.
Besides, if I message her back I'll only be playing into her narrative; the one where she apparently hasn't done anything wrong. Where Matt finding out was a big accident and not directly related to her telling him.
Ugh. We weren't close friends but at least warn a girl before telling her brother she's sleeping with his best friend.
And to think that I respected her wish when she asked me to stay out of her and Matt's business.
I try to shake my head of the thoughts as I head out to lunch.
The coffee shop has been my go to spot recently, somewhere to sit among the bustle of things and try to forget about work.
It appears that I also desperately need the caffeine today too, since I'm halfway into the working day and all I've done is gossip and send about five emails.
The coffee shop is unusually busy today, with my usual table in the back crammed with four young teenagers. I have to wait in line for twenty minutes just to get my usual latte and a sandwich toasted only to realise there are no free tables once I've paid.
I scan the shop, spotting Zach sat near the window on his own, a free chair opposite him.
"Do you mind?" I ask, gesturing to the seat. He waves me into it, closing the newspaper in his hands. "How are things with the promotion going?"
"Moving my office is the hardest part so far," he smiles. "Don't let me bore you with work to death on your lunch, though."
I grin and pull up my phone, taking a bite out of the sandwich. He opens up his newspaper again and begins reading out of the sports section, humming occasionally at a particular section. I'm just glad it isn't awkward after the whole witnessing-sex fiasco.
We both eat in silence, sharing space but nothing further than that. People come and go in batches, the bell on the door constantly going off to the point where I no longer register it as a sound.
The corners of my lips lift at Noah's recent message.
But it doesn't come.
Instead, my lovely mother howls and complains, "Maddie, thank God. Your brother is driving me up the God damn wall - excuse my use of the Lords name in vain, but I've never pulled out so much hair. I'm near ready to tear my own bloody fingernails off."
The relief is so visceral that Zach raises an eyebrow at me from across the table.
"He's just upset," I sigh.
"Upset? My dear, the boy is stomping his feet and poking his own eyes so they look tearful."
"That bad, huh?" I ask. "I didn't go home last night."
"Oh, I know! I know in excruciating detail. I had to cancel my manicure because he wouldn't stop calling me all morning - Maddie this, Noah that, blah blah blah blah blah."
"Ah," I wince. "So he's still mad then?"
"He's mad alright," she huffs. "He's on the verge of being committed."
Part of me does feel bad for Matt, though. I'm still just as guilty as I was despite the circumstances in which my relationship with Noah came to light. The two of us did go behind his back, even if his rule was ridiculous in the first place.
But it still feels good to have our mother not on his side for once.
"I'm going to try and talk to him tonight," I say.
"Please do. Tell him anything - everything. Tell him to stop giving me heart palpitations, and tell him if he smashes one more bowl in that kitchen then he'll be eating out of his own hands for the next six months."
"He told you about that too?"
She sighs. "He told me more than I needed to know, I'll tell you that much."
The sex, then. Fabulous.
I'd always wanted Matt to share my sex life with our mother - what an accomplishment for the two of us. Boundaries smashed down never to be built again.
Smiling through the pain, I respond. "Brilliant. I have to be getting back to work now anyway mum. I'll call you tomorrow?"
"Thanks sweetheart. Just talk to him gently, he'll understand eventually."
"I will," I conclude, hanging up after a few more muttered goodbyes.
Zach and I walk back to the office together making small talk, separating after the elevator so we can go to our own desks. I slide in front of my computer and try to make the rest of the day slip by as quickly as possible.
None of my emails sound right, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing, and I seem to have misplaced my to-do list from Monday. It's not a great day to try and get things done, certainly one I won't be getting any awards for.
Chelsea stops by sporadically, usually with another comment about the Matt and Noah situation and some general surprised and/or horrified sounding noises. Her date with Tony is early next week.
All-in-all, I get next to nothing done.
I also pack up fifteen minutes early and walk as slowly as possible to the front door of the building to appear as if I'm still working. (Nobody is that stupid, but also, it appears nobody cares.)
Noah picks me up at five on the dot.
I feel itchy the entire ride home, only slightly soothed by the hand on my thigh. Winter means that the sun is setting much earlier and the darkness is only beginning to make me feel more eerie about this entire situation.
We try to come up with a plan, discuss what we're going to say to him. More specifically, I try and convince Noah what not to say to him.
I still don't tell him about the ultimatum. I know it'll only make him more upset with Matt which is certainly the last thing we need right now. Especially as I'm hoping we'll reach some sort of understanding tonight.
The gist of it is: we're sorry we deceived you. We're staying together. Let's all learn to be okay with it and compromise on whatever you need.
The streetlights are already on when we pull onto the driveway.
The curtains are pulled shut haphazardly, small amounts of light breaking through intermittently. I'm reciting my speech over and over in my head, picturing Matt's anger from the day before.
He's had the entire day to calm down though. He's had multiple calls with our mother and I'm sure he's spoken to his other friends for advice too. Though maybe I'm just convincing myself of the best scenario to make myself feel better.
Especially because the house looks so dreary now.
The usual twisting vines that make the house look so inviting seem sinister, as if they're tight fists squeezing the house until it suffocates every occupant inside.
The light from the windows are creating large and invading shadows that lead to the door.
Even the door seems to have been painted a shade darker - which is ridiculous.
Matt wouldn't have time to paint the woodwork in between smashing all of the plates, even with the day off work.
Noah is silent beside me while I panic, fingers white against the steering wheel.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Absolutely not," he murmurs. "But let's go."
Our hands are tightly wound together as we walk to the door, even tighter as he presses the key into the lock and takes the first step instead. Then we're apart.
For a second it feels normal. I'm dragging my bag in after a long day at work, feeling ready to collapse on the sofa with whatever carb and chicken Matt has thrown into the air fryer. I'm ready to laugh and joke and watch TV, or shower the day away for an hour.
But in my chest it feels different. Heavy.
The TV is on but I know I'm not invited to watch. I toe off my shoes, take a deep breath with my eyes closed, and follow Noah into the living room.
I don't realise I'm holding my breath until I see Skye sat next to Matt on the couch. It's not like they're doing anything unusual; just casually watching TV together like any couple would. But they're not a couple, and Skye knows what she did to the three of us.
How he could even invite her here-
Calming thoughts. Deep breaths. Ignoring the pile up of crap on the floor wherever I try to put my feet.
Noah avoids the mess as he half lunges over to the island, leaning against the counter-top. His jaw is already locked - he didn't expect Skye here either.
I stand at his side and try to calm the erratic beating in my chest.
"Matt? Can we talk now?"
No reaction. Not even a twitch.
Skye looks to the two of us and then back at him, mouth scrunching a fraction before she locks her gaze on the TV too. I roll my eyes- It's not like football is that exciting.
"Mum called me today and said you guys spoke about what happened," I venture. "We could start with that?" Nothing. "Or something else. We could start with how it happened? Or when?"
Nothing. He blinks three times - I count them.
A football team scores and he neither smiles nor frowns, as if he's a porcelain doll without expression.
"Noah and I really want to talk to you about this," I admit. "To be honest, I've been trying to think about what to say to you all day." I press my nails in my palms, squaring my shoulders back out of nervousness more than a desire to get more comfortable. "Maybe it would be helpful if Skye left?"
I look directly at her but she doesn't turn back to me. Like Matt, she stares at the TV.
Noah tenses beside me. I take his hand and squeeze gently, letting go just as quickly. There's still a chance he'll bite yet, even to yell at us.
"Are you really just going to pretend we aren't here?" I ask. "Can we not just- I don't know, have an adult conversation?"
Matt twitches.
"I'm not going to insult you, if that's what's going to work. So if you're expecting an argument then there isn't going to be one."
Silence.
"I shouldn't have said I wasn't sorry," Noah says suddenly. "Yesterday was not my proudest moment, alright? But I'm not going to apologise to a blank wall."
If there were crickets in the house, they'd chirp here.
One blink. Two.
I sigh. "I think I preferred when you were smashing the plates."
Nothing.
"Alright then," Noah says. "I guess we'll speak tomorrow."
He takes my hand before I can try again, guiding me out of the living room and upstairs.
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