Chapter 23 #2
“I can tell you everything,” I say. “But you need to know there’s no coming back from it.” He squeezes my palm, which is when I realize I’m still playing with the ring on his finger. “Do you still want to know?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he responds. “I want to know everything about you.” My face burns, and I look down at the table, taking a deep breath and relishing the last moment before he knows everything.
“Okay.” I nod.
I start with what happened in the auditorium with Lucas Johnson; how nothing was ever the same after that; how I haven’t been able to date; how I didn’t actually have food poisoning that first time we were supposed to meet up; how badly I wanted to go out with him last weekend before I panicked; how nervous he made me.
And then I confess to being an almost-thirty-year-old virgin.
When he doesn’t flinch at that, I go on to tell him how I went a little crazy this past month; about the list; about how Go on a date with Matthew was the last task, because it was the hardest. Because there was the most to lose. Or rather, the most to gain.
“But I threw that list away,” I tell him quickly. “The only reason I’m here is because I want to be.”
Matthew hasn’t said a word since I began talking. In fact, he’s hardly reacted at all. I even paused after the virgin confession, searching him for any sign that he was about to take off running. But he just sat there, listening intently.
“That was a lot. I’m sorry,” I say. “And I understand completely if after hearing all that, you just want to be friends. I’d happily do nothing but exchange crossword scores with you forever.
I’d even understand if you want to leave.
” I gesture toward the doorway. He stays put.
“But in the spirit of telling you everything, you should also know that I do not just want to be friends.”
There’s a faint ringing in my ears that I notice only now that I’ve stopped talking.
Matthew clears his throat and gently traces a circle along the base of my thumb. It’s a small gesture, but I feel it rippling through my whole body. “I don’t want to be just friends with you, either,” he says. “Let’s just hang out and see what happens.”
“That sounds great.”
“We can take it slow.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but I don’t think I want to take it slow. I want to jump across the booth and press my mouth against his. But instead of doing that, I nod slowly.
He smiles at me as he slides out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” I frown.
“To get us some drinks,” he says, reaching his hand out for mine.
“I don’t think I’ll ever drink again after the wedding,” I tell him, hesitating.
He shakes his head disapprovingly, reaching for my hand and pulling me out of the booth. “You need to stop punishing yourself.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. I’m anxious to get rid of it.
“All right,” I agree. “Let’s get champagne.”
“Let’s.”
Jerry pours us two wineglasses full, both of them practically overflowing. I have to be extra careful not to spill as I slide back into the booth.
“So, what does taking it slow look like?” I ask, sipping my drink.
“Whatever you want it to,” he answers.
“Okay.” I let that sink in. “Well, then I’m going to come sit over there.” I point across the table to the empty spot next to him.
He scooches over hastily.
I slide in, cozying up against the soft fabric of his sweatshirt.
My leg tingles in the spots where it’s pressed against his.
When I look at him, I have to actively fight the urge to reach out and run my fingers through his hair, adjust his glasses, run my thumb over the crease of his bottom lip.
I notice him staring at my mouth and wonder if he feels the same way.
We both reach for our champagne and take a big gulp.
He casts his eyes down toward his lap, and I watch as his glasses fall forward onto the bridge of his nose. When he looks back up, I can’t help myself. I reach out and fix them.
“Don’t worry,” I tell him, letting out a small laugh to break the tension. “I’m not going to try and kiss you again.”
“Phoebe.” His voice is a little scratchy, and he looks at me with an intensity I haven’t seen from him before. “You have to know how hard it was for me not to kiss you back in that closet.”
“Oh,” I croak. It’s all that I can muster. “Okay.”
I catch Matthew looking at my lips again when the booth begins to shake. I peer down and find the source: he’s tapping his foot against the floor repeatedly.
I place my hand on his knee to steady him. “You’re not anxious, are you?” I tease as his eyes dart across my face.
He furrows his brow. “Are you not?
“I feel eerily calm on this side of the booth.” It’s true. The only thing I’m feeling in my stomach is a pleasant tingling sensation. Matthew gives me butterflies.
“Now you’re just bragging.” He rolls his eyes playfully.
I laugh as his leg continues to bounce up and down beneath my hand.
“I have one more thing that’s wrong with me,” he confesses. “And it’s bad, Phoebe. It involves you.”
My stomach sinks. “What is it?”
He looks down at his lap again. “You have to know that I had only the best intentions.”
I knew this was too good to be true. “You’re scaring me.” I brace myself for the absolute worst.
“It’s Bev,” he blurts. “The octopus.”
“What about her?” I instinctively look at the small tattoo on the inside of my forearm. He does the same. “Is she hurt?” Matthew looks like he’s going to be sick. “Did she die?” I whisper.
“No!” He shakes his head. “She’s fine.” He nods. “I think.”
“Then what is it?”
He sighs shakily. “It’s not real.”
“Bev’s not real?”
“No, Bev is real,” he clarifies. “But she never solved a Rubik’s Cube.”
“But…I saw the video.”
He breathes in deeply. “I was thinking about you a lot after the wedding. And I kept picturing your tattoo.” He reaches out and rubs his thumb across it, just like he did when we were sitting on the windowsill.
It sends the same rush of heat down my arm now as it did then.
“You know how much I love it. So I went back to watch the video of Bev, just because it reminds me of you.” Another shaky sigh.
“I didn’t realize when I sent it to you that it was posted on April first. It was an April Fool’s joke, and I fell for it.
It was AI, and now you have a tattoo of it on your arm.
” He takes another sip of his champagne.
“I’m gullible, Phoebe. And you’re the one paying the price for it. ”
I let his confession sink in. “Are there any octopi that can solve a Rubik’s Cube?”
“No,” he whispers, looking at me apologetically. “I checked.”
We stare at each other silently for a few seconds before I burst into laughter. “You think you’re gullible? I’m the one who got a tattoo of it!”
“You’re not gullible!” he retorts. “You had no reason to believe I wasn’t a credible source.
But I saw a random video of an octopus on a meme account on Twitter and didn’t think twice before sending it to you because I was that desperate to talk to you.
” He lowers his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. ”
“Hey.” I squeeze his knee. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I love my tattoo. And if anything, this just makes for a better story when people ask about it.”
He glances at me sideways. “You’re sure you’re not mad?”
“I swear.”
He breathes in and out heavily, like he just confessed to murdering someone. Beneath the palm of my hand, his leg is still trembling slightly. This must have been weighing on him heavily.
“Would you want to do a crossword?” I ask. “Those always calm me down.” I still have an entire book of them in my tote.
He exhales shakily. “That sounds perfect.”
—
“Twenty-one across is the Volga River.” Matthew points to the empty space on the crossword grid.
His knowing the answer to the longest river in Europe makes my toes curl.
All throughout the night, I’ve been getting progressively more turned on with each random fact Matthew pulls from his arsenal. I squirm next to him in the booth.
“That makes twenty-one down vasectomy.” I scribble the answers onto the page.
“Good one,” he encourages.
I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here. Long enough to finish three full crossword puzzles and the rest of our champagne. Long enough for me to feel comfortable enough to scooch so close to Matthew that I might as well be sitting on his lap.
It’s a shock when Jerry comes up to our table to let us know the bar is closed.
“What do you mean last call was thirty minutes ago?” I look up for the first time in hours. The bar is completely empty. “What time is it?”
“One-thirty,” Jerry answers.
“One-thirty?” I haven’t been up this late since college. And if it’s almost two in the morning here, that means it’s almost five a.m. in New York.
“Oh, Matthew, I’m sorry.” He looks down at me quizzically. “I kept you here so long. You must be so tired.”
He shakes his head back and forth quickly. “I’m not tired at all.”
“I’m not, either,” I respond, unable to stifle a yawn.
“We’ll get out of your hair,” Matthew tells Jerry, who, in turn, winks at me.
“Sorry, Jerry!” I call after him.
I begrudgingly pull myself away from Matthew and begin collecting my things. “Are you sure you have to leave tomorrow?”
He nods sympathetically. “I wish I didn’t. But I have a shoot tomorrow night back in New York.” He looks at his phone. “I guess it’s technically tonight now, actually.”
I bow my head solemnly in understanding, leading us to the exit of the bar.
“Wait.” He halts in his tracks, lightly tugging my arm so that I stop with him. “I know you said you threw that list of yours away”—he pauses, scratching at the side of his neck until it’s red—“but is there any chance you’d still want to go on that date?”
There’s no point in trying to fight the lopsided smile that spreads across my entire face. My head bobs up and down rapidly in a way that’s entirely out of my control. “I would.”
“Great,” he says, placing his hand on my back as he leads me through the door. “I’ll just have to come back, then.”
—
I could tell Matthew wanted to kiss me when he dropped me off at my front door, and I was ready for it. I was excited for it. But as soon as he looked at my lips, he stuck both hands in his pockets and started tapping his foot again.
He’s a nervous boy.
It’s ironic, considering how calm he made me feel tonight.
The thought of him being anxious was too much for me to bear, so I hugged him good night and made him promise to come back one last time before turning toward my front door. Hopefully, by the time he comes back, he’ll have worked up the courage. I’m honestly not sure how much longer I can wait.
It’s pitch-black by the time I make it inside the apartment.
I squint, trying to see if I can make out a body under a lump of blankets on the couch where I left Jonathan, but it’s too dark.
Equal parts euphoric and exhausted, I float toward the steps, startling suddenly when a bright light flickers on at the far end of the room.
Jonathan sits in the corner of the couch, half of his face illuminated by a lamp while the other half remains shrouded in darkness.
With his eyebrows drawn into a serious expression, he looks like a detective from an old-timey movie, poised for an interrogation.
“Shit.” I clutch my chest, catching my breath from the jump scare. “I didn’t see you.”
“Where have you been?” he asks, looking genuinely concerned. “I called you fifteen times. Your bed is hardly made. I thought you were abducted.”
“I didn’t think you’d wake up.” I shuffle over to him and sit down on the couch. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t checking my phone.”
“Well?” He looks at me expectantly, tapping his foot while crossing his arms over his chest. “Where were you?”
“Uh.” I hesitate, not wanting my excitement to overshadow anything he told me earlier today.
“Please,” he says on an exhale. “I can’t handle any more secrets between us.”
“Okay,” I respond, nodding. “I was with Matthew.”
He blinks. “What do you mean you were with Matthew?”
“I called him after you fell asleep earlier,” I confess.
“Everything you said in your office…You are so brave, Jonathan, and you make me want to be brave, too.” I place my hand over his.
“So I called Matthew, with no plan other than to grovel and apologize for everything. I wasn’t expecting him to be here. In LA.”
Jonathan’s eyes widen as he turns his entire body toward me. “Tell me everything,” he says.
“I will. I promise. But I haven’t been up this late since I was nineteen and don’t think I have enough energy to make it up to my room, let alone do a full debrief.
” We sprawl out on the couch so that we’re both lying down with our heads on opposite ends.
My feet are pressed up against his chest while his extend far beyond my head.
When I close my eyes, I think about kissing Matthew, lulling myself to sleep the same way I used to when I was younger. If he ever does decide to kiss me, I only wish that twelve-year-old Phoebe could be here to see it.
—
By the time I wake up in the morning, Matthew has booked a flight back for next weekend.