Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
I t's officially Christmastime in New York. The best time of year. Everything is decorated, and the entire city seems high on the Christmas spirit—most of all, me. As I walk down Bleecker Street, I take a picture of the wreaths, white lights, and red bows that adorn the shops and restaurants. I send it to Matt.
Nothing better.
He sends me back a photo of the palm trees in his backyard laced with Christmas lights.
Not the same, but it'll do for now.
Do you have a tree inside?
No, I used to do a little Charlie Brown Christmas tree but it kind of bummed me out, so I stopped a few years ago.
That just won't do. We'll decorate my tree together when you get here.
You mean after Christmas is already over?
Yes. It's the spirit that matters.
I haven't seen Matt since Mexico, and he has plans to fly to Allentown the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Sid, Rita, and Matt will spend the holiday together in Pennsylvania, mostly so they can see Matt's mom on Christmas Day. Then, they'll all come to the city to see me since I volunteered to work the holiday shift this year, which starts on Christmas Eve and ends in the wee hours of the morning of the twenty-sixth. The other social workers have young kids, so it doesn't feel like a huge sacrifice for me to be in the hospital. Ryan will be in Baltimore with my mom, and they'll take the train up to see me and meet Matt a few days later. This is all Matt's idea—the big family meeting. I'm excited for him to meet Ryan, but my mom is another story.
Even though I have to work on Christmas, it doesn’t dampen my mood in the least. In fact, I feel a surge of energy as I bop around the city from store to store. I keep getting misty-eyed at how lucky I am to be shopping for so many new people this year, people I didn't even know existed just a few months ago.
I pick out a gorgeous cashmere sweater for Rita and a six-pack of the finest olive oil I can find for Sid. I get Ryan and my mom their usual gifts—airline vouchers on Delta for him, and Le Mer skincare for her. I buy Meredith a gold heart charm for her necklace and buy myself a matching one.
Matt is far and away the hardest to shop for. Not just because he has everything—or has the resources to get himself anything he wants—but because I want my gift to make him feel special and cherished, the way he makes me feel. I start buying a few small things that make me think of him: a special pillow specifically designed to be placed on your head, a UV light antibacterial phone cleaner, two vintage T-shirts, a case of wine called The Washingtonian, and several other small items.
* * *
The week before Christmas, my field hockey team loads onto a bus and heads to Syosset for a one-day indoor tournament—our last competition of the year. I walk into the arena with the head coach, Lindsay, and I'm assaulted by the smell of turf and sweat and Icy Hot. I smile at the familiarity, remembering my own field hockey days fondly. We find our field and I walk on, feeling the tiny black pieces of crumb rubber in the bottoms of my sneakers, listening to the girls chatter among themselves as they suit up.
Our first game is intense—the girls fight for every goal. We end with a win, and in the middle of our postgame huddle, I feel it. Feel him . The same feeling I always get when Matt is nearby, like the air is suddenly charged.
No way .
I glance over to the other side of the field and blink a few times to make sure what I am seeing is real.
Matt.
He’s dressed in a blue puffer coat and jeans with a black beanie on his head, and he’s casually grabbing a seat in the front row of the bleachers. When I meet his eyes, he gives me his megawatt smile and my heart rockets to outer space. The girls, ever observant, follow my gaze.
"Who is that , Coach?" they ask, almost in unison.
"My friend," I answer.
"Okay, sure thing, Coach."
"My friends don't make me smile like that."
"Who he is?"
"Is that someone's dad?"
"Is he, like, famous or something?"
"Why are all our moms looking at him?"
"He looks, like, really hot."
"For an old guy."
"Yeah, like, daddy vibes."
"What's his name?"
"Girls! He's not a dad. And I hope when all of you are older you remember this exact moment, you ageists!" I half scold them, half laugh out loud at the stark reality that Matt and I are closer in age to these girls’ parents than to them. And that their parents are the ones more likely to be Matt Johnson fans.
I walk over to him, unable to ignore the pull, and give him a giant hug.
"What are you doing here? I didn't think I'd see you till the twenty-sixth!"
"I missed you. I know how much you love Christmas. I want to spend as much time with you as possible."
"You," I say, leaning in to give him a kiss, my heart exploding in my chest. I have the urge to tell him I love him. But I push it down. No. Not yet. I need to be sure.
Matt watches the final two games and is incredibly gracious as strangers ask him to take selfies and sign autographs. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I worry these photos might end up online somewhere, but Matt seems unconcerned, so I follow his lead. When the games end, I bring him over to the team and watch as he masterfully fields the girls’ unfiltered and inappropriate questions. By the end they're all giggling and smitten with him. How could they not be? As they load up onto the bus, I wish everyone a merry Christmas and hop in the car to ride back to the city with Matt.
I sigh, holding his hand across the console. "You got some rave reviews across generations. I think your fan base just grew by at least forty people."
He laughs. "I could say the same for you. Those parents are big fans of yours."
My cheeks warm.
I lean across the console to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I can't believe you're here. I thought you had some hard deadlines this week."
In addition to wrapping up the last eight cities on his tour, he's been filling me in on his label’s increasing pressure to put his new record out and get another tour together for the spring. And how he's been feeling ambivalent about the label for months at this point and has been kicking around an idea with a few longtime friends and colleagues—his own label.
He's got more than twenty years of experience in the industry, and because of his sustained success and talent, he is universally respected. He's quietly started talking to producers, agents, and engineers and to other artists, who are all ecstatic at the idea of working with Matt. Ultimately, the industry is fickle, and any move he makes could be a giant risk, but their enthusiasm seems to energize him and balance out the stress the idea creates. I can tell it's been weighing on him.
He kisses my hand. "It's nothing that couldn't wait. Priorities, Jules. I've got 'em this year."
* * *
We get back to Manhattan and immediately stop at one of the Christmas tree vendors set up on the street. I already have a fake tree with white twinkle lights, waiting to be decorated, but I’m so excited by Matt surprising me, we decide to get a real one too. It's slim pickings this late in the season, so we settle on a tall, thin, and very sparse tree. After it's wrapped up, Matt hoists it over his shoulder and we walk into my building. He helps me drag a box of decorations out of the back of my closet, and we get to work. Michael Bublé plays in the background, the smell of balsam fir is in the air, and a bottle of very expensive red wine is decanted. It all feels like magic.
Before we finish, I grab a small, wrapped box from my bedroom and hand it to him.
"I thought we were doing gifts the twenty-sixth?" he questions.
"We are, but this is just a little something."
I watch his slow smile as he unwraps it and holds it up—a small blue and white electric guitar Christmas ornament. An almost exact replica of one he owns, the one I watched him play at the concert in October. His eyes light up as he looks at it, flipping it over to see where I've written Matt and the year.
"It's a family tradition to give each other one Christmas ornament a year starting the year we were born. The idea being that by the time you're an adult, you'd have enough to fill your own tree," I explain.
I show him some of mine: ballet slippers, field hockey sticks, a black dog, and thirty-five others. I watch as he looks for the perfect spot to hang his guitar. And after he carefully places it on the tree, he turns to kiss me, eyes shining.
"Thank you. This is special. It means a lot that you thought to include me in your tradition.”
He walks over to his backpack and pulls out a small, gift-wrapped box of his own. "I wanted to give this to you now. And the second part I'll you give later."
I smile and take the box from him. I open it up to find a beautiful IWC watch with a dark blue face and black leather band. Classic, feminine, sturdy. I love it.
"Wow. It’s gorgeous." I go to fasten it on my wrist.
"Wait, flip it over."
416. Just like the inscription I gave him.
"It's perfect." I blink back tears.
"Now we match. You can wear it to work. And even though we can't be together on Christmas, just look at it and know I'm with you."
* * *
I get through my Christmas shift easily, ensuring that every patient on the critical care floor can celebrate the holiday in whatever way they prefer. I feel effervescent as I walk over to Matt's apartment in the early hours of the morning, the air freezing. I lug a tiny fake tree from my office with me. His doorman lets me up, and I use a key he gave me to quietly slip into his apartment. I strip off my work clothes and climb into bed with him, kissing the back of his neck as I press my cold body against his back, stealing his warmth.
"The hottest woman in the world and yet you're ice cold." His morning voice is raspy.
"So warm me up."
He rolls over, brushes my hair out of my face, and pulls me tightly into his arms.
"Merry Christmas, baby."
"Merry Christmas, Matt."
* * *
We lounge in bed until midmorning, only getting up for coffee and the pastries Matt procured the day before. We make love on the couch in his living room before showering and getting ready to host dinner for Sid, Rita, Scott, and Natasha. Matt and I work together all afternoon preparing lobster-stuffed beef tenderloin, twice-baked potatoes, roasted brussels sprouts, and a pecan pie—only the best menu for Sid.
As the two of us dance around the kitchen together, alternating between the stove, the oven, and the island, glasses of red wine in hand, I catch his eye, and we exchange a look that seems to say, This is everything we ever wanted.
Once our guests arrive, I set out hors d'oeuvres: crab-stuffed mushrooms, sausage and pimento cheese balls, crudités, and a cheese board. We sip pomegranate palomas and open gifts under the tiny tree. The mood is so cheerful and festive, I want to capture it. I know Matt does, too, because he grabs his phone and snaps photos of everyone all night. We serve dinner on Matt's dining room table over candlelight and several bottles of The Washingtonian wine I gifted Matt.
After everyone goes home and we've loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, Matt and I lounge on the couch, my legs in his lap, listening to Bing Crosby on the record player and sipping a nightcap of Yamazaki whiskey. I am trying to brace myself—and Matt—for the dinner we'll be having with my mom and Ryan tomorrow night. I don't know why I'm so nervous about it. Something about him meeting my only two family members feels upping the ante.
"Babe, I've survived incredibly hostile interviewers with hidden agendas, I think I can manage your mom."
I laugh. He has a point.
"You know, we'd have enough space at my house in LA to have both of our families for the holidays," he says casually.
"Christmas in LA sounds like an oxymoron."
"Are you drinking the same Kool-Aid as Meredith?"
"No, no Kool-Aid. I just can't imagine a warm Christmas. You said it yourself, it's not the same. And there is nothing like New York City at Christmas."
"Okay, fair, it was just an idea. But since we're talking about LA, there's something I want to talk to you about."
My stomach tenses.
"I was asked to be one of the performers at the Grammys this year. I said yes."
"Wow. Congrats, babe, that's fantastic."
He pauses.
"I want you to come with me. Be my date."
"What exactly does that mean?"
"It means you'd be with me. The whole night. Walk the red carpet with me. Sit with me. Come to the parties with me. Be with me. For everyone to see."
I take a second to try to understand what that would be like. My nerves start jumping. He's watching me closely. "That sounds like a big deal," I say eventually.
"It doesn't have to be."
"It's kind of what we've been avoiding this entire time, though, right?"
"I know, and I've been thinking a lot about that. I know I've been rigid about my arbitrary rules, but this feels very different. I want to go to the show and do the carpet, the whole thing, which is something I haven't done in years. I sat on the offer for a few days, but I found myself actually wanting to go this year. I want to, because of you. I feel like it just makes sense, letting the world know about us. I feel like having you next to me is like a superpower, and I'm excited about it, not terrified or dreading it like I used to be. I'm looking forward to it. And I want to run with it."
I glance at the beams above us, collecting my thoughts. He is clearly excited, but I don't know if I am.
"I don't know if I'm cut out for that type of world," I say lamely.
"What world? My world?"
"No, I don't think that's your world. I've been living in your world since we met, and it is nothing like what I anticipate a giant awards show would be."
"I know, but that type of stuff is occasionally part of my world." He frowns, a storm cloud rolling in.
"What?" I ask.
"I guess I'm just a little surprised. I thought it'd be an easy yes for you."
"It's a lot to think about."
He looks hurt.
"Matt, please don't confuse what I'm saying. You are an easy yes for me. But all of the other stuff that’s not you but just like your occupational hazards, well, that’s something I have to wrap my head around."
"I know, but you can't completely separate the two."
He has a point.
I stare at the Christmas tree, the white twinkle lights reflecting on Matt's face. I can see he's drifted away from me, gone inside himself, his eyes fixed on the floor, thinking. Several minutes pass in silence. I don't know why I feel so hesitant about the idea of the Grammys. Is it a sign that something is wrong? No. That doesn't seem right. Up until this point, I've been happy to defer to him about the publicity of our relationship. In fact, I've even felt pangs of worry that he is keeping me hidden from the world, which doesn't feel great, either.
I can't have it both ways. But I also feel ancient insecurities creep in as I think about what it might be like to be in LA, the city of perfect specimens, several of whom Matt knows intimately.
To knowingly walk into that seems like it could jeopardize what we have, this relatively normal relationship. In New York.
But then I think about how it must've taken a lot of consideration for him to even think about going himself, let alone asking me to come with him. And as nervous as I am about the unknown, I feel sure that being with him is the right choice, regardless of the location.
"Matt."
He glances over at me.
"I'll come."
"I don't want you to come if you don't want to."
"I want to come. I just needed a minute to think about it. Can I have that?"
"Of course you can. But I don't want a pity date.”
I smile, crawling over to his lap.
"You know, the only thing that is a pity …"
Matt looks at me, a smile dancing across his lips as he fills in the rest. "… Is you two young, beautiful people, withering away in this hospital room. You're sure?" he asks.
"Completely."
His face breaks into a wide smile.
* * *
The next night, I ask my mom and Ryan to meet me for drinks before Sid and Matt join us for dinner. Ryan knows exactly what is happening, but I only mentioned to my mom we'd be having dinner with friends. Matt has been adamant for a while that I talk to her about us, but now, with the Grammys a few weeks away, my back is against the wall. My reluctance to share this information with my mom lingers. Our relationship still feels vulnerable, precious, sacred, and something we've been protecting for months. I can’t help but feel like the carefully crafted bubble we created together is about to burst. Without it, we'll be left completely exposed to the outside world—the noise, the criticism. And like it or not, my biggest and most beloved critic and champion is my mom.
At least I have Ryan for backup.
I meet them at Via Carota, my mom’s favorite restaurant in the city. After we hug, catch up, and exchange gifts, I decide to just get on with it.
"So, Mom, I have something I want to talk to you about.”
Ryan gives me a nod in solidarity.
“You’re pregnant ?! I’m going to be a Gigi!?” she shrieks. She has been doing this little bit for years. It is infuriating and humiliating. Ryan puts his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Jesus, no. Come on, Mom!”
“Well, then, what?”
“I’m seeing someone.”
“Okay …”
“His name is Matt. We met a few months ago at work. He’s the son of one of my former patients.”
“Is he handsome?”
“Yes, very.”
"Is he handsome, Ry?"
"I don't typically weigh in on how handsome men are, Mom," he answers, deadpan.
"Okay, well, what's he like?"
"He is kind, a little reserved, thoughtful, incredibly talented, and funny."
“Does he like you more than you like him?” she asks. Ryan chokes on his drink.
“What kind of question is that?”
“I told you, I always thought that was the problem with Nick. You need to be with someone who loves you more than you love them. Nick never had to work for it. He needed to chase you a little more, not the other way around.”
“Wow, thanks for the insight about ten years too late. Can we please not discuss Nick? Matt and I both like each other. Equally.”
“Okay, well then, I’m happy for you, honey. I’ve been hoping you’d put yourself back out there sooner rather than later, of course.”
“There’s one other thing.”
She stares at me.
“He’s a musician.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, you mean he’s unemployed? Really, Julia? Have I taught you nothing?”
I glare at Ryan, who had the same reaction. He shrugs sheepishly. Apples and trees, I guess.
“ Mom! ” My patience is wearing thin. “He is not unemployed. Quite the opposite. He is very, very successful. And a little famous.”
I see her racking her brain trying to place who he might be. “Matt who?”
I say nothing.
"Matt who ? Julia Elizabeth!"
"Oh, for the love of God, she's dating Matt Johnson," Ryan yells, exasperated. "The world-famous solo artist? Guitar god? Grammy winner? You know who he is, Ma."
Her jaw drops. “The guy who just performed at Merriweather? Fran went to that. She said that young man would send her to an early grave. He sings that song, the one I like.”
I have no idea what she is talking about. My mom often refers to things she thinks my brother and I should immediately know, but we don't.
“Yes, he performed at Merriweather. Meg and I were there that night, remember? Well, he’s invited me to be his date to the Grammys next month. There’s going to be a lot of photos taken at the event. And he's meeting us for dinner, now. Any minute. Please, try to use your filter,” I beg.
“Oh, my God, Julia. I’ve got to post this on Facebook,” she says, reaching for her phone.
“No!" Ryan and I say at the same time.
"You may absolutely not post anything on Facebook about this. Seriously, Mom, Matt is very leery of the press. We just want to keep everything normal and low key. Please don’t mention it to anyone unless you need to.”
“Can I text Fran?”
“Yes, of course. But she cannot post anything on Facebook, either.”
“Okay, honey. Well, I’m very happy for you. Just make sure you don’t look scared in all those photos.”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
Matt and Sid arrive, and the dinner goes better than I could've imagined. My mom and Sid talk to each other—more like talk at each other—for over two hours, which takes the heat off Matt. And Ryan and Matt hit it off immediately, cracking jokes, quoting movies, and talking about music. It warms my heart to see what I hope will be the beginning of a long friendship between the two of them—a little something to help fill the void of brothers lost.
After dinner, we move down the block to a bar with a lounge area, where Meredith, JP, Christine, her sister, Dave, and his boyfriend come by for drinks. We sit around, drinking, laughing, and dancing for the next four hours. I have to stop a few times and take it all in—all of my favorite people in one room together. It’s extraordinary. It will go down as my favorite Christmas to date.
But suddenly and unexpectedly, I feel something else trying to push into the moment. A familiar, primordial, but barely audible voice in my head saying, Maybe this is all too good to be true .
It stops me in my tracks, and I feel like someone poured ice water on my head.
What the hell was that?
Matt notices. He always notices.
"You, okay?" he whispers in my ear.
I force a smile, nod, and give him a kiss on the cheek. I can tell he doesn't believe me, but he lets it go. For now.
After the night ends, Matt and I walk back to my apartment with our faces tucked in our coats to fight off the biting December air. With each block we walk, my mind churns. I wonder why that voice—the all too familiar one, telling me something is wrong—has returned. And why now.
Is it a sign?
I feel like Matt and I are on the precipice of something big, something amorphous I can't yet see, but I can feel it looming in the distance. By the time we turn onto my street, I hear Daryl's voice again: You can't avoid pain without also avoiding the good stuff. And with great love comes the risk of great loss. Two sides of the same coin. And it might be insane to let yourself love knowing eventually you will lose, but that is what life is all about. The great paradox.
Right?