Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I land in Denver in the early afternoon. I spend the majority of the flight listening to the most depressing playlists I can find on Spotify. Many of them have Matt’s songs on them, and the irony is not lost on me. I read through the emails he sent over the past month, over and over again. Also weighing on me is the fact that Matt is somewhere near Denver to headline a music festival at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre. I haven't received any more emails from him despite refreshing my inbox one hundred times a day, and I don't have the guts to reach out myself. The fact that we will be in the same city and not see each other seems absurd. I am holding out for our July meetup.
Ryan meets me at baggage claim with a homemade chauffeur sign that says, Jenna Tills!
It takes me a minute of saying it in my head before I laugh. We started this tradition years ago when we both moved to new cities. It's so dumb, and it cracks me up every time. I give him a giant hug.
“How ya doing?” he asks.
I burst into tears.
“That good, huh?”
“I think I’m fine. I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now.”
“Let's go find your bag and get some lunch. Let the mountain air clear your head,” he offers.
I already feel better, being with my brother. Knowing he’ll make decisions and usher me along as I sort through the mess I've made.
We stop by his condo to drop my luggage off before venturing out for lunch. Ryan lives in downtown Denver, right across the street from the capitol building. A classic forty-something, well-off, single guy place with very modern décor—all sharp edges, steel, and concrete minimalism.
“It still looks like a million-dollar elevated prison cell,” I tell him when I walk in. “Would an area rug and some throw pillows kill you?”
“You sound like Mom.” He shakes his head.
Ryan is an environmental scientist at a small firm headquartered in Denver. Much of his current work focuses conservation efforts and specifically, repopulating the native trout populations in the rivers here that have slowly been disappearing.
Growing up, my brother took environmental issues very seriously, almost too seriously for a kid. He went door to door in in our neighborhood to give a presentation on why each resident should opt into recycling, a new phenomenon at the time. He convinced my mom to install a rain barrel in our yard that she could use to water her garden rather than wasting water from the hose. Embarrassingly for him, he also went on a shower strike for about a week to conserve water, only to be told by the prettiest girl in his grade that he smelled like a jock strap. I was proud of him for turning his passion into a thriving career.
“How is the job? The new unit?” he asks as we walk to his favorite restaurant. The sun is shining, but the air is still cool. It’s perfect weather—a perk of summertime in a mountain town.
“It’s good. The construction is all done, now we're waiting to fill the staffing requirements and get everyone through training before we can open. It’s so much waiting, it drives me nuts.”
We order beers and a pizza and Greek salad to share. Never one for small talk, Ryan cuts to the chase.
"Tell me what happened. Why'd you break up with Matt?"
I start crying again as I fill him in on the entire story, trying to explain how I didn't break up with him, but it feels like I did, plus all my annoying thoughts and the series of events that led to this frantic trip to Colorado.
"I don't think it's as bad as you think it is," he says once I finish.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it's nothing you can't rectify. You got scared and ran. So? That isn't that big of a deal. No one cheated. No one quit—though I can see how he might think you did."
"That doesn't make me feel better.”
"I don't understand why you don't just call him."
I can't explain that part either.
"Can we talk about something else? I don't want to think about Matt."
After lunch, Ryan drags me out to the mountains. We hike a five-mile loop and stop for beers on the way home. When we get back to the condo, I barely have enough energy to shower before crawling into bed, where I sleep like the dead for eleven hours.
* * *
I wake up to my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I see an incoming call from Dave. He is a prolific texter, so the fact that he is calling makes me think something terrible happened. I answer.
"Is everything okay?"
"Have you been on Instagram in the last hour?" he asks.
"No."
"Well open it right now , Jules. Keep me on the line."
"What am I looking for?"
"Go to Matt's page. He is doing a Q&A."
I type in his profile and start tapping through his story. People have submitted questions, and he is answering them. An indirect interview, where Matt is completely in control. What a good idea for him. The first few slides are about his tour, new music, inspiration for songs, and a bunch of random questions about his favorite things.
The last question is, Are you in a relationship?
My adrenaline surges as I read his reply.
I have met someone who is very special to me. I think you all might have an idea of who she is, and I think you'll like her as much as I do. She makes me incredibly happy, and I feel very lucky to know her.
"Are you reading it? " shrieks Dave.
"Yes. I see it," I say, mind racing, palms sweating.
"It's already being picked up by TMZ, Us Weekly, Page Six. The pictures of the Grammys, the gala, and some other paparazzi pics of you guys."
I sag onto the bed.
"Okay? I don't know what this is supposed to mean. You know we're spending some time apart, Dave." My heart is hammering—I notice how Matt says everything using the present tense. Maybe I didn't ruin everything after all.
"Don't you get it? He has literally never spoken publicly about any relationship. In like, over a decade. And here he is, offering it up to the world, willingly, on a silver platter because he wants to. It's worth the risk. You're worth the risk. Don't you think he's trying to tell you something? Don't be an idiot!" he screams.
I take a second to digest this. Dave is right. I know Matt's press strategy has been rooted in self-preservation. That he is willing to throw that all by the wayside to send some kind of message to me is a huge deal.
I hang up with Dave and bust into Ryan's room. I show him the Instagram page. Ryan looks at me stone-faced.
"I told you."
"Told me what?"
"That you're making this a bigger deal than it needs to be."
"How would you know that?"
He's quiet.
I throw a pillow at him.
"I saw him. Yesterday morning. Right before I picked you up from the airport. You know he's here for a show at the Red Rocks."
" What?! "
"He reached out. We've stayed in touch since Christmas. I like him, he's a good guy. Funny, too."
"Ryan. Please elaborate."
Ryan smirks. "He asked if I could meet him for coffee. He wanted to pick my brain to get a different perspective on you. He wanted to understand more about where you were coming from. I told him stuff about Nick, stuff about Mom and Dad, some of the weird stuff you've been doing since you were a kid. I told him to hold steady and you'd come around—you just had to go around and around in your head like you always do. He laughed at that and said he knew what that was like. I also think he wanted to get me on board. Get me on his team for some backup. Which I already was. Like I said, I really like the guy."
Wow.
Matt hasn't used this time apart to quietly quit, to give up and move on. Rather, he's been working behind the scenes to figure me out, to fight for me, to connect with my people—it’s unbelievable.
"What do I do?"
"I think you know exactly what to do."
He turns his phone around and shows me two e-tickets for Matt's show tonight at Red Rocks.