I can still remember when he got the job with Hayes. He told me to my face he didn’t care that there was bad blood between my family and Hayes, but he was taking the job. My brother, Ryland, went on and on about the lack of loyalty, my sister Aubree told me I needed to dump his ass immediately, and Cassidy . . . well, I can’t stomach thinking about her right now.
And with all that, I stayed with Matt because . . . because he’s my high school sweetheart. And you can’t fault the guy for getting a great job with a musician who, I hate to admit . . . is going somewhere. Well, I guess at this point, he’s already gone somewhere, made a splash, and is living in the glory of his fame.
I turn off my car and head toward the back door of his apartment. I called him ahead of time to let him know I was coming. No one likes a surprise visitor. Also, I wanted to make sure he had time to clean up and shower. He’s rabid when he sees me.
I knock on the back door, and as I wait for him to answer, I glance around the back of the building. Even for an apartment/townhome, it’s pristine thanks to the Peach Society. I’ve seen Dee Dee walk around the town early on the weekends before the general store opens, taking notes in her notebook of who’s not holding up their end of the town’s beautification.
It might be frustrating for proprietors, but then again, the town is immaculate.
The door opens, pulling me out of my thoughts. Matt stands on the other side in a plain blue T-shirt and cargo shorts. His hair is longer than normal, and his face is freshly shaved, something I’ve never cared for.
“Hey,” I say, smiling up at him.
He nods at me. “Good to see you, Hattie.”
Good to see me? Uh, kind of formal, don’t you think?
I move in for a hug, but to my horror, he palms my forehead, keeping me at a distance.
Excuse me, sir!
We don’t stiff-arm each other.
I swat for him to pull me in closer, but he braces his arm, not allowing me an inch closer.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
“Hattie, we have to talk.”
I straighten up so he’s no longer palming my head. “Why does that sound like you’re going to break up with me?”
He sighs heavily. “Maybe you should come in.”
“Matt,” I say, confused. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Unless you want the entire town to hear this, you might want to come inside.”
Lips pursed together, my heart hammering in my chest, I reluctantly follow him inside. After we walk up the back steps to his second-floor apartment and enter his living room, he turns toward me.
“I’ve waited to tell you this long enough.” He pauses for dramatic effect—because that’s the kind of man he is. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
Well . . . God, that’s a harsh way of putting it.
Couldn’t he have sugarcoated it a bit?
And where is this coming from? Last I checked, we were . . . content. Sure, we haven’t seen each other in a long time—he’s been on tour, and I’ve been in school—but we’ve made long distance work.
“Is this because I live in San Francisco? I . . . I only have one semester left. I mean, I might have to do an extra one because of this last semester, but—”
“It’s because I don’t like you anymore.”
Well, Jesus.
“You . . . you don’t like me?” I ask, confused and caught off guard. Where’s the consideration for my feelings?
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I haven’t found you entertaining for the past couple of months.”
Uh . . . what’s that?
Did he just say entertaining? Pardon me, but I wasn’t aware that was part of my responsibilities as a girlfriend.
“Entertaining?” I ask in a low, steady voice. My hurt quickly subsides as anger rears its ugly head. “Oh, I wasn’t aware that, as your girlfriend, my main duty was to entertain you.”
“Don’t do this,” Matt says with an irritated sigh as he turns away.
“Do what?” I ask, tugging on his hand so he’s forced to face me.
“Be dramatic about this. Okay? Let’s be mature adults.”
“Mature adults? Matt, you’re breaking up with me because I haven’t entertained you enough. That’s not being a mature adult. That’s being a fuck wad who expects his girlfriend to dance like a monkey when he demands it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Then what exactly did you mean?”
“You’ve just been . . . lackluster. Mopey. And it hasn’t been fun to be around you. Or on the phone with you.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Mopey? Is he fucking kidding me?
“That’s because my fucking sister died!” I yell.
To his credit, he keeps his voice steady. “I understand that, but you were mopey before your sister died, and to be honest, I did the right thing and waited to break up with you after a couple of months. I wanted to break up with you before your sister died but waited.”
I sit back on my heels, raise my hands, and offer him the slowest clap known to man. “Well, pin a fucking rose on your nose, Matt. You are truly a hero.”
“See, I knew you were going to be like this,” Matt says as he moves toward the couch and flops down. “I knew you were going to be dramatic about it.”
“I’m not being dramatic.” I point at my chest. “This is a normal reaction for someone finding out their boyfriend of nearly eight years is breaking up with them . . . because he finds her boring.”
“I didn’t say boring,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “We had some good times, but just lately, you haven’t been fun, and now that we’re older, I’m afraid you’re settling, and I don’t want to settle. I want to be free. I want to be with someone who wants to do fun things, travel the country, get in trouble.”
“I’ve been in school,” I yell. “What did you want me to do? Skip class to go steal something from your boss?”
“See, that’s the kind of fun I’m talking about,” Matt says. “Remember the night we stole one of Hayes’s Grammys? That was a night to remember.”
“And so fucking illegal. You’re lucky we didn’t get in trouble.”
“But that’s what I’m talking about, that kind of fun.”
“Felon fun?” I ask. “Is that what you want? To be a felon? Because if that’s the case, have a good life, Matt. Not interested.”
He rolls his eyes. “You’ve become such a square, Hattie.”
“I’m not a goddamn square. You’re going through some sort of pre-midlife crisis. I’m sorry if I’ve been mopey and not fun, but that happens when your closest sister has stage four breast cancer, and you have to watch her slowly die. So yeah, maybe I wasn’t fucking fun.”
“Thank you for admitting it.” He throws his hands up in the air as if he just won the battle and is relieved.
And for a second, I have this out-of-body experience as I stare at Matt, the man I thought I’d marry one day. Yeah, we’ve had our ups and downs, and we might have been drifting apart lately, but I still loved him . . . but this man standing in front of me, this is a different man. This isn’t the man I fell in love with.