Obviously.
It had been one beautiful night, an awesome experience. The best of its kind Matt’d ever had, because he’d put more into it than he ever had before. Matt believed Molly’d understand that, had felt it. And hope lived inside of him for the first time in his life.
Matt had been happy at last…for a few minutes at least. Everyone in L.A. told him, though, that happiness was nothing if not short-lived. At last, he found something they hadn’t lied about, because here it was the morning after, and it was all gone. One look at Molly’s face, and the newly conceived hope withered inside him.
He didn’t understand. It should’ve been the best night of their lives. Every time he’d imagined it, Matt had been sure it would be. But now the woman Matt loved more than life—not that he’d ever loved his existence very much—stood beside him, and she was broken in a way she’d never been before.
Matthew tried to make himself move, to go to Molly, but he couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t hug her or take her hand, both things he’d done hundreds of times before. He couldn’t step towards her, couldn’t even speak.
Over twenty years as a stand-up comedian, and he couldn’t crack a joke to make her smile.
Matt put a big, fake smile in his voice. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“No.”
His face fell.
It wasn’t like Molly not to say thank you. Three years ago, on the night they met, when he’d asked her out on a real date she couldn’t let herself say “yes” to, Molly’d smiled and said, “No, but thank you for asking.” She’d said, “Honestly, I’m flattered.”
So Matt asked her out for pizza as friends and managed to exchange email addresses and Skypenames as he drove her back to her car.
Matt did hard yards for months. Oh, he was sly. He pretended to be fiercely platonic when he felt anything but. Matt thought she’d see through him, but she didn’t even understand the level of guile of which he was capable.
When he reached out, Molly almost always reached back.
Not this morning though. Molly rearranged magnets on her fridge door, took down an outdated flyer, crumpled it up, and left it on the tiny cluttered counter. She didn’t even look at her “friend.”
In three years, Matt never said he wanted more. Almost not even to himself—he made private excuses; he was good at that. But underneath the thin veil of pure intention, like algae on a billabong which hid everything living below, Matt had pushed for a change of status like last night.
When it came, holy cow, had it been beautiful.
Only it hadn’t worked out like he’d hoped after all.
Crap. All Matt’s open slobbering admiration of her honesty. Had he ever been straight with her?
He should just put a pistol in his mouth right now and end the duplicitous misery he inflicted on everyone.
Matt pulled a coffee mug off Molly’s little bric-a-brac shelf and dumped in a bit of sugar from the bowl. Coffee dripped from the basket and sizzled on the burner while he poured his cup. The smell of the burnt liquid stung Matt’s eyes. He told himself the faint stink of aborted fire was why they watered.
Matt looked back at Molly. The drawer with her spoons was about a foot from where Molly stood. He’d need to step close to her—too close—if he was going to grab one to stir his coffee.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Molly drank the kefir straight from the bottle, and her eyes pooled empty and dark, like a curtain pulled over her soul. She’d never been shielded like that before. If anything, she was too open with her emotions.
Matt had loved it; it had made him love her more.
Love. Matt’s stomach turned again, and he exhaled through pursed lips. He’d done that. Matt’s love had put out the light in her eyes.
Matthew stayed where he was. Chugged the too-bitter, too-hot coffee and burned his mouth and throat. Set the half-full cup into the sink.
“I should probably nick off,” he said. Ask me to stay. I can fix this.
“Yeah,” she responded. Molly’s tone wielded just a bit of a sharp edge.
The word stung. She was actually telling him to bugger off? He wanted to die more than ever. But he would leave Molly instead. Here, Matt was no better than his father.
“About Sunday…?” he started. They were going out together still, right?
“I can’t. Sorry.”
Something came up on her end? Dear God, let it be. “Well, I’m free Thursday arvo, if that works b—”
“No.” Frustration in her tone. “Matt, it’s not the day. I just can’t see you right now.”
Matt’s heart shriveled, but he nodded and looked around her place again. He scanned her tiny home for his scattered belongings. This had been his Safe Place for three years, and all of the sudden his eyes couldn’t make sense of the lines that separated the walls and ceilings and floors.
Matt rubbed his eyes. His fingers came away wet.
He hadn’t cried in thirty years.
He absolutely abandoned the search for his socks and didn’t bother to wipe the coffee grounds from the bottoms of his bare feet. Matt’s Chucks appeared on the floor near the kitchen doorway. His hands shook so much while he pulled them on he didn’t bother to tie them. There, his jacket hung over the back of the couch.
The keys to Matt’s rental car, the keycard to the hotel room he hadn’t yet visited, and his smartphone sat on her coffee table with their empty cider bottles, four of them. It hadn’t been enough to get drunk, just enough to calm the anxiety Matt’d been feeling when he’d run here last night…and probably enough to lower a few inhibitions too.
His wallet lay on the rug by Molly’s bed near some of her discarded clothes. Matt fairly gagged at the sight of the used condom in the little rubbish bin between her bed and nightstand. He bolted towards the kitchen door. Matt was turning the knob and shoving his wallet into his back pocket at the same time when he heard Molly.
Her voice was so soft, he almost thought he’d imagined it. “I’m sorry, Matt.”
He froze and glanced back at her. Molly still stood by the fridge. The shower-induced rosiness had faded, and her fair skin looked almost blue. Her hazel eyes were wide. Her over-sized clothes swallowed her slim body and hid all of her soft curves.
Seriously, when did she get so small? So vulnerable and fragile? His Molly was a nuclear bomb, primed and ready to turn the whole wide world upside down.
Matt turned away, focused his eyes on his white-knuckled hand gripping the doorknob.
He heard Molly clearly the next time she spoke. There were tears in her voice when she said, “About last night. What happened. I am so sorry.”
Howzat? Matt had seduced her, betrayed her, made her betray everything she believed... Why was she apologizing to him?
But Matt couldn’t deal with that now. He couldn’t even take responsibility for what he’d done. He was three seconds or one bad smell away from tossing up the coffee and whatever other nothing was in his stomach. Molly hadn’t seen Matt puke yet, and that wasn’t going to change… not today of all days.
He swallowed hard.
“It’s okay.” His voice scratched the inside of his throat.
Then he was out the door.
Chapter two