“Why are you sending all your stuff back? You can just leave it in my room.” I was lying on my stomach across his bed, watching him scurry around frantically.
“Because I don’t want you to have to deal with any of my shit.”
“I want to deal with your shit.”
He stopped and looked at me. “It’s better this way.”
“But you’re coming back?”
“Yeah, but I hope to have a job by then so I can live in a real apartment. I’m not coming back to New York to live in Senior House.”
“Senior House is for undergrads. I’ll be in a new dorm by the time you’re back,” I mumbled into the pillow.
“All the more reason. I don’t want you to have to move my stuff when I can easily ship it to L.A. and get it later.” He was frustrated.
“You’re only going to be gone for a few months, Matt. It’s a lot of hassle.”
“Right, but you never know.”
This was not a good time for phrases like “you never know.”
“Come here,” I said. I rolled onto my back and held my arms open to him. I was wearing his favorite dress. He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes turned soft. Stalking toward me, he smiled his sweet, sexy smile. As he bent to kiss me, I stopped him right before his lips touched mine and whispered, “Would you stay if I asked you to?”
He jerked back and crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side. “Would you ask me to?” Frustration could be read in every line on his face.
Lying there beneath him, I felt more vulnerable than I ever had before. I wanted to ask him to stay, but how could I be so selfish? If I asked him, would he love me less, if he even loved me at all? I couldn’t take his dream away to make mine better. I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t destroy what we had created.
“Answer me. Would you fucking ask me to turn this down?”
I didn’t want him to, but I just needed to know if he would. “Would you stay if I asked you to?”
His jaw clenched. He was breathing heavily. Through gritted teeth, he seethed, “Yes, but I’d hate you for it. So ask me. Go ahead.” It felt like he was taunting me. I began to cry. “Ask me to fucking stay here and work at the PhotoHut while you go to grad school. Do it.”
I shook my head but couldn’t form the words.
He bent over and gripped my face hard, glaring into my eyes. “Fucking Christ, Grace, this isn’t good-bye. This is ‘see you later.’ Tell me you can handle that, please. Say that you can handle that.”
I was hyperventilating now. He was angry but his expression revealed love beneath the ferocity.
“We made no promises to each other,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I brought it up. We’ll just see how things go, okay? This is just a ‘see you later.’ ”
He nodded. “That’s right.”
You told me I was yours and you were mine.
Sniffling, I said, “Make love to me?” And then he did, sweet and tender and so full of emotion that I cried as he held me for a long time after, though it wasn’t nearly long enough.
A few hours later, we drove to JFK. Tati stayed in the car while I walked Matt to his gate at the airport.
“I’ll try to call you as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Where will you be?”
“Northern Bolivia at first.” He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder but set it down and stared at his shoes. “Grace, I don’t know how remote it’s going to be down there. You might not hear from me for a while, but I’ll write to you and we can figure out how to call each other.” He squinted into my eyes as we memorized each other’s face. “Grace, Pornsake bought the photo.”
I blinked. “I know. Why did you wait to tell me until now?”
“I just thought you should know. He’s a good guy.”
“How nice of you. And how nice of him,” I said, sarcastically.
“I didn’t want you to find out that I knew and didn’t tell you.”
“Okay.” I understood. Matt was trying not to leave loose ends.
An airline worker announced final boarding over the speaker. “It’s time.” He opened his arms and I rushed into them with such force, like I was trying to jump inside of him so he could take me along, a stowaway inside his heart. He squeezed me hard and for a long time. “I’ll see you, Grace.”
We let go of each other and stepped apart. “I’ll see you later, Matt.”
He smiled and walked away. Just before he reached the Jetway, he turned back, pulled something out of his pocket, and held it up. “I stole this, just so you know!”
It was a practice tape, a recording of me playing the cello. He laughed and then he was gone.
The love of my life was gone.
19. What Happened to Us?
Grace
The day after Matt left, I auditioned for a grunge band as a cellist at a little venue off of Allen Street in the East Village. Their music was like Nirvana, with haunting runs and loud, screaming choruses. I imagined that we would end up on VH1’s Unplugged, and I’d have an awesome career as a rock cellist, guesting for all the who’s-who bands in New York. I felt like I was finally following my dreams.
I kept to myself, played well, practiced a lot, and collected my money at the end of the week. For three nights, I made a hundred and twenty dollars. Things were promising, and I was excited to tell Matt about it.