“That was takeout, Ash,” I said, as Tati burst out laughing.
“Oh,” she squeaked, blushing.
“C’mon,” Tati said. “Let’s get those burgers.”
AFTER SCHOOL, FOR the rest of the week, I went to practice with Tati and the New York Philharmonic. Ash went to Matt’s each day, and then each night, before she went to bed, she would recap every detail of their time together. She was falling in love with him, the way daughters do with their dads. How could she not? I was happy about it, but still, I felt this ache over my own relationship with Matt.
On Saturday, Tati offered to take Ash to a movie, and I went to dinner alone at a small Italian bistro, where I let the waiter talk me into ordering a bottle of wine.
“You can have a glass and take the rest home with you. We’ll wrap it up,” he said.
I agreed, but ended up staying for two hours and drinking at least three quarters of the bottle. From under the little twinkly lights that hung from the awning, I watched people walking along the street, holding hands, kissing on the corner. The Godfather–like music and warmth from the outdoor heater was soothing me right to sleep. “Mam?” said the waiter as he reached for the bottle. “Can I wrap this up for you?”
That must be my cue to leave. Time for the tipsy lady to scram. “Yes, that would be wonderful.” There was only about a glass left, but I took it anyway.
After I paid, I walked back the four blocks toward my house, but when I passed Matt’s street, I turned onto it.
From the other side of the street, I could see inside of his loft. There he was, sitting on his couch, staring straight ahead. In the darkness below, I stood watching him, thinking it was weird that, between he, me, and Ash, none of us were together that night. He was sipping wine and looking pensively at something, or maybe nothing at all. I wondered what kind of music he was listening to. He stood up and walked to the window. I backed up farther into the shadows so he couldn’t see me. He was completely still as he stood there, watching the occasional car go by.
What is he thinking?
Finally, I said, Screw it. I darted across the street and rang the buzzer to his apartment.
He answered quickly. “Who is it?”
“It’s Grace.” My nerves were terrorizing my stomach.
“Come up.”
When the elevator doors opened, he was standing there, waiting. I looked down at his bare feet and up to his black jeans, his belt and white T-shirt, up farther to his mouth, his neck, his long, yummy hair, tied back. I shivered. “Hello.” I held the paper bag out to him and he took it.
He pulled the bottle from the bag, laughed, and then looked up at me with a wry smile, “Thank you, Grace. I’ve never been given an almost completely empty bottle of wine before.”
My face was expressionless. “It’s really good. I saved you a glass.”
He looked at me carefully, probably to gauge my level of inebriation. “Where’s Ash tonight?”
“With Tati. Oh shoot, I need to find out when they’ll be home.”
He removed his cell phone from his back pocket and handed it to me. I dialed Tati’s number. The movie was probably over by now, and I didn’t want Ash to come home to an empty house.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded strange, and then I realized that she wouldn’t recognize the number.
“Tati, it’s me. Where are you?”
“We’re getting ice cream. Everything okay? Whose number is this?”
“It’s Matt’s.”
Without responding, I heard Tati pull the phone away from her ear and say to Ash, “Hey let’s rent movies and get a bunch of junk food and hang out at my house? Your mom says it’s okay.”
“Okay,” I heard Ash say.
Tati came back on and whispered, “You’re covered. See you in the morning.”
I hit end and handed the phone back to Matt. “What did she say?”
“They’re fine. Ash is staying over at Tati’s tonight.”
“Is Tati a good influence?” he asked, looking at me sideways.
“We’re not twenty-one anymore, Matt; she doesn’t sit around smoking pot all day. She’s a world-class musician and an independent, educated woman. What do you think?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he conceded immediately. I felt guilty for a second, realizing he was just trying to do what he thought dads should do. “So, to what do I owe this visit?”
Things were not going as I planned. “I don’t know . . . I just need . . .”
“What?” He set the bottle down and moved toward me. “What do you need?” I couldn’t tell yet if he was seductive or annoyed or both.
When he stepped closer, I could feel his warmth and smell the cardamom-and-sandalwood scent of his body wash. “Did you just shower?”
He blinked. “Why?” He wasn’t budging, wasn’t giving me any clues with his body language as to how he felt about me, but I thought I could still detect a quiet anger or resentment beneath the surface.
And I was just drunk enough to call him on it.
“Who are you angry with, Matt?”
He didn’t hesitate. “You. Elizabeth. Dan . . . Myself.”
“Why on earth would you be angry at Dan?”
His voice was restrained. “I’m jealous of him.” He looked into my eyes. “He got everything I wanted. He got what was mine.”
“But it wasn’t his fault. I’ve accepted that, and you should, too.”