When we reach the table, I pull out her chair, and she takes a seat, smiling up at me as she scoots in.
“Hey,” she says as I take the seat in front of her. “We’re kinda on a date.”
I smile broadly and laugh. “Nope, not possible, remember? This is a chance-encounter, non-date situation.”
“Ah.” She nods, placing her napkin on her lap. “My mistake.” She grins.
I reach out for her hand—finally!—and kiss it. Considering we’ve never even kissed on the lips before, it’s a bold move, I know. It feels so intimate but like the right thing to do, so I do it again—and I know she likes it.
Liza blushes and shakes her head at me with a smile. “You’re trouble.”
“Am I?” I ask, smirking. I love that she thinks I’m trouble. It means she feels something there, quite possibly as deep a connection as I do.
“Yes.” She bites her lip, and it gives me a strange thrill.
“I’m okay being trouble so long as I get to spend time with you,” I say, meaning every word.
She laughs. “You know that means you actually have to help me move, then, don’t you?”
I decide to go for it and lay all my cards out on the table for her. I don’t care about her brother forbidding me from seeing her anymore, and I don’t want to play any more games. I like her, and I want her to know it. I want to own up to it.
“Liza.” I bring her hand to my lips with both of mine this time. “I really could not give a shit what we’re doing so long as we’re together. You need me to spend the entire day building IKEA furniture with you? No fucking problem. I’ll build the shit out of your MALM wardrobe or your BILLY bookcase. I don’t care. I want to get to know you better and spend time with you, and if that’s what I have to do to be able to get it, then I will do it.”
She blushes, and a slow smile spreads across her face.
“Okay, then,” she says simply. “But just as an FYI, I didn’t get a MALM wardrobe. I wasn’t into that line.”
IDON’T THINKI’ve ever had so much fun building furniture in my life, and I freakinglovebuilding IKEA furniture. I’m the crazy person who volunteers to help her friends when they move or buy new stuff. The simplicity of the process and the sense of accomplishment you get as you stand in front of the bookcase or dresser you built is almost incomparable. It’s the same reason why I love doing my paint-by-numbers sets. I have tons of them (don’t judge—I already got teased by Matt).
I mean, it’sgenius. They make the instructions so simple for something that ends up looking so greatand you made. How can you not love it? Add the guy you’re crushing hard on to the mix, and you’ve got yourself the best day ever.Especiallywhen said man is building most of the furniture for you while you unpack. I mean, is there reallyanythingsexier than a man building something for you? Is it the power tools? Is that it? It must be that because,my God, look at him holding that orange Black & Decker drill.
Plus, he basically unloaded everything in my U-Haul by himself. He would only let me carry the light stuff.
Sigh.
He’s such a good provider.
It’s also been an amazing day because we’ve been able to get to know each other more. I’ve been able to ask him the million questions I wanted to ask and learn more about him—something I’ve been dying to do since the first moment I laid eyes on him over six years ago.
He asked me what it was like to grow up with Vinny (we didn’t spend too much time together because of the age difference, but as we’ve gotten older, we’ve gotten closer), what my dad was like (the best guy in the world), why I picked Psych (I’m fascinated by human behavior), what the hell all those paint-by-numbers were (I explained how working with your hands is supposed to help with anxiety and depression, and I hardcore went through a painting phase after Dad died), and what my relationship with Jeremy was like, that I only recently figured out there was always something missing. I was pretty open about everything and threw back as much as I took—except I chose not to ask him abouthisexes. I knew his reputation and really didn’t feel like having it confirmed. I wanted to go off of the Matt I was getting to know now and not the Majestic Matt who partied with my brother all those years ago.
I did ask about a million other things about his life, though. I learned that he’s from Florida, which I joked I wouldn’t hold against him. I learned that his mother, who owns a fairly successful jewelry line, remarried a couple of years after his dad passed and that it was difficult for him to accept, that it’s still sometimes hard to see her with someone, but that he’s happy that she’s happy. I learned he prefers The Rolling Stones over The Beatles but respects the commercial value of the latter. I learned how meditation and yoga saved him from a mental breakdown his first year of residency. How, when he was in college, he used drinking and partying as a way to blow off some steam, but as a resident, he couldn’t act the same way, and he had to find healthier ways to deal with the pressure.
This topic turned him glum, to which I had to ask why. He was quiet at first, like it pained him to admit what he was going to say, but he told me anyway.
“I was an immature ass up until I started my residency. I really couldn’t deal with anything in my life at the time. I don’t even know how I made it through school with good grades. I was acting out in so many self-destructive ways… I’m not proud of who I was then.” He shakes his head. “I was just…lonely, I guess. Mom was traveling all the time with her new husband, and I don’t have any siblings… I don’t know. I…I kinda felt like an orphan.”
My heart breaks for Matt, and I walk over to where he’s kneeling over the bed frame he’s been putting together for me. Losing my dad was horrible, but I was lucky enough to have my family to get through it together. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him to go through that all alone.
I place my hand on his back in an effort to comfort him, to let him know that he’s not alone—not now, at least—feeling every muscle under my fingertips, wanting to touch him under his t-shirt.
“I don’t really remember you being that bad of a guy, but I don’t think it matters anymore. I think the guy you are now is pretty amazing—and that’s all that matters to me,” I say.
I feel his deep sigh rumble through his back before he turns to look up at me with a pained smile.
“I hate that I don’t remember you from before,” he says sadly.
“It’s just as well.” I shrug, trying to lighten the mood, aching to run my fingers through his hair, touch his beard again, lean my head on his shoulder. “I looked hella awkward senior year of high school.”
