Matt’s face crumples as he looks to me and I almost regret sharing. A sad Matt might break my already fragile heart.
I’m also sure he doesn’t know what to say to me now. Whatdoyou say when you hear something like that? This is half the reason I never share with anyone. Death is awful and heartbreaking and happensall the time, and yet nothing feels right when it comes to comforting someone grieving. Especially when it’s a tragic accident like this.
“I’m so sorry, Ellie.” His hand still hovers near my scar. I put my own over his and give it a squeeze. I never know how to respond to that either.
I think about where his hand is and what led to this conversation. “I used to hate that scar so much. The visible reminder of everything. Like something I couldn’t escape,” I share with him, words just above a whisper. “I avoided so much for so long. The beach, gyms, tank tops…showers. Isn’t that crazy?” I let out a humorless laugh.“I just couldn’t handle seeing it or the questions it brought on. Sometimes when people asked about it, I’d pretend not to hear them. Or I’d tell them something fake—something less depressing.”
Matt clears his throat.“And now?” His voice is deep and gravelly.
“Now…” I sigh. “Now I still don’t like it. Still don’t like the questions and the reminder of that day and my mom. But I also look at it now and see something kind of miraculous.”
I use my hand to move Matt’s tracing finger down two inches below my scar.
“If the glass had gone here”—I tap his finger to the spot—“it could’ve punctured my heart.” I pull his finger back up slowly, moving it up and over my scar to a spot an inch above. “Here would’ve been my carotid artery.” I pause and take a moment to let that reminder soak in. “I probably wouldn’t have survived those,” I breathe out.
I don’t feel lighter or any less sad, really. But I’m flooded with that overwhelming sense of rightnessagain. Sharing with Matt feelsgood. I think deep down I knew it would.
I remove my hand from Matt’s as I hear him swallow on my last few words. “So now I just try to balance it all. Feeling deeply unlucky and lucky at the same time. Accepting the ugliness of the scar while appreciating the incredible suturing the doctor did that day. Dreading seeing it in the mirror and also forcing myself to look and desensitize myself. Some days are easier than others,” I finish quietly with a shrug.
Matt moves his hand up and cradles my face gently, thumb stroking my cheek. “The day I met you…”
“January eleventh.” I pause and think about the day. Not the worst anniversary I’ve experienced, somewhat thanks to Matt. “That’s the anniversary of the accident. I was trying to avoid thinking about it, hence the tequila.”
Matt’s thumb freezes on my face. “I wish I had known you then,” he says sadly. “Not that I could’ve made it better, I know that. But I would’ve tried.”
I place my hand over his. “You did,” I tell him quietly. “You were ‘Clark Kent.’ A perfect momentary distraction. I remember thinking you were a little birthday gift from the universe on an otherwise crap day.”
“Birthday?”
I cringe at the slipup and move my hand from its position against his. I did not intend to drop both of these tragedy bombs on Matt today. It’s a pretty awful part of my life. Who wants tocelebrate their birthday on the anniversary of their mom’s death every year?
I’ve taken to just not sharing my birthday with new people and chalking it up to not liking being the center of attention. It’s not a total lie but I used to love my birthday, and it stings knowing I’ll never feel that way about it again. My mom wanted to buy me my first legal drink and now she won’t ever celebrate a birthday with me again.
Obviously some people know, like my family and Josh. Zoey.And now Matt. You can’t change the day you were born.
“That day at The Bar, that was your birthday?” There’s an undercurrent to his voice, like he’s putting together all these very sad puzzle pieces, the culmination of all of those events making for one tremendously horrible day.
He sounds so sad that I suddenly wish my life were different, if only to keep Matt from feeling that way. “It was actually a little easier this year, you know? Being away from home meant I didn’t have to juggle the pain of my dad trying to figure out how to celebrate me and mourn my mom at the same time. Or watch my ex-boyfriend struggle with whether to plan something or even buy me a gift. Being alone was kind of…peaceful. Simple. I got to do my little tequila ritual without the burden of my loved ones’ concern. I know that sounds bad, but dealing with my own grief is hard enough. Love can be complicated, and on that day…” I clear my throat. “On that day I just needed easy.”
Matt moves his hand from its spot against my face to my hand between us. Sliding his underneath mine, he grasps it firmly and gives it a quick squeeze.
I think Matt’s hand squeezes may cure diseases one day. I might be addicted to that gentle reassurance and support he literally presses into my palm. Imightalso be addicted to a little more than his hand squeezes.Shit.
I strain my eyes against the darkness to study his face. He’s so handsome it makes my heart thump heavily in my chest. When I looked him up that day I found out he played hockey, I had the privilege of watching him grow up through press and game day pictures. He’s always been cute, even when he was drafted at eighteen and still looked so boyish with his undefined jaw and floppy hair.
He’s heart-stoppingly beautiful now, with his sharper lines and little imperfections.
I can’t see them clearly now, but his dark green eyes have long been burned into my memory. They remind me of Christmas trees and my favorite threadbare evergreen cardigan hanging in my closet—a gift from my mom. His scars, so different from mine, I now know are from hockey, not a bar fight or an accident. And despite knowing their cause, I find them incredibly disarming.
I might petition for the saying “aged like fine wine” to be changed to “aged like Matt Anderson.” People would understand.
I use my grip on his hand to pull myself closer. Gently touching my nose to the side of his, I angle myself to give him a soft kiss. Just a quick press of my lips to his. I feel his rough exhale as his hand tightens and pulls mine up behind his neck where he releases it. Using both arms, he tugs me flush against his body and wraps himself around me as he buries his face in my neck. They tighten behind my back and…oh. Matt is hugging me. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and bring my other arm around to clasp my hands there and hold on tight.
Being wrapped in his arms is bringing me a sense of comfort and peace I haven’t felt in a long time. I inhale his scent that’s become so familiar so quickly, and close my eyes to soak in this moment.
I used to think home was Boston, Massachusetts. The familiar shitty roads and never-ending winters. The countless Dunkin’ Donuts stops and autumn walks on Crane Beach with my parents. My mom’s apple pie and my childhood bedroom filled withFree WillyandGrey’s Anatomyparaphernalia. My dad’s quiet support through nursing school and Josh’s spontaneous train trips up the coast to try every lobster roll stand we could find.
But now home is already beginning to feel like my nights tucked close to Matt Anderson.
