“Why didn’t you want to go upstairs last night?” I asked. That was the crux of my confusion, of the hurt I’d felt since the night before. “It really felt like it was going somewhere, and then you kind of threw ice water on the whole thing.”
I felt so stupid asking him this. All of my insecurities were on full display, and I didn’t know if he even knew it. But when I looked at Matt, I could see insecurities behind his warm brown eyes, too. Whatever had stopped him last night was something that made him feel the way I did now. I almost hated myself for pushing at it, for asking, but I needed to understand what was going on in his head.
I could, at the very least, give him time to decide how he wanted to answer.
Silence settled over us again, broken only by the sound of the water. At least it didn’t feel as heavy as the earlier silence had, though this quiet still held weight. It was just… different. I didn’t know how to explain it. At least this time, it didn’t last too long.
“I’m not usually into hookups,” he finally told me in a quiet voice. “I mean, I’ve hooked up before. When I was single, but they always leave me feeling…” He trailed off, his brow furrowed in what I could only assume was some combination of thought and frustration. “I don’t know how to describe it actually. I just feltwrongafter every single one of them. Like the sex was great, sure. Physically, it was great. I got off. My partner got off. It just didn’t feel…”
He grunted in frustration, and I reached over and rested a hand on his knee. His eyes moved down to my hand, like he was shocked at the comforting gesture. I almost pulled it away, but I wanted to comfort him. The problem was that the only way I had ever been good at giving comfort was through physical touch. I had always just been better at the physical aspects of life, not the emotional.
It seemed like Matt had grown into the opposite.
“It’s okay,” I told him after a few seconds of him staring at my hand. “You don’t like hookups. Not everyone does.”
Matt smiled softly, and he covered my hand with his. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“I was confused,” I confessed. “I thought we were barreling toward a destination, and then suddenly we weren’t anymore. I think it just got me in my head.”
“Wonder what that’s like,” Matt joked with a dry chuckle.
“Guess I finally got a taste of what it’s like to be you, huh?” I teased back. “It’s exhausting. How do you do it?” He didn’t answer beyond a shrug and a squeeze of my hand. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the list I’d written. We’d hit the first bullet point. I understood why he didn’t want to go upstairs, at least a little bit. Moira had been right. Of course she’d been right. She was going to gloat so hard, and I’d never hear the end of it. Damn it.
“So, uh… Do you still want to spend time together? If I don’t really like casual?”
It was my turn to think. When we were sixteen, the decision to date him had been easy. The decision to let what was between us grow into something more had been as natural as breathing. It felt like the natural order of things: meet someone, fall in love, plan a future.
After our breakup, I thought it’d be easy to find that again. I’d find someone else that I loved, and I’d plan a future with them. I had a few false starts before realizing that wasn’t in my cards. I’d never felt even a fraction of what I’d felt for Matt, no matter how many relationships I’d had. It had taken years to realize that the breakup hadn’t broken me beyond repair. I was just wired differently than most people.
I just had to figure out a way to explain that to Matt in a way that he’d understand. He clearly didn’t struggle with emotional connection the way that I did. How could he possibly understand, even for a minute, what it was like to think that your only chance of love came when you were too young to really do anything about it? But I had to try, didn’t I? He deserved that, if he thought that there was a chance that we could become anything more than physical.
“I’m not good at dating,” I finally started. “I’ve tried. After we broke up, I tried to have relationships. I dated a few guys in college, but I never felt that spark, so I started hooking up. In New York, there was another guy. We started as hookups, but he wanted more.” I closed my eyes as I remembered him. On paper, he’d been so perfect for me. If I could love anyone after Matt, it should have been him, but I didn’t. The romantic feelings just never came. I’d hurt him, over and over and over again, by letting him fall in love with someone who could never love him back as anything more than a friend. My inability to love him the way he deserved had destroyed both of us.
I didn’t want to do the same thing to Matt.
“We dated, because it was what he needed, but I could never figure out the emotional part of being in a relationship with him. In the end, it just hurt both of us.”
“So, you’ve never loved anyone besides me?” The tenderness in his expression nearly broke my heart. He looked so sad, but not because of my confession. No, he looked sadforme. “I don’t think I could imagine that. Not experiencing love for years.”
I jolted at his words, at the insinuation. “Romantic love,” I clarified. “I’ve had a lot of love. My parents, obviously. You know how full of love they are, and my extended family too.” He’d met a lot of them when we’d been together. “And my friends, especially Moira. You should know better than anyone that romantic love is not the end all, be all.” After all, he had his group of friends with their sacred Thursday night get togethers. Even in high school, he’d been willing to cancel plans with me if one of them needed him. If anyone knew the strength of platonic love, it should have been Matt.
His fingers laced together with mine. “I’m sorry. I meant romantic love too. I should’ve been clearer.” I looked down at our interlocked fingers, and then I looked back up at him. Our eyes met, and he began talking again. “I just can’t imagine not having loved anyone romantically since you. I dated a girl in college, and I loved her. Even if we both knew going in that it’d never be one of those all-consuming loves. Then there was Lucas. I loved him, too. Actually thought I might marry him at one point.”
It was my turn to squeeze his hand, to offer whatever form of comfort I could. He was so full of love, so open to it, in a way I’d never been able to master. I was actually kind of jealous of him. I would give anything to capture even a fraction of what I’d felt for him again with anyone, even though I’d long since accepted that the odds of that happening were slim to none.
The distance between our knees had somehow shrunk over the course of our conversation, or maybe it had simply decided whether it was a crack or a canyon. If it were the latter, it had settled on being a crack, on being something so barely there that I only noticed it because of the heat that filled the space. I felt closer to him in that moment than I had anyone other than Moira in years.
It spurred my final confession. “I used to think I was broken,” I told him softly. “I used to think that something broke when we broke up, but I think you were just that one in a million.”
“Were?”
I nodded. “I don’t know if we can recapture the feelings we once had. I don’t know if I’m capable of feeling it again.”
He swallowed hard. His shoulders squared in a way that felt familiar. I’d seen him do it countless times when we were younger, always when faced with a challenge. He made himself sit straighter, taller, like it would make him appear bigger. It only emphasized the tightness of his shirt, a shirt I realized I’d seen before. In high school, when he’d been slimmer and less muscular. No wonder the shirt was straining to contain him.Focus, I scolded myself.
“I want to try,” he finally said. “I don’t want casual with you.”
His words filled me with terror. What if the romantic feelings I’d once had for him never came back? What if he just got hurt? But then again, Matt was the only person I’d ever really loved. He was the only person who had ever ignited that spark inside of me. Maybe it was still there, lying dormant. I still felt closer to him than I had any of the other men I’d attempted to date. Maybe he was the exception to the rule for me.
