“Again, rude.”
I shushed her. I knew that if I let her get going, I would end up distracted. We would take a thousand conversational side roads, and I’d never get to talk about the whole reason I called her in the first place. “Anyway, so we hooked up Thursday, and we’ve barely talked since. I’ve texted him, and he’s sent back one word responses and emojis. That’s it. Not even a GIF, which takes some effort to find the right one.”
“Ouch. What did you do to fuck this up already?”
“Rude,” I echoed her previous statement, “and also hurtful! Who said I did something to mess it up? Besides, I’ve replayed the entire night. We went out with his friends to a club. We danced, and then we ended up hooking up. I kissed him goodbyeat his apartment. I sent a follow up text. I did everything right, right?”
Maybe I’d missed some cue that someone else might have seen, someone who wasn’t messed up when it came to romantic interactions.
“It sounds like you did everything right,” she said after a moment of thought. That was what I loved about Moira. She didn’t just say what I wanted to hear. She gave my words actual thought; she made sure that she believed what she said. “So, have you just texted him or have you called him?”
“Just texted.”
“Well, there’s one thing you did wrong. You should have called! Actually, no, fuck that. If you’re bugged by the fact that he hasn’t called, then maybe you should go over there. King’s Bay’s small, right? Not like that time when you left your phone at that guy’s place in SoHo and just got a new phone rather than deal with the public transport.”
“Oh, that had nothing to do with not wanting to take the subway. He had terrible morning breath, and I’m pretty sure he’d never changed his sheets. Like ever.” I shuddered at the memory of that terrible one night stand. “Worse than all of that, he definitely wanted to go on dates.”
Moira’s melodic laugh filled my ear, and I missed her so badly. I wished we were having this conversation on my couch, gripping hot cups of coffee and eating homemade pastries. Of course, if she were here, I never would’ve gotten into the state I was in. She would’ve driven me directly to Matt’s apartment Friday night and deposited me on his doorstep. She would’ve sat in the car until she saw I went in and probably a good ten or fifteen minutes after to make sure I didn’t run scared.
I wished she were here now. I needed her strength.
“I’m going to hang up and go over there.”
“Good.” I stopped pacing. “Oh, and Noah? If you haven’t changed out of your pajama pants, do that. You can’t have a romantic moment in those ugly as hell French toast pajama pants.”
“I’m not wearing them,” I scoffed, looking down at my legs. I wasn’t. I’d retired those after years of her incessantly mocking them. They hadn’t even made their way to King’s Bay with me. “I’m wearing the green plaid ones.”
“Those might be cute but put on some jeans. The nice ones that make your ass look like a million bucks.”
I knew exactly what jeans she meant. I promised her that I’d put on real clothes and hung up.
An hour later, I was in the jeans she suggested, a green button down Moira had always said made my eyes sparkle, and smelling like the expensive cologne I’d made my signature scent back in college. I was also pulling into Matt’s parking lot. His car was still in the same spot I’d seen it Thursday night when I’d dropped him off. It was a good sign that he’d probably be home, unless one of his friends had picked him up. I thought about sending a text, but I decided against it. What if he said he didn’t want to see me?
I’d rather him say it to my face.
I steeled myself as I walked up the stairs to his unit. Once I got there, I took a deep breath and knocked. No one answered. I knocked a second time, and I heard Matt’s voice through the door. “It’s unlocked.”
There was a worrying distance to his voice. I pushed open the door, expecting the worst. Maybe he’d been expecting one of hisfriends, and he’d be disappointed to see me. Why else would his door be unlocked? I was probably intruding by showing up without warning or invitation.
When I stepped inside, the worry amplified. Matt was sitting cross legged on the floor. The room was shadowed, and his face was lit up by his laptop screen. There were a few open root beer cans on the floor and crumbled up bags of chips. He was wearing a tee shirt that looked like it had seen better days and pajama pants with a few holes in them. I could see the bags under his eyes, pulled into contrast by the harsh computer light, but that wasn’t the most disconcerting part.
No, the most disconcerting part was the dozens of rubber ducks all over the room. They were scattered around. Some were in neat lines, and others were in clumps. One or two were flipped over by a wall, like he’d thrown them there. There were all different colors and designs, different sizes, and they were all facing Matt. I knew that he had a few ducks that he talked to when he was working, but I didn’t realize the collection had grown this out of hand. I took another step into the room and realized that dozens of ducks was an understatement.
Every surface had ducks.
The closer I got to him, the closer together the ducks were. They were forming a protective barrier of rubber around him.
“Matt?” At the sound of my voice, Matt jolted, almost dropping his computer. He blinked a few times, and it gave the impression of a man coming out of a trance. “Is this some kind of weird duck ritual?”
“Noah?” His voice sounded just as distant as it had through the door.
I toed a few ducks out of the way, trying to make my way to him. “What the hell is going on, baby?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” he said after another moment. His eyes darted back to the computer screen and then up at me. “I’mnot having some kind of breakdown. Promise. No need to sound worried.”
He was starting to sound a little more like himself. He shoved a few ducks out of the way, giving me a clear path to him. I knelt down beside him, careful not to knock any of the root beer cans over. I didn’t know if they were empty or full, and I didn’t want to find out by staining his carpet. “You sure about that?”
“I’m positive.” He hit a few buttons on his computer and shut the laptop. “I was planning on calling you after I finished up, see if you wanted to do something. I’d hate to waste the whole Saturday working on this.”
