“Who did you have a drink with, Lucy?” And in that moment I understood he knew I had been with Daniel. Because even rum-soaked, I had enough mental acuity to realize if I had been with Jenny, or Alex, or even with my parents, I would have already admitted it. The only reason I would be hedging was if the person I had a drink with was someone Matt wouldn’t be happy to hear about.
“Daniel.”
The effect of speaking his name was significant in our living room, where it hung like a heavy curtain blocking out all light and sound. We stared at one another, and I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible, but all I could think about was how I had kissed Daniel. Sickening guilt hit me and I thought I might throw up all those unfortunate Dark and Stormy drinks onto our living room rug.
“I see,” Matt said. I braced myself for the onslaught of questions. The inevitable “What? How? Why?” I expected to follow. But he asked nothing. Only said, “I’m going back to bed,” and then promptly dropped my phone onto the couch beside me, where it landed with a soft plop, before walking into our bedroom and shutting the door.
My heart hammered, and I finally took in a breath. Then I looked down at my phone, which had landed faceup, and on a hunch pressed the button to wake up the dark screen. There was a text message, from Daniel.
Hope you got upstairs okay. It was nice to see you. And like I said, already forgotten.
He’d closed the message with a winky-faced emoticon, and I felt another rush of nausea when I glanced at the time stamp. It had come in only moments after we’d said goodbye; he had probably sent it while he walked down the street to catch a cab, and without question Matt had my phone in his hand when the message lit up my screen. Which meant he saw it, probably as I sat on the landing after my stair tumble, trying to reconcile what I had done.
I glanced at the closed bedroom door. Should I go in there and apologize? Tell Matt the whole story about how we’d run into each other at Jake’s party and had a (very innocent) coffee? How tonight sort of happened and nothing about it was premeditated? But I decided if Matt wanted to know why my ex was texting me, why I’d gone out with Daniel without telling him, he would have asked. He wouldn’t have shut the conversation down by walking away.
Regardless, I should have gone in there and pulled back the covers and lain down beside him and unloaded everything in gentle whispers in the dark. With kindness and honesty, admitting my imperfections and letting him know I wanted to do better for both of us. To tell him the truth about how conflicted I felt and how I was trying my best. That I was sorry I kept hurting him, because he didn’t deserve it.
But instead I retreated to the guest room and flopped down on top of the bedding, pulling the quilt over me like a burrito wrapper before sinking into a dreamless, alcohol-heavy slumber.
30
The next morning when I woke up, cold and uncomfortable because the quilt was on the floor, I lay still for a few moments so the events of the prior evening could load into my brain.
I met Daniel for a late-night drink, which turned into a few too many.I need to stop drinking so much.
I kissed Daniel and told him I remembered us being married.
Matt knew I went out with Daniel, and that I’d lied to him.
With a sigh I ran a hand over my face, tried to clear the sleep from my eyes. Everything hurt—my head from the booze, my chin from where I tripped and fell on the stairs, my body from an uncomfortable and restless sleep. But I could hear footsteps outside the guest room, the sounds of Matt moving around in the kitchen, and then my nose picked up the smell of brewed coffee and something frying.
I swung my legs to the edge of the bed and stood carefully, hanging on to the wall for support as things spun a little before settling into place. The sickly sweet flavor of ginger beer coated my tongue and mouth and I desperately wanted to brush my teeth. Pushing the door open as quietly as I could, I padded to the washroom—saw Matt in the kitchen standing over the stove, his back to me—and brushed my teeth while I peed. Then I looked at myself in the mirror, frowning as I did. There was a purplish-looking lump on my chin, my mascara had spread beyond my eyelashes and I was pale. With a quick scrub of face wash and some tinted moisturizer and blush I looked better, but still not great. But I couldn’t do anything about my insides, which felt a thousand times worse than how I looked on the outside.
Despite my lingering nausea, the smell of pancakes and bacon frying on the stove piqued my appetite. A full pot of coffee sat waiting to be poured, and Matt was in his sweats and a T-shirt, his hair still shower-damp, a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.
I paused a moment longer, taking in the scene and wishing, again, that things could be different. Only months earlier I had been in love with this man. I had no relationship with Daniel and, from everything I had been told, had completely walked away from him when we broke up—never looking back. It must have been so nice, to be confident about and content with my life, and to have no doubts. The pain of what I’d lost hit me hard as I watched Matt, and I held back the sob trying to burst from my lungs.
Clearing my throat so he would know I was there, I walked into the kitchen. “Morning,” I said, heading to the fridge to pour a cold glass of juice.
Matt looked up from the pan, a spatula in his hand. “Morning.” He smiled, the same smile he had been giving me every morning since I got home—warm and reassuring—and for a brief moment I wondered if I’d imagined everything. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me again. But then I touched my chin and the shot of pain from the bruise reminded me last night had been real.
Matt took the coffeepot and held it over a mug. “Coffee?”
“Uh, yes, please,” I said, my voice croaking. I took the mug and held it tightly in my hands. “Thanks.”
“Hope you’re up for some breakfast.” Matt still hadn’t looked at me except to give me that brief smile, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing. So I stood where I was, in the middle of the kitchen with my mug in my hands. “Did you sleep okay?”
Did I sleep okay?Again, I considered maybe my memory of last night was a bizarre confabulation, but then Matt said, “Your phone is charging, in case you were looking for it.” He plated our pancakes and bacon, licked a bit of grease from his thumb. “Let’s eat while it’s hot.”
At the mention of my phone my stomach flipped over, making it entirely possible I would vomit up all of last night’s rum into my plate of pancakes. But I sat beside him at our kitchen table, pulled up my chair and tucked into my breakfast. My stomach didn’t revolt after the first bite, or the second, which was a relief. “This is great.”
He smiled, continued chewing his breakfast. Still said nothing about last night.
I wondered if this would be how things would go for the next while. Matt and me being excessively formal, tediously polite, as we tried to coexist in this new state where I had lied and he had found out and nothing was how either of us hoped or expected it to be.
Matt polished off his pancakes first, then worked on his bacon, dipping the strips into the pool of maple syrup on his plate. “I need to go into the office. But I’ll be back for dinner.”
I glanced at the clock; it was already ten in the morning. “You aren’t going for a ride today?”
