“Have you ever visited LA?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Up until this trip, I’ve only ever been as far as Chicago. I lived there for almost seven years.”
“Really?” Matt seems surprised, swiveling his chair all the way around. “Was that recently?”
I try to think how I can frame my story to keep it as short as possible. “Quasi-recently. I moved home two years ago and first went out there when I was twenty.”
“And now you’re...?”
“I’m twenty-nine,” I answer. “And chronically old by your description.”
Matt stands up at that, taking a few steps forward. “I never said you were old. I said you were older than your classmates.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “Please. You said it like I escaped from the crypt and was slithering around your house like the queen of the undead.”
“I didn’t mean it that way,” he insists with a grin. “And if you’re fresh out of the crypt then I’m a wise, ancient tree that sprouted when the earth was made because I’m significantly older than you.”
“Define significantly.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
“I’d hardly call a three-year age gap significant. Though, you do look like a young thirty-two. Not having a soul must be very beneficial for reducing your stress lines.”
A lazy smile crosses his face as he moves again, this time sitting down on the edge of his bed.
“So,” he says, “wasGrega leading character in your Chicago story?”
“Why do you have to say his name like that?” I ask. “You don’t even know him.”
“I can’t help it. His mountainous selfie addiction rubbed me the wrong way and I just can’t forgive him.”
I shake my head but answer him, nevertheless. “Yes, Greg played a big part in my Chicago story. I followed him out there.”
Matt’s eyebrows rise a little but he doesn’t look overly surprised. Or judgmental.
“That’s a big life change for someone who was only twenty.”
He isn’t wrong. It was a bold move at a young age, even if it did end up being the wrong choice for a multitude of reasons. I’d like to think I’d change it if I could, but deep down, I don’t know if that’s true. Everything happens for a reason. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Gazing over at Matt, I throw on a smile as I try to keep the mood light. “I was young and foolish. It’s amazing how many bad decisions you can make when you’re happy.”
Matt looks at me like he knows I’m putting up a front. “Care to elaborate?” he asks.
I pause but ultimately shake my head. “Not really. But don’t let my relocation failure sway you. Yours will be better. Maybe you’ll love the West Coast. It’ll be relaxing and fun with plenty of creative and interesting people to talk to. Lots and lots of sunny days.”
Matt’s face reflects open disgust at my description, and I’m not sure if it’s the talking with people aspect or the constant sunshine that caused his instant unease. Probably both.
“Who knows,” I tell him. “Maybe you’ll get there, and you’ll love it so much, you’ll want to be in front of the camera, too. You can write a part for yourself as the eerily silent anesthesiologist with smoldering eyes and a turbulent past.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I would rather be buried alive than consistently be on camera. Though, it is nice to know that you think my eyes are smoldering.”
I get up from my seat and slowly start to cross the room. “Don’t get carried away. Everyone’s eyes have the potential to smolder with the right backstory and medical uniform.”
Matt affords me a grin as he looks down at his feet and crosses his arms. Glancing up he says, “I could never be an actor. I have zero on-camera presence. If you ever watched one of my interviews you’d be chilled to the core.”
His words send a jolt through me, and I can’t believe I never thought of this earlier.
“Wait, how have I not googled you yet? Do you have interviews online? Can we watch them? I swear, I won’t make fun of you.”
