“We want four costumes each,” he says deadpan.
“Two,” Marco counters.
“Three.” This space doctor is playing hardball but lucky for him, we’re desperate.
“Done.” He and Marco shake hands and the three of us exchange contact information so that Willy, that’s his name, can send us the necessary measurements and costume requests. He also agrees to wait for us just outside the panel exit so we can deliver his autographed photo, as promised. After signing a makeshift contract on the back of a flyer, turquoise Comic Con bracelets are securely fastened around our wrists.
“Honestly,” Marco says as we briskly step forward to rejoin the line, “sometimes I don’t know what you would do without me.”
Ten minutes later it’s almost our turn. Fans continue to move past the long table ahead as they collect their autographs, and I catch fleeting glimpses of Matt as we get closer, sending my insides and head into a tailspin ofrun, run, run, andstay, stay, stay.When we’re just a few feet away, I hear an employee telling the group in front of us that while the entire cast will sign their photo or item of choice, they can only take a picture with one person and the actors will remain seated behind the table.
I look forward at the cast now as they continue to routinely sign and push each photo down to the next person like a well-oiled machine. It’s not hard to notice that out of everyone participating, no one is choosing to take a picture with Matt. Matt, who is currently sitting at the very end of the table and looking down toward his lap when he isn’t busy signing. The only time he looks up is when he hands the photos to the recipient and thanks them for coming.
Before I know it, Marco and I are up next, and all the actors look more than ready to pack it in. After waiting hours to see Matt, to talk to him in person, my feet decide that they no longer wish to cooperate and stay planted where they are. And as for me, I’m seconds away from hiding behind the garment bag that I’m still carrying and making a run for it when Marco places a firm hand on my back.
“Don’t even think about it,” he says. With that, he gives me a shove and I’m sent moving down the table as he hands over Willy’s pictures to get signed. I slowly make my way past all the actors, who seem a little perplexed but are not complaining as I opt to not ask any of them for a photo. When I stop in front of Matt, I find that he’s writing in a notebook under the table. He still hasn’t seen me and my breathing is so erratic and thunderous that I don’t rule out the potential for a cardiac episode. Marco is trying to delay our departure for as long as possible, meandering past the actors at a snail’s pace as he’s tiredly followed by a conference employee who’s getting ready to close down the booth.
Knowing it’s now or never, I clear my throat and blurt out, “So technically, we’ve already taken a picture together, but seeing as it’s been a year since then, I was wondering if you’d want to take another.”
Matt’s eyes dart up, confused and amazed all at once.
He goes to speak but stops. Eventually managing, “Violet?” His voice is as stunned as his expression, but thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be in a bad way. At least, not yet. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I came to see you,” I say a little feebly. “Marco and I are both here.”
“Marco?” Matt’s gaze shifts to the right as my coconspirator pops up beside me.
“Oh, my god, Matt, so wild to be bumping into you like this.”
I lean in toward Marco’s side. “I told him we came to see him.”
“Of course we did,” he confidently amends. “Clearly, I was kidding. Matt remembers how quick-witted I am. Don’t you, Matt?”
We wait for him to answer but Matt still seems too astonished to communicate. His eyes stay on mine and don’t leave. My heart is hammering as I peek to my right, seeing that the actors are already gone and the conference employees are closing in on us.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I ask. Matt now seems to be getting a handle on things and nods.
“Yeah, let’s just go over here,” he says, gesturing me to follow him behind the humongousOperation Starshippromotional backdrop. I look over my shoulder at Marco as I follow, and he gives me an encouraging smile and silent applause.
A few seconds later Matt and I are alone, standing in the shadow of the backdrop wall, and everything I had been thinking of saying to him for the past three hours conveniently flies out of my mind like a cartoon bird.
“How have you been?” I ask, desperate to vocalize any thought at all.
Matt pauses. “I’ve been good. It’s been a busy year.”
“For me, too,” I tell him. “My friend Mira, the one I told you about in Rome, we went into business together.”
“I had heard.” I startle a little at his words. He’s heard about our company? How? When? “My mom told me when you first launched,” he continues. “Your work is really beautiful.”
He’s seen my work. He thinks it’s beautiful.
“I should have known your mom would help keep my legacy alive. I can’t imagine her subscribing to yournever look back/no contactpolicy.”
“No, she definitely doesn’t,” he says. “In fact, she likes to send me a link to your website every couple of months. She claims it’s by accident and that she’s trying to send it to a friend, but it’s fair to assume that she doesn’t want me to forget you. I’ve asked her to stop multiple times.”
I nod my head as the implication of his words sinks in. He’s asked her to stop sending him links from my site. Matt hasn’t erased me from his life just yet, but he’s trying to. But if that’s the case, then why write to me? Why ask if I wanted to meet up for a drink? To get closure? To end on better terms? Maybe I read the signs all wrong.
“Right,” I say, trying not to sound as deflated as I feel. “That makes sense.”
