“Then how come you’re not eating more?”
“I don’t know,” Matt says. “I think…” His voice trails off. He stares at the kitchen window.
“Go on,” I encourage him.
“My head’s just not right.” He says it into his soup.
“Are you depressed?”
He nods. “And angry. And grateful to be alive. But mostly just…” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“You’re entitled, you know. To whatever you’re feeling.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I disagree. Look who you’re talking to.”
“I know,” he agrees. “I’m sorry.”
“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable.”
“Sure.”
“Is it because of Leyla being gone?”
Matt shakes his head. “A little, I guess. It’s such a mind fuck. All this time, I stuck around, trying to do the right thing. And then she leaves within a few days of me being sick? Like, imagine if I left her after she told me she was pregnant? How messed up would that be?”
The weight of his words feels like a cinder block strapped around a stranded swimmer in the middle of the ocean. “When is she coming back from California?”
“Brett told you, huh?”
Panic collides with truth as blood pumps as smooth as water through my veins. I nod, masking the unspoken lie with a smile.
He draws in a breath and holds it. His mouth turns into a grimace, as if he just ate something rancid. He tents his fingers and touches them to his lips. “Well, she got the call from her producer on my third day in the hospital. A show that she filmed a pilot for got picked up by Netflix. They asked her to come out there to film a whole season.”
“Talk about bad timing.”
“She said it was fate. Her big break. She said she ‘couldn’t not go.’” This information he delivers in air quotes. “And, to answer your question, I don’t know how long it takes to film a whole season of a Netflix show, but the ticket she bought was one-way.”
I gulp. “She left you in thehospitalto go to California?”
“Not exactly. I was discharged on the fourth day. Leyla left the day after that. But, like I said on the phone earlier, I guess she felt guilty.”
“How come?”
“Because she put up the GoFundMe first.”
“Oh.”
“Which reminds me,” he continues. He pulls the folded check out of his back pocket and hands it to me. “Please take this back.”
“What if you need it?”
“Then I’ll ask for help.”
“No you won’t. You’re one of the most stubborn people I know.”
“Not anymore I’m not. Consider the fact that I needed help yesterday, and what did I do? I called you. Right?”
