The Wife of Reilly (4 page)

They go to
our
school. Our school! Sweet mother of God, thank you for this miracle!

Matt sat next to me. “Hey,” he said.

I love this man.
“Hey,” I returned, hoping not to vomit on him.

After an hour of drinking, everyone at our table was practically singing Auld Lang Syne together as if we’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes. Matt’s knee touched mine under the table and both of us declined to move them away. My hair follicles had a pulse beat. My pores opened so wide with terror, I swore you could stick a cork in each one.

“So, I didn’t catch your name,” Matt said to me.

Maybe not, but I just caught a jump shot.

“Prudence,” I said, trying to match his coolness.

“I’m Matt.”

And I’m in loooovvve with you! I managed not to blurt.

“So, you go to Michigan?” he asked.

I nodded for fear of something ridiculous escaping from my lips.

“I wonder why I’ve never seen you around.”

Perhaps it was the other 40,000 students milling about.

“Well, I’m around now,” I said, amazed at my own ability to flirt.

“You want to go take a walk or something?” he asked.

Definitely the “or something.”

I remember reminding myself to drink in this moment where those gorgeous blue eyes were looking straight at me, and that utterly delicious mouth was forming words that were inviting me to walk — or something. Matt was without a doubt one of the best looking guys I’d ever laid eyes on, and hands-down the sexiest living creature I’d ever seen — underwear ads included.

I would walk anywhere and do anything with you
, I thought better of saying.

Cindy watched us both get up from the table as her mental game buzzer sounded that it was all over for her.

“Go get him,” she mouthed and winked. She was a good sport. Plus, three guys had practically set up campsites around her at our table, which was always a great consolation to Cindy.

Matt and I both lay on our backs on the beach and played tic-tac-toe on an imaginary board in the black sky. Very drunk couples stumbled by us, oblivious to Matt and me. I, on the other hand, was aware of every grain of sand under my head, the smell of the ocean air and every voice that passed by us.

“When I get you back to my hotel room I am going to fuck your brains out,” a guy told a girl as he draped his arm around her like a wounded soldier.

“I haven’t got any brains left, but you can still fuck me,” she laughed as if this were the funniest thing in the world. Then he chased her and tackled her to the sand.

“I can’t wait another second. You are so hot,” said Drunk Guy as the couple laughed and rolled in the sand.

Matt looked at me and smiled as we were both simultaneously embarrassed and titillated by the uninhibited, unbridled sexuality.

“Um, X in the number six spot,” he smirked.

The couple got up and continued chasing each other on the sand until we could not see them anymore. Surely, they each woke up the next morning on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, shook sand from their underpants and muttered, “Who the hell are you?”

“I already put my O in number six,” I said.

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. You’re drunk. You just forgot.”

He sat up quickly. “You are a cheater!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!” he laughed. “You are cheating at tic-tac-toe. Do you know what that makes you?”

Absolutely, totally in love with you?

“What?” I said with a smile that connected in the back of my head.

“Pathetic.”

How could a man calling me pathetic sound sweeter than any sonnet or poem or song I’ve ever heard in my life?

“Lucky for you, pathetic is exactly what I’m looking for in a girl.”

We both gave each other that pre-kiss smile, then stopped. The tic-tac-toe, the banter of pathetic cheating was all completely irrelevant and we both knew it. It was all leading to this. He leaned down slowly as if to ask if it was okay to kiss me. I smiled and did not stop him. Then for the first time our lips touched each other, and arms enveloped the other’s bodies. I had to remind myself not to caress every part of his clothed body, desperate to take in every detail of him. It would seem too needy, I thought. But he was just what I needed.

Now more so than ever, though I hadn’t realized it until that moment at the Michigan homecoming. I looked through the binoculars again. It looked so much like Matt. I wondered if Fate had sacked Common Sense.

Chapter 4

The Michigan football team huddled during a timeout, while I also decided what my game plan would be. I could have easily moved forty yards across the stadium bleachers without being tackled like a running back carrying the ball. But when I got to his section, I might have encountered unnecessary roughness. This guy very well could’ve been someone who just looked like Matt. Or worse, it would be him, and his beautiful wife and their two strapping sons.

I reminded myself that if I stopped right then, I could always preserve my version of our history. Frankly, the real version wasn’t so great, but this installment could be downright humiliating. He could politely introduce me to his wife as an “old friend,” then entertain her with the story of his abrupt departure from my life.

“I don’t blame you for a moment, darling,” she would say to Matt, pitying the poor soul for ever having to spend time with me.

“Seeing that raggedy old Prudence reminds me of how lucky I am to have a beautiful wife like you,” Matt would say to her at dinner that night as they toasted their blissfully perfect life together. She would return with something delightfully witty, never once referring to their love as “real.”

Still, I decided to go over and see what would happen. Jennifer calls this the “seduction of potential.” Lemon fresh Pledge. It
could
change your life. The game clock ran out on the first half, and streams of maize-and-blue people headed out for snacks and drinks. I slinked over to his section before I noticed Mr. Could-Be-Matt walking away from the group of guys he was sitting with, and toward the exit. I followed his trail, which ultimately led to the concession stand. As I stood on line, just five places behind him, I realized it was absolutely, without a doubt, him.

I wondered what I would say to him when he noticed me.

Oh my God! Imagine running into you here.
Too fake.

It’s been so long!
Why not hang a “Look at my crow’s feet” sign around my neck?

How
are
you?
Maybe. Save it as a last resort.

Are you married?
Definitely not.

I think of you every year on your birthday.
Swallow fatal amount of sleeping pills before uttering these humiliating words.

As pitiful as it seems — even to me — it was true that every year for the past fourteen I remembered Matt’s birthday. Perhaps it was because the first time we slept together was on his twenty-second birthday, our fourth night together in Fort Lauderdale. The day before, I’d driven to town with Olivia, Libby, Cindy and Evie to stock up on alcohol and purchase a small cake for Matt’s birthday. I’d negotiated use of the hotel room until two that morning and planned to invite Matt over in the evening for cake and Jack Daniels. At midnight, I would be the first person to wish him a happy birthday. That was the plan.

At around eight-thirty, I got a call from Libby. She was at the guys’ hotel room and whispered, “You’d better call Matt.”

“Why? We agreed to get together later. What’s up?”

“Olivia and I have been here for a few hours, and Evie and Cindy just walked in. Matt thinks you’re blowing him off.”

“Why are Evie and Cindy there? I thought they were going for a walk.”

“Look out the window.” Pouring rain. “This was the closest place they could run for shelter. Anyway, Matt is doing a really bad job at trying to act like he doesn’t care, but we can all see he’s bummed out ’cause he thinks you’re avoiding him.”

“You’re kidding?” I asked. After just four days I could already see that unshakable apathy was very much part of the persona Matt had cultivated. Even though it was clear he liked me, he’d still pepper his conversations with “whatever.” I couldn’t help feeling just a bit giddy with the fact that he was showing visible signs of actually caring about me.

“Put him on the phone,” I asked Libby.

“No way. He’d kill me if he knew I called you. You call back here in a few minutes.”

Blowing him off? I laughed. If he only knew I was actually writing his name in blue icing on a supermarket birthday cake.

“Hey, are we still on for tonight?” I asked Matt when I called back.

“Hey Prudence,” he said coolly. “Where’ve you been all day?”

“Well, actually I’ve been shopping for birthday stuff for you. I thought we could celebrate together.”

“Shit,” he said.

“What an ingrate,” I teased.

“No, it’s not that. Thank you, no, thank you really. It’s just, well, when I didn’t hear from you, I thought, you know. I thought you were, you made other plans so I told the guys we’d go out drinking. I should’ve called. Shit. I fucked up. Okay, how ’bout this? Why don’t I come over now and then I’ll go out with my friends later?”

I didn’t love the plan, but I was already completely in love with him so I accepted it. I rationalized that this would be an opportunity to show him what a cool girlfriend I would be.

He arrived a few minutes before nine in an orange mesh football jersey over a white t-shirt and crisp 501 jeans. His brown hair was wet and combed neatly in a side part. At the door, he smiled so powerfully it seemed to have the ability to swing the door wide open all by itself.

“Hey,” he said. His head moved from one side of the room to the other as he scanned the rainbow of balloons strewn across the floor and his cake on the table.

“Hi. Come on in,” I said, trying to seem very okay with how the evening was turning out. In reality I was a bit embarrassed that I’d gone through all this trouble for a fifteen-minute round of drinks and slice of cake before Matt went out for his real celebration.

“This is sweet,” he said looking at the cake. “I had no idea you were doing this for me or I wouldn’t have made other plans.”

We had a plan, you idiot! Just last night, you kissed me against an illuminated Pepsi machine, and we said we’d get together tonight. What happened between now and then?!

“No big deal,” I said instead.

“No, it is a big deal. I feel like shit.”

Good! You should feel like shit. We had plans. What happened to our plans?!

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “More cake for me, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Listen, why don’t I come back later and we can keep our original plan? Can I come back at around midnight?”

Sure, I’ll just wallow in self-pity for the next three hours all by myself here.

“That’s fine.”

Look how easy-going I am, Matt. Please love me.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” I said lighter than the previous “that’s fine.” I kissed him on his lips and told him to enjoy the time out with his friends. “I’ll be here when you get back,” I said, the shining example of the most excellent girlfriend.

I turned on the news and poured myself a shot of Jack Daniels. The top story that evening was the storm. Thunder roared outside and rain frantically tapped on the hotel window.

“Looks like heavy showers in Broward County this evening,” said a blond anchor woman.

“Thank God for the news,” I said aloud to no one.

Twenty minutes later, there was an urgent knock at my hotel door. It was Matt, soaking wet and breathless. “Oh my God, look at you. Come in, come in,” I said rushing for a towel. Drying his hair with the cheap white hotel towel, I almost inaudibly stated the obvious. “You’re back.”

He smiled as if he wasn’t going to say anything else, then grabbed my waist and pulled me toward him and kissed me. Matt waited a second, like he was contemplating whether or not to explain himself. After the hesitation, he smiled. “You know, I was sitting there at the bar, and then I thought to myself, what the hell am I doing here? So I ran back.”

You
ran
back? You didn’t just casually stroll back to me, you ran. Okay, so it’s raining, which may have added some incentive for you to hurry, but it was me you were running to
.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” I said before I kissed him. As our lips touched, I was returned to the present when a guy behind me on line stepped on my shoe
. I’m glad you’re here,
I repeated silently. Maybe that’s what I’d say when our eyes met at the concession stand.

Good to see you Matt. I’m glad you’re here.
Too host-like?

Well hello there. I’m glad you’re here.
Weird.

I’m glad you’re here. It’s good to run into you.
Not bad.

Hey, look who it is. Nice to see you, Matt.
Pretty good.

“Prudence? Prudence Malone? Is that you?” said Matt as he held a cardboard holder with four cups of beer.

Oh my God. He sees me. This is it!

“Hey, wow, I’m glad you’re here. Look who it is.”

Note to self: Have doctor increase dosage on Paxil. Clearly not working.

“Malone, my God! I almost didn’t even recognize you. You look great, so cool.”

I didn’t look cool before?

“Thanks,” I said instead. “You too. I mean you look great, not different or cool. Not that you don’t look cool, you do. It’s just that it’s not a different look for you. I mean, you always looked cool.”

Shut up now!

“Thanks, Malone,” he laughed.

Great. As I crumble with social ineptitude, Matt is the picture of calm.

It’s quite unfair how age makes men seem more sophisticated and does not detract from their good looks. From what I could tell, Matt was a little broader around the shoulders and chest. Probably the stomach too, but he looked rugged, not fat. He was wearing a thick gray Michigan sweatshirt with his Adam’s apple peeking out from the neck like a periscope on a submarine I very much wanted to be on. I wished I’d been with him for all of the smiles that creased his eyes over the years. If I could’ve frozen the moment, and have him return to it with no memory, I would have run my cheek across his entire body like a cat simultaneously enjoying the pet and marking her territory.