Every Last Fear(16)

Kala hugged him, holding him a long while. She whispered in his ear, “You’ve always been there for me, and I’ll always be there for you. I love you.”

He felt his eyes filling with tears.

Woo-jin was there as well. At six seven, he was hard to miss. He crouched over for an awkward hug. Woo-jin was from South Korea and on a basketball scholarship. He was a quiet kid, embarrassed by his heavy accent. When Woo-jin was struggling with classes, Matt had tutored him.

He next saw Sofia. She was wearing her green military jacket, which suited her militant personality. No cause was too trivial for Sofia. She approached relationships with the same fire and passion. She’d been in love no less than six times freshman year, with Matt talking her down from every breakup. Unsurprisingly, she looked like she’d taken the news the hardest. Her eye makeup was raccooned from tears, her long auburn hair a mess. Sofia’s body shuddered when she hugged him. It caused Matt’s to shudder as well.

Curtis was next. He was the brains of the group. He’d won the National Spelling Bee at nine, the second Black kid to ever win the competition, the first from the atrocious Mississippi public school system. He had a near perfect SAT score and been offered scholarships from every Ivy. He’d accepted NYU not for academic reasons, but because it was the only school that had a congregation of his small, obscure religious sect nearby. After classes all day, he attended services two hours every other night. He didn’t use alcohol, didn’t take drugs, didn’t swear, and didn’t even drink caffeine. And he’d struggled with the loose ways of NYU. He and Matt had long talks late at night about religion and Curtis’s battles with temptation. Matt had told him that he needed to have faith in his faith.

“I’m praying for you, my friend,” Curtis said as he pulled him into a hug.

“I know you are,” Matt said, his voice breaking. “I think I need it.”

The only one missing was Ganesh. He was always the loner of the group. In his contradictory way, he loved a crowd but kept everyone at a distance.

Matt surveyed this group of people he loved. On the exterior, each was objectively attractive. He could almost imagine them in a remake of Felicity (a reference only Kala would get), good-looking NYU students out to take on the world. But like life, each was more complicated. Ganesh called their group the “Island of Misfit Toys.” Sofia chided him, since the reference was from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which she thought was racist and homophobic for reasons Matt couldn’t comprehend.

At last, Matt said to the group, “Thank you for coming. It means a lot.”

There was a chorus of we’re here for you, whatever you need, and the like.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to get a shower and some rest.…”

The group fumbled around, collecting their things. They had another procession of hugs at the door.

Jane hung back. After the last mourner departed, she said, “Where have you been? I was worried. I called everywhere, and you weren’t answering your phone and Ganesh ignored my texts and—”

“I’ll tell you all about it. But I could use a little time to myself.”

Jane’s face crumpled. “Matt, I would’ve never— If I knew, I wouldn’t have—”

“I know. It’s okay.” He waited by the door, signaling that she should go. He didn’t want to do this now.

“It was a mistake,” she said.

Matt gave a fleeting smile. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Let’s talk.” It was plain she wasn’t leaving.

Just a day ago he’d been mildly devastated that they were through. But after what had happened, he saw things as they were. Matt and Jane were never going to make it. His Rubin friends were surprised it had lasted a year. Shit, Matt was surprised it had taken Jane so long to realize he was a much bigger project than she’d anticipated. And she’d said some mean things in the end: that he was a mess. That he’d never be anything if he didn’t start focusing. On school. On her. That he needed to see someone about his anger at his father. At his brother. That after he’d pummeled that frat boy, she was afraid of him.

The worst part was that she’d been right about all of it, and now none of it mattered.

“Matthew, please, talk to me.”

She followed him as he went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She watched as he removed Ganesh’s ridiculously large clothes. He’d seen Jane twice stop herself from asking about the getup. He stepped into the stall and let the hot water beat down on his face. Through the foggy shower door, he saw Jane’s silhouette disappear.

After toweling himself off, he returned to the room. Jane was sitting on the bed, her mouth downturned.

“Are you going to talk to me?” she said, watching him throw on some jeans and a T-shirt.

“I’m not sure what there is to say.”

He pulled a duffel from under the bed, and began stuffing clothes into the bag. He searched the dresser for the small document pouch, the one his mother had made for him. It held things grown-ups needed—his social security card, passport, birth certificate. It was also where Mom had tucked away the emergency credit card. When the pouch wasn’t in plain view, Matt yanked the drawer from the frame and dumped it on the floor. And there it was, the letter-size, expandable pouch. He scooped it up.

“What are you— Where are you going?” Jane asked as he stalked to the door.