Love Your Life(80)

    “They have a point.” Matt rubs his head wearily. “We need someone on the ground. The guy they hired is way out of his depth.”

“But why does it need to be you?” I say in dismay. “And what about the rest of your job?”

“They want me to supervise everything else from Japan. They’re worried this project is spiraling. They want family out there.”

“What did you say?” I gaze at him in dread.

“I said I’m not going to do it. We’ll have to find someone else.”

“Is there anyone else?”

Matt doesn’t reply, and I feel a clenching in my stomach. I know I’m trying to empathize with Matt’s world, but I’m running out of empathy.

“Matt, tell me something,” I say impulsively. “Are you happy doing what you’re doing?”

“Of course I am,” says Matt without missing a beat. He looks at his watch. “We should get going.”

“No, wait.” I put a hand on his arm. “I’m being serious. I feel like you’re two different people. Sometimes you’re alive and fun and smiling. Like last week in Covent Garden, that was wonderful! But other times—in fact most of the time, to be honest…” I bite my lip. “You seem like someone else.”

“Ava, what are you talking about?” replies Matt irritably. “I’m the same guy.”

“You’re not! The guy I met in Italy was easygoing. Relaxed. But now you’re back, you’re…”

“A miserable git,” supplies Matt.

“No!” I say quickly. “Not a miserable git, but…”

    “It’s fine.” He hunches his shoulders. “I know I’m a miserable git. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Ava. The holiday was a blip. Dutch was a fabrication. When the sun’s shining, anyone can be a nice guy.” He gestures at himself. “But this is who I really am.”

He looks so resigned. I can’t bear it.

“It’s not who you are,” I retort passionately. “I know it’s not. If you’re a miserable git, it’s because you’re unhappy. Maybe there are aspects of your life that you should change.”

“I know you have problems with my life, Ava,” Matt says, his face tightening. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

“I would love your life, if it made you happy!” I erupt in frustration. “But when I see you so closed up, so rigid…I’m just looking at the evidence, Matt,” I add, remembering what he said in Italy. “I’m just going on what I see in front of me.”

Matt doesn’t respond, so I put out a cautious hand to touch his shoulder.

“I want you to live your best life,” I say in loving tones. But if I hoped that would touch him, I was wrong. He flinches.

“?‘Live my best life,’?” he echoes scathingly. “How incredibly exhausting. The thing is, Ava, I’m content with my mediocre-to-disappointing life. So, sorry about that.”

I should stop the conversation here. But I can’t resist one more attempt, hoping that somehow I’ll find the magic button that gets through to him.

“Matt, why do you work at Harriet’s House?” I ask gently. “Is it because you love it?”

Matt glances up with a frown, as though he doesn’t quite compute the question. “Someone has to do it,” he says. “Since I’ve taken over, profits have increased year on year. We’ve expanded into ten more territories. Communications have improved. There were a bunch of inefficiencies and I’ve ironed them all out.” He comes to a finish, as though he’s covered everything.

    “Right.” I nod. “That’s great. But none of that is about you, is it? None of that is about your happiness. Your fulfillment.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Matt sounds at the end of his tether. “This is work. It’s business.”

“It’s your life!”

“Yes, Ava. My life.”

He snarls it like a warning, and I feel a jolt. If I push this any more now, we’ll end up in a massive argument, just as the others arrive.

“OK.” I smile, trying to hide my hurt. “Well, I’ll go and be ready for the guests.”

As I head out, my stomach is churning in distress, and I find myself looking for Topher. (This shows how desperate I must be.) I discover him in his bedroom, doing crunches on a yoga mat, dressed in his customary black athletic shorts and an inside-out T-shirt.

I’m not even going to mention the fact that he’s supposed to be attending a drinks party in two minutes. I want to get straight to the point.

“Matt’s parents want him to go to Japan for a year,” I say, sitting on Topher’s bed.

“Figures,” says Topher, between crunches.

    “He doesn’t want to go, but it doesn’t seem like they’ve got anyone else.”

“That’s because they’re stingy fuckers,” says Topher between pants and gasps. “Of course they don’t have anyone else, not of Matt’s caliber. He does way too much for that organization. You need someone to supervise a construction project in Japan? Well, you know what? Hire the staff. Hire the fucking staff.”