Maybe Matt's Miracle(68)

My phone bleeps.

Sky: I went home. Leave me alone.

Me: You don’t get to run off and hide. Not right now.

Sky: Yes, I do.

Me: I’m coming to see you.

Sky: I won’t let you in.

Me: I’m very persistent.

Sky: I’m very hurt.

Me: Let me fix it.

Sky: You can’t.

Me: I will.

I will, if it’s the last thing I ever do.





Skylar



My apartment smells stale and unused. I open a window and look around. It’s too clean and too empty. There are no dolls lying around. There are no board games littering my kitchen table. There are no kids anywhere. I should be at home with my kids. But if I go there, I’ll have to face Matt.

I take a shower and put on my old, unattractive, single-girl flannel pajamas. I don’t put on any makeup because my eyes are all swollen and I look like shit anyway. It’s not like I’m going to see anyone. Matt doesn’t know where my apartment is.

In my freezer, there’s a half a gallon of Chunky Monkey and it’s still good. I take it out and don’t even get a bowl. I just grab a big soupspoon and take it to the couch. I flip the TV until I find something mindless, something that will not require any thinking at all.

I’ve eaten about half the carton when a knock sounds on my door. I startle. I don’t go to the door. No one I know would come here.

My phone bleeps.

Matt: Answer your door.

Me: No. Go away.

My heart starts to trip. He’s here. Shit. I uncurl my feet from under me and perch my bottom on the edge of the couch. He’ll go away if I wait long enough.

He knocks again, and I jerk, dropping my spoon to the floor. I get up and toss it in the sink as I walk past. It clatters loudly. I walk over to the door, press my ear against it, and listen. I don’t hear anything.

Matt: I’m not leaving.

Me: How did you find me?

Matt: Your father felt sorry for me.

Me: Traitor.

I hear a chuckle through the door.

Matt: He loves you.

Me: What did you tell him?

Matt: I told him that I’m an idiot.

I wait.

Matt: He agreed.

A grin tugs at my lips.

Matt: You’re laughing, right?

I don’t respond.

Matt: Please tell me you’re not crying.

Me: Not anymore. You should go home, Matt.

Matt: You first.

I hear Matt speak softly through the crack in the door. “You should go home, Sky.”

I sink down onto my bottom and lay the back of my head against the door. “I can’t go home,” I say.

“Why not?” he asks, his voice soft, and I think he is sitting down now, too, just on the other side of me.

“Because you’ll go there.”

He chuckles. “I’m here.”

I sigh heavily. “Go home, Matt. My feelings are hurt, and I don’t want to see you right now.”

“It wasn’t what you thought it was. I thought you knew who she was, and you obviously didn’t. I never meant to hurt you.”

“You still love her, Matt,” I say.

“No,” he protests. “I don’t. And I made that very clear when you forced me to dance with her tonight.”

“You wrote her a f*cking letter when you were dying,” I say.

“Ugh!” he cries. “That letter will haunt me until the day I die.”

“Only because it tells how you really feel.”

He chuckles. “It does tell how I really felt when I wrote it.”

I bang the back of my head against the door. I want to stop talking about it.

“I want you to read it,” he says.

“I don’t want to read it.”

“Yes, you do.”

I hear a rustle, and an envelope slides under my door. It has the word April written across the front. I push it back to him. He laughs and shoves it through again.

“I need to tell you something,” he says.

“What?” I ask. I don’t touch the letter. I just let it lie there on my carpet.

“Seth and Mellie and Joey, they depend on you. They don’t deserve for you to leave them.”

That hits me like he just kicked me in the chest. “I didn’t leave them.”

“You’re here so you can avoid me, and they’re there.”

I don’t say anything because he’s right. I did leave them.

“I’ll go away if you’ll go home,” he says. “I won’t like it, but I love you, and I love them enough to give up for tonight so you can go back to them. They need you. And you need them.”

Tears burn my eyes, and I blink them back. “Matt,” I say.

“Will you read the letter?” he asks.

“Maybe,” I grouse.

He chuckles, and I hear a sniffle from his side. “Will you call me when you’re ready?”

“Maybe,” I say again.

“Go home to the kids, Sky. I promise to give you some space. Read the letter, though. It might help.”

With everything that’s going on, he’s still thinking about my kids. My belly flips. He’s just on the other side of the door. I could open it up and jump into his arms, if I wanted to. But I don’t. I just sit there. I sit there until my butt gets tired. I sit there until my foot falls asleep. I sit there until the letter taunts me to pick it up. I sit there long after Matt is gone.