Push(55)

David stands up and walks over to the bed. He sits on the edge and runs his fingers across my forehead and through my hair.
“Yeah? Well, he’s the one that got to see all your impressive regurgitation. He’s the one that brought you home.”
“What? Why? I don’t understand.” And I don’t. I am so confused. Last night I learned they know each other, but obviously they are better friends than I thought.
He must see how utterly perplexed I am. “Matt is a friend, Emma. He has been for a while. I told you that last night, and I told you why I hadn’t mentioned it before. He’s the only one I could trust to get you home when I couldn’t. I called him, he came, and he took care of you. He told me how completely messed up you were.”
“What else did he tell you?” I can’t look at David’s eyes. It hurts.
“I’m not sure you want to know.” I’m not sure I want to know either.
“Please,” I say. “Before I see him at work, I need to know. That is if they don’t fire me for not calling off today.”
“Matt took care of it, so no worries there.”
“That’s way too nice of him. I don’t deserve it.” I wait a few seconds for David to tell me more about last night, but when he doesn’t offer it up, I ask again. “So, are you going to tell me or not?” He inhales sharply and looks as if he’s collecting his thoughts, deciding what he should, and shouldn’t, tell me. I still can’t look at him.
“Short story is you wiped the floor clean with your pretty ass, and I couldn’t get you back up. Carl was breathing down my neck to finish the game, so I called Matt and asked him to come get you. When he got there, we roused you, put you in the car, and Matt took it from there. I wound up with the rest of Carl’s money, finished my job, packed up the place, and came home at four to find Matt crashed on the couch and you in my bed.” He stops for a minute, pausing just long enough to put his hand on my chin and turn my face toward his. When I look at him I am wincing, scrunching up my face in preparation for the horribleness that is sure to come. I am dreading what he might say next, and my face is not squelching my feelings. I know he can read my worry like a book.
“When I woke Matt up to ask him how you were, he told me about the puking and about how he had to put you in the shower because you were covered in it. He said it was pretty bad.”
“Ugh,” I say, wondering how angry David really is, knowing that Matt put me in the shower and cleaned me up. He’s hiding it pretty well.
“I’m not mad at you, Emma, if that’s what you’re worried about. Everyone gets shit-faced sometimes. I’m not mad at Matt either. I trust that he didn’t do any of the creepy shit that my other * friends would have done with a drunk-as-f*ck woman. When you see him at work tomorrow, you should thank him.” He is saying all this with a guarded face. I get the distinct feeling that I am missing something.
“There is something you aren’t telling me,” I say. “What is it?”
David sighs and bends down to plant a soft kiss on my lips. I try not to exhale because I don’t want him to smell my foul breath.
“I hated last night,” he says with both sadness and downright resentment. Oh, no. I suddenly want to kick myself for making him feel this way. “I hate that I watched you get so drunk. I hate that I couldn’t be the one to take care of you. I hate knowing that Matt probably saw you naked and now you have to work with him every day. I hate that I had to lie to you about knowing him. And I hate that the night after telling me about your warped-as-f*ck stepfather, you were puking your guts out with no one but the douche bag to hold your hair.” Wow.
Where do I go from here?
“Well, if it makes it any better, I hate myself for making you feel all those things.” And I do.
“I wouldn’t feel all that, Emma, if I didn’t give a flying f*ck about you.” That’s it! I didn’t tell him I’m falling for him. I told him I give a flying f*ck about him. But somehow the realization does not make me feel better. “There is something about us together, Emma. Something so...irrational. It’s almost absurd. Last night was completely out of control. I felt so out of control. And that’s what I hated the most.” He looks troubled. Really troubled. I’ve never seen him so unsettled, and it hurts me to know that I am the cause of it.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”
We are both quiet for a long time. He is brushing my hair with his hand, wiping it back off my face and neck. Smoothing it. Smoothing us. He lies down next to me, and we both fall asleep.
* * *

I spend Thursday and Friday at the office trying to make amends with Matt. He tells me over and over again not to worry about it. That I didn’t do anything wrong. Getting drunk and puking is not a crime, and he’s glad he could help out a couple of friends. He even apologizes that he couldn’t tell me about knowing David. I joke with him about what a jerk he was to ask me questions about David when he probably knows more about him than I do. I keep waiting for the ball to drop. For him to crack some smart-ass joke about it. For him to say something to the other guys at work. But he doesn’t. He keeps quiet about the whole thing. He doesn’t even comment on the shower situation. Nothing. Until the end of the day on Friday.
Matt and I are riding down in the elevator together. I know that David is waiting for me at his car because, except for working hours, he hasn’t let me out of his sight since I got the dog tags from Michael. Matt is looking up at the changing digital numbers above the elevator door.