The Lies That Bind(49)

He dismisses this with a wave of his hand, then sets about pouring my beer with bartender precision so as to minimize foam. He hands it to me with an earnest smile as memories come flooding back to me. And suddenly, I’m on the verge of tears.

Matthew puts his beer on the counter and stares into my eyes. “Why are you sad?” he says, his voice so tender.

“I’m not,” I say, blinking back my tears. “I’m just…It’s just a little weird…to be back here with you again.”

“Good weird, I hope?” he asks.

I nod—because it’s definitely not bad.

He stares at me a long time, then says, “Cecily, I want a do-over. I want to go back.”

“Back to when?” I say, wondering if he means the beginning of our relationship or right before our breakup.

“Back to when you believed in me…in us.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” I say noncommittally, wondering if I ever really believed in him—or if I just desperately wanted to believe in him. In something.

“It means…we were good together…and I know I screwed it up by being scared.”

“Of what?” I say. “What were you so scared of?”

“I don’t know…of life, I guess.”

“So you’re not scared of life anymore?” I say, thinking of 9/11 and how much more scared I am now.

“Of course I am,” he says. “But I’ve had nothing to do but think over the past few months…especially after September eleventh. And I’ve realized I’m more afraid of life without you.”

“So it’s still about fear?” I say, wondering if this is just a form of settling. Hedging his bets in another direction.

“No,” Matthew says, shaking his head. “It’s about love, Cess….I love you. I never stopped loving you.”

I stare at him, my heart in my throat.

    “Say something,” he says. “Please?”

I look down, then meet his eyes again. I start to tell him that I don’t know what to say. Instead I tell him that I love him, too. Because I do.

“Then can’t we please just go back?” he says.

I sigh, sorting through jumbled thoughts and emotions. “You want to go back? Or go forward? Start over? Or pick back up where we left off?” I ask, really trying to understand what he’s feeling—what he wants—if only because it’s easier than figuring out what I’m feeling.

“I want to go back to when we broke up,” he says. “And just take the other fork in the road.”

“I…I don’t know if I can do that,” I say, shaking my head as I try to put it all into words. The feeling that we can’t erase the last few months we spent apart any more than we can erase 9/11. That I’ve changed. That the whole world has changed.

“Can we try? Can we at least try?”

I look away, my mind racing, so wanting my answer to be yes. I want to return to that innocence. At the same time, though, I know it was a false innocence. We thought we were safe. We thought nothing like this could ever happen. But we were wrong. Just like I was wrong about Grant.

I feel Matthew staring at me, and when I look back at him, I am overwhelmed by the concern in his eyes. He really does care about me, and that has to count for something—if not everything.

“I’m sorry,” I say, now so confused. “What was your question again?”

He gives me a slight, hesitant smile. “I forget what it was now, too.”

I shake my head and say, “No, you don’t.”

“Okay. I don’t,” he says, his smile bigger, more open. “But let’s just enjoy our dinner?”

Relieved, I nod and tell him that’s a good idea.

    For the next several hours, we just hang out and have a nice time. We listen to music and cook, making shrimp fettucine, garlic bread, and a tossed salad. Things start to feel a little romantic when Matthew opens a bottle of wine and lights candles and we sit at the table, rather than in front of the television. But the conversation stays light. There’s no mention of anything heavy or serious. Not 9/11. And not us. I tell myself to just go with it. At least for now.

After we finish eating, we rinse and stack the dishes in the sink, returning to our old spots on the sofa, putting the same gray chenille blanket over our legs. The weight and texture of it are so familiar and soothing, lulling me back into our old routine even before Matthew takes my hand in his, working the remote control with his free hand. I start to pull away, telling myself that this isn’t smart. That I should really call it a night and go home. That I’m not ready to jump back into something new—even if it’s also something old. Part of me, absurdly enough, even feels disloyal to Grant. But then I remind myself, once again, that nothing with Grant was real. I thought we were in a relationship, but he was married to someone else, and it was all just an illusion. A lie.

And why should I punish Matthew for that lie? Why should I punish myself? What purpose would that serve?

I tell myself to stop overthinking and simply ask myself one question at a time. For now, the only question is whether I want to continue sitting here, under this cozy blanket, with Matthew’s hand in mine. And the answer is yes. So I stay put, the two of us watching television, until we get sleepy and wind up in our old sofa-spooning position. Once again, I tell myself it’s all okay.