The Lies That Bind(50)

But when Matthew starts kissing my neck, pressing himself against my back, I stop and ask myself a new question. Do I want this to go further? I do and I don’t, so I turn around and face him, staring directly into his eyes, realizing that I’m buzzed. That I actually feel almost good.

“Hi,” he whispers.

    “Hi,” I whisper back, just as Grant pops into my head again. Something deep inside me, the part of my heart I can’t control, misses him. Badly.

But I focus on what I can control—this moment I’m in here and now. I tell myself to relax, to enjoy my buzz and whatever is to come. I close my eyes and let Matthew kiss me. I kiss him back. Heaven and earth don’t move, but it feels nice—like coming home after a long, bad trip. The more we kiss, the better it feels.

As we start to undress, he asks if I want to go back to his room. I say yes, anxious to be in his bed, under the covers, in another familiar place. We stand and hurry to get there. Noticing how tipsy I am, he laughs and says that he forgot what a lightweight I am. I frown and pretend to be annoyed, but he picks me up and carries me the rest of the way.

“Total lightweight,” he says, putting me down on his bed.

As he goes to switch off his lamp, I see that there is still a photograph of us on his bookshelf—one that I framed for him last Christmas.

“Has that photo been there the whole time? Or did you just put it back?” I say, thinking that for some reason this makes a difference.

“It hasn’t moved,” he says, unhooking my bra and kissing my shoulder. “I had faith you’d be back.”

“How did you know?” I say as we undress the rest of the way.

“Because we’re perfect together…” he says, kissing me again, both of us now naked.

“Nothing’s perfect,” I say, my words slurred.

“We’re close,” he says.

I nod, inhaling his familiar scent, knowing what’s to come.

And with that, at least for now, Grant is gone from my mind. And it’s only Matthew. The old us and the new us. The same us.

I close my eyes and finally let go.





The following morning, I awaken with Matthew’s arm around me. For several blissful seconds, I am so at peace. At home. But then I open my eyes and roll over and look at him, and all I can think of is that first morning I woke up with Grant in my bed, back when I didn’t even know his name, and every moment was filled with wonder. I’m not sure which I miss more—Grant himself or that feeling—but I tell myself it’s just the feeling. And anyway, it doesn’t matter because they’re both false; the feeling was based on something that wasn’t real in the first place.

I also tell myself that even if it had been real, it’s unfair to compare the beginning of one relationship to the middle of another. (Not that Matthew and I are even in a relationship; we’re just friends who had a few drinks and slept together.) No relationship can sustain that early passion and sense of mystery. Eventually things would have become familiar with Grant, too—and that is a best-case scenario. After all, you reach the mundane, comfortable moments only when a relationship is working. When it’s not working, the passion morphs into something twisted and dark. Drama. Jealousy. A never-ending power struggle.

Most likely that is what Grant and I would have ended up with—and that’s assuming he had chosen me at all. I would’ve found out about Amy eventually, somehow, and he would’ve broken my heart, staying with his wife. Who knows how long it might’ve taken to make that discovery. I think of those men who have dual families for years, some even resulting in half siblings who don’t know each other exists. I shudder. No part of me wants Grant to be dead, of course, but I feel as though I dodged my own bullet. Even if he had left Amy, declaring us soul mates, his character was still deeply flawed. He cheated on his wife, and he lied to both of us. There is no way around that.

    In the next second, Matthew’s eyes open and he gives me a sleepy smile.

I smile back at him, relieved that he’s awake, so I can stop thinking so much.

“Well. That was…unexpected,” I say.

“Good unexpected or bad unexpected?” he asks, reaching for my hand under the covers.

“If I have to choose, good unexpected,” I say, smiling, our fingers lacing together.

He frowns a little, and says, “Do you regret it?”

“No, I don’t regret it,” I say, relieved that this is the truth. “But—”

He groans. “Hey! No buts!”

I smile. “Okay. It’s not really a but….It’s just a concern….I just want to make sure we’re not falling back into something simply because it’s comfortable and easy.”

“News flash,” Matthew says, letting go of my hand so he can ruffle my hair. “You ain’t easy.”

“You know what I mean,” I say. “I just want us to take things slowly….Maybe don’t do this again until we’re both sure. Really sure.”

“This?” he says, now touching my breast.

“Yes,” I say, gently pushing his hand away, even as I have the sudden urge to be with him again. “Or maybe that’s silly given how many times we already have…given that we just did…I don’t know….Let’s just take it a day at a time. We don’t have to label anything.”