Matt’s on my doorstep in the midafternoon, hat in hand, metaphorically. He wears a ski cap and a fleece vest, shifting his feet like he’s shy. My parents are out, still shopping, so I invite him in because I don’t feel like getting in the car and trying to go somewhere.
We stand in the living room, the space reserved for guests we don’t know that well or who drop by unexpectedly.
“Look, I’m really sorry about last night.”
“Okay.” Maybe I should have more to say, but nothing comes to mind.
“I’ve been trying not to get wasted in front of you,” he says, moving closer. “I know it bothers you. I didn’t know you were coming to the party.”
“Is that what you’re like?” I ask. “When we’re not together?”
Matt tugs at my belt loops. “I like to party. You know that.”
“It didn’t look like much fun,” I admit. “After a certain point.”
He looks away. “Yeah, I had a little too much. I know that. But you know it’s not always like that.”
“I know.” The back of my mind whispers a warning I ignore. Because he’s here now, and close to me, and promising delicious distraction.
“Can you forgive me?” He makes a sweet puppy-dog face. I roll my eyes. Maybe it shouldn’t be that easy, but it is. I can’t stay mad at him. It’s not even that I was mad to begin with, exactly, but to name the feeling would take more energy than I have.
And to tell the truth, Matt’s the only person I can really count on these days. I need him.