When Joss Met Matt (9 page)

“What were you fighting about anyway?” he asked.

I blew out a sigh and fell back on the bed. “The same thing we always fight about. He just gets crazy jealous all the time. He always thinks I'm cheating on him.”

Matt couldn't hide a quick smirk. “Yeah, go figure.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose as a wave of guilt washed over me. “Well, I guess I proved him right after all.”

“It's not cheating after you break up.”

“I'm not sure he knew we broke up.”

“Well …” Matt hesitated. “Yeah, that could be a problem. But not if you tell him you broke up.”

“Oh God, I don't know.”

He frowned. “Joss, come on. You can't get back together with a guy that pisses you off as much as you were pissed off last night.”

“You're right.” I sat up, nodding. “You're right, you're right, you're right.”

He gave me an appraising look. “You believe it yet?”

“Um …”

He shook his head. “You are gonna owe me big time for this one.”

I made an embarrassed “I know” face.

“Just do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Don't wait too long before you call me again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Call me when you're done with him for real, okay? And it better not be long.”

“Matt, come on. You know me better than that.”

“So, you're not getting back together with him?”

“I—I don't know.”

He sighed and bent over the bed to kiss me softly. “Just call me when it's over.”

“Matt …” I protested. “You're making me feel like a horrible person. I thought this was supposed to be about making each other feel better.”

“I felt better last night. How 'bout you?”

There was a tight ache in my chest. My reliable Matt, my Sorbet Guy, had succeeded in making me feel like a complete jerk. “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“Can you please just tell me you don't hate me?”

His eyes widened. “I don't hate you, Joss. That's not the problem.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

“I just can't believe you're going back to him.”

“I didn't say I was.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Matt—”

“Whatever, Joss. It's your call. I'm not gonna stop you if you want to waste your time.”

“It sure sounds like you'd like to try.” I was starting to feel the familiar boil of my temper just out of reach.

He bit off his words a few times before he finally made eye contact. “Remember how you felt about Courtney?”

“Yes.”

“That's how I feel about Alex.” He rubbed one hand over the back of his head and made a frustrated sound. “I'm just gonna go. I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Matt …” I tried one more time. He looked at me, and I was at a loss for words. I settled on, “I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Chapter Twelve

Six Years Earlier … First Semester Sophomore Year

My life was a study in guilt after that. Guilt over cheating on Alex, guilt over taking him back without telling him, guilt for disappointing Matt. I could hardly separate one source from the other. Every time I saw Alex, my stomach felt like it was full of lead shot.

After he fell all over himself apologizing for acting like a jerk, he knew something was bothering me. He assumed it was him. He said he'd never felt so strongly about anyone before, and it was hard for him to believe that I liked him as much. He said that he'd been cheated on before, and hadn't found out about it for a long time, so he was always suspicious after that. He said that he wanted to work on his jealousy, and be the boyfriend I wanted. I felt so awful for cheating on him—even though I'd assumed we were broken up—that I accepted his apologies and his promises to do better. I made myself a mental promise to do the same.

We lasted two more weeks.

The last straw was an argument about holiday plans. Christmas was coming up, with my birthday not far behind. Alex was from St. Louis, and I wasn't willing to change my family plans to go down to Missouri with him, even though he said that I was making life difficult for him with his family. This particular fight happened over the phone, which always made it easier for me to speak my mind. Seeing his puppy-dog eyes made me lose my resolve.

“Jocelyn, they're counting on meeting you. We've been together for nine months. It's not only appropriate, it's necessary.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn't have to explain this to you. I'm sure your family will understand if you come down to St. Louis for the holidays.”

“Would yours?” I challenged.

“My parents invited you,” he said. His tone made it plain: he didn't appreciate that I hadn't extended an invitation to him from my family. The thought of bringing him around my parents and my sister, Darcy, made me cringe. I knew what Darcy would think of him, and I didn't want to see that look in her eyes. All of it added up to a great, big, flashing, red neon sign in my head: WARNING
!
THIS RELATIONSHIP IS OVER
!
GET OUT NOW
!

“Alex, I'm not coming to St. Louis. End of story.”

“Where is all this hostility coming from? This isn't like you at all.”

Yes, it is,
I thought.
I haven't been myself since I met you.
“I'm just tired of having the same argument over and over again. I want to go home to see my family for Christmas. Not yours.”

“You're going to meet up with some guy, aren't you?” he said. “That's why you don't want me there. You've got some guy waiting for you back home.”

“No!” I shouted, twisting a handful of my hair hard enough to hurt. “There. Is. No. One. Else.” Even though it was technically true, I couldn't prevent an image of Matt from entering my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that would block him.

“What am I supposed to think when you're being like this?”

“Oh, I don't know, maybe you could just believe me?”

“Then tell me who you're going to see.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won't believe me anyway.” My head pounded with my heartbeat.

“Or maybe you're just trying to hide something from me.”

“Friends!” I ground the inside of my wrist into the pulse point on my right temple. “I'm going to see some friends from high school.”

“Which friends?”

“No one you know, Alex.” I said his name with the same intonation I would have given the much-less-flattering names I
wanted
to call him.

“Who?”

“My friend Lila and her boyfriend, Tom, my other friend Danielle … I don't know yet!”

“Who else?”

“I don't know! Stop accusing me of cheating on you in the future!” It was hard to say the words, knowing that in fact, I had.

“I'm not saying that.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I hate it when you tell me what I'm thinking!” he snapped, and I let the phone drift away from my ear in annoyance.

“It's just that you always think I'm up to something!” I retorted. “You don't trust me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Obviously, you don't.”

“Jocelyn, I'm working really hard at this. But you're not helping me. You don't tell me what you're doing, who you're seeing … it's like you're intentionally hiding shit from me.”

“Maybe I am,” I said and hung up the phone. The moment I did it, I felt like a heel. A real pillar of maturity. So, I dialed his number right away, and told a big fat lie. “Sorry, I dropped the phone.”

“Why would you say that? You know that's gonna drive me crazy.”

I sighed. “Maybe that's the point.”

“What are you hiding?”

“Alex, just drop it.”

“No, tell me!”

“There's nothing to tell.” Although my conscience protested,
Yes there is, you big fat liar.

“Jocelyn, I hate it when you do this shit.”

“This shit?” I repeated. “When have I ever done this before? Why are you so fucking suspicious of me all the time? What have I ever done to make you think I'm such a horrible person?”

“I'm sorry. I know.” He sighed. “You're not a horrible person.”

“I just don't think this is working.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can't be this stressed all this time. You're too intense for me.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying … I think we should not see each other anymore.” The nervous fluttering in my stomach settled the moment the words were out of my mouth. “I think we're just not meant to be.”

“Don't say that. We can work on this. I swear.”

“It's not just that,” I said.

“Whatever you say. I'll work on it. Just tell me.”

“You can't work on it, Alex. It's not like that.”

“Why not? We can get through this. Just talk to me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and covered them with one hand to block out any possible light. “I—I cheated on you.”

There was dead silence from the other end.

“Did you hear me?” I asked.

“Who was it?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Who
was
it?” he growled.

“No.” I swallowed hard around the tears that threatened to choke me. “It doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me,” he snapped.

“I'm not going to tell you.”

The click and silence in my ear told me he was on his way over.

I could have broken up with him without telling him I'd cheated. I don't know why I did it. Maybe some misplaced idea about confession being good for the soul. Maybe I was small enough that I wanted to hurt him. I don't know, but now that I'd said the words, I had to follow through.

It was an ugly, drawn-out breakup fight of epic proportions. It could have had a music montage if it had been a movie. It would have been done in high speed, with the two of us pacing around my living room. I refused to give up the name of my partner in crime, even more stridently when it became clear that Alex only wanted to know so he could find the guy and beat the crap out of him. He started in the What-did-I-do-to-make-you-cheat? camp and slowly moved through How-could-you-do-this-to-me? on his way to You-filthy-whore.

After my throat was sore from talking, my shoulders were hunched up around my ears with tension and my head was pounding with exhaustion, I finally found my last words. The ones that put an end to the fight and removed Alex from my life.

“I knew I had to break up with you when I realized I felt like I was cheating on
him
by staying with you.”

“Do you love this guy?” Alex asked, head resting in his hands. All the fight was out of him. His voice was hoarse and quiet. I felt evil.

“In a way …” I said, too tired to explain what that meant.

“And you don't love me?”

“Apparently not the same way.”

He winced. “Okay. That's fine.” He stood up from the couch and looked at me. “I hope you're happy together.”

“We're not together,” I said without thinking.

He winced again. “Then I hope he fucking breaks your empty fucking heart.”

“Thanks, Alex,” I said tonelessly.

“You're a bitch.”

My temper flickered back to life and I leveled a glare at him. “You can go now.”

“I'm not done yet.”

“Yeah, you are.” I hopped to my feet, applied both palms to his back, and propelled him toward the door. I think it was sheer surprise that allowed me to move him—he was much bigger than me, and at least seven inches taller. “You're completely. Utterly. Beyond. Fucking. Done!” I ripped the door open and gave him a final shove. He could have stopped me that time; he had to see it coming, but he went out the door and didn't turn back when I slammed it behind him.

The very next thing I did was go to my computer and send an email to Matt.
It's over. It's exhaustingly, humiliatingly, humblingly over and I am the world's biggest idiot. I'm sorry.

I didn't get an answer right away, but he called me the next day.

“Hey, Joss.”

“Hi.”

“I got your message.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“No, really. I shouldn't have done that to you. You didn't need to be involved in that.”

“It's okay,” he repeated.

“You were totally right. He was just a jerk.”

“I have to hate him, remember? It's in the rules.”

I felt relief at the mention of the rules. It gave me hope that I hadn't broken our relationship beyond repair. “Right.”

“So, you're sure this time?”

I thought of the hours of soul-crushing arguing the night before. If I never saw Alex again, it would be too soon. “Oh, I'm sure.”

“Sounds like an interesting story.”

“Completely uninteresting, actually,” I said. “It was just this horrid, drawn out argument that ended with him calling me a bitch and me throwing him out of the house.”

“Now that I would have liked to see.” His grin was audible.

The spark of hope in my chest caught fire as we found our footing. I let myself smile as I answered him. “I was magnificent.”

“I'm sure.” He laughed.

“Does that mean you're not mad at me anymore?”

“I was never mad. Disappointed, maybe.”

“Ugh! That's worse! My mother is always disappointed in me.”

He laughed. “Good, then that's exactly the word I'm looking for.”

“Matt …” I couldn't stand the thought that he was actually
disappointed.
I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and rock myself.

“I'm kidding.”

“Why do I not believe that?”

“That's on you, Joss.” I could picture him shrugging as he spoke.

“I did mention I'm sorry, right?” I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

“You did.”

“And you're not forgiving me. Is that about it?”

He inhaled loudly through the phone. “I wouldn't say that.”

“Is there something I need to do to make this up to you? Three Hail Marys, that sort of thing?”

“Definitely not that.”

“Okay, well … what?”

He hummed for a moment. “I'm not sure. But I'd like to keep my options open for the future.”

It was a lighthearted enough response that I felt a little better. “You're like a goddamn mafia don, I swear.”

He laughed.

“So … am I allowed to be in the same room with you again?”

“Joss, it was never like that …”

“Okay, but your … 
disappointment
was a wicked third wheel to have around.”

He chuckled softly, seeming pleased with that idea.

I sprung my last test. “Are you free tonight?”

“I can be, why?”

“I'd like to see you.”

“Do you
need
to see me?”

“That's not what I'm saying …” It was what I meant, but not what I was saying. I wasn't sure how far through the apology process we'd gotten. I didn't want to snap the first fragile supports of a rebuilt bridge between us. “I haven't seen you in
days
.”

“All right, all right.” He laughed. “It'll be late, though, I have to work.”

Matt's late shift at the restaurant gave me plenty of time to go through the usual preparations. I had no idea what the night would bring, but if there was even the slightest chance of him seeing what was under my clothes, I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be more than ready. By the time he showed up at eleven, I was smooth, dressed to kill—against my skin anyway—with clean sheets and minty-fresh breath. Nothing I couldn't account for on a regular night, but I knew my intentions. They were not pure.

“Wait, before you say anything, I have something for you,” I said after I'd let him in. I crooked my finger at him to lead him to the bedroom and retrieved the tattered sheet of loose-leaf from my desk. It was the rules, and I had a new addition. I handed it to Matt.

“Number nine. The relationship requiring Sorbet must be over for Sorbet to take place,” he read aloud, then laughed. “Good call.”

“Did I mention that I'm sorry?”

“Two or three hundred times.”

“I actually felt worse that I made you mad than I did for breaking up with Alex.”

“I wasn't mad, Joss.” Matt rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know. You get what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“So … I broke the rules, and I'm sorry.” When his expression made a move toward annoyance, I held up my hands. “Last time.”

“It better be.” He studied the contract. “According to your own addition … yeah, you broke the rules.”