The adults are visiting quietly in the kitchen, and I am nestled into the corner of Jose and Ellen's soft blue sofa—staring. Watching both of them, the two brothers in their joyful reunion, but my eyes are more on Matt than on Thomas. Yesterday's greasy-haired, foul-smelling, bitter-faced zombie has been replaced with an easy-going imposter. Today, Matt's soft brown shaggy waves cover his ears and hide his mild symptoms. In the warm, dim light of the cozy living room, you'd never guess his true nature. His black satiny gloves are the only overt evidence left. They look wrong on him today, and I wish he'd take them off.
I'd probably regret that wish if it were granted.
I'm sure he wears them constantly for a reason. I don't want to see the grotesque deformities on his hands. The menacing gloves are best left on. Seeing someone covered in sores and infection, ruined and mangled from a curse they refuse to acknowledge is something you don't ever get over. It's a sight that will fuel your nightmares for years.
The zombie men that cat-call from the other side of our fence almost always wear masks. They reek from 20 feet away and most of them are crippled and hunched over. The zombie from the outlet mall was the first one I've seen up-close, without a mask, for a while. And he looked like a rotting corpse. Hence the nick-name that I keep getting in trouble for using.
It's true though—I don't know why we can't say it out loud. Not only do they look dead, they are Dead in the same way that we are Living. I don't know how they endure it. I would welcome death if I was prematurely decomposing.
I can't even picture Thomas looking like one of them. I wonder why Thomas was so bad That made everyone way, way worse. A new thought dawns on me—I wonder if Matt is so much more normal for the same reason? Maybe he didn't have the shot? I thought all of them had gotten it, Matt included. When I didn't see the black mark on Matt's forehead, I just assumed it must be hidden on his gloved hand. Gloves or not, spot or no spot, I find him less evil by the minute as I watch him pin and tickle his giggling little brother.
I would be content to sit quietly and spy on them all afternoon, but the tempting smells of meat cooking and bread baking are becoming a painful distraction. My stomach moans an angry growl—so loud that Thomas turns to look with an accusing smile—and I blush embarrassed at my body's noises. Ellen is waiting to serve lunch until after Thomas and Matt have spent a few minutes catching up. My stomach is going to start ingesting other internal organs if we don't eat soon.
Sneaking away from the semi-violent tickle fight in the living room, I head to the kitchen to see if I can help move things along. Ellen has prepared a feast of Asian cuisine with so many different dishes on the table that I'm thinking we should've invited the whole Board of Elders. There's enough food here to feed Aunty and I for a week. Maybe she'll send us home with leftovers. Ohhh—I am so hungry!
"Is it time to eat, Mom?" Thomas says, bouncing into the kitchen after me, wearing his typical jovial smile.
Matt is standing close behind, and I see his eyes bulge in surprise. I'm not sure if it's because he just heard Thomas call Ellen "Mom" or if it's because of the huge feast on the table. Knowing Matt's appetite, it's probably the feast.
"Yes, I just finished," Ellen says with an adoring smile. If not for their obvious difference in skin color, anyone would assume she really was Thomas' mom. Doting, maternal love colors every word she speaks to him. "Let's all sit down. Wash your hands first, okay?"
Ellen, the nurse and new mom of a twelve year old is, of course, germ conscious. A sudden, uncomfortable situation arises, since Matt is still wearing his gloves and probably has no intention of taking them off. I glance at Aunty and we both look at Ellen, hoping she'll realize her mistake.
She does.
Ellen starts to stammer that only Thomas needs to wash up. Matt, oblivious of our nervous behavior, strips the gloves off and washes up at the kitchen sink. As he turns back around looking for a place to dry his hands, he catches all of us staring with open-mouthed shock at his hands. They look a little dry and chapped, but not at all like what we were expecting. And no black spot either.
Then, Matt does something that forever changes my opinion of him. He lifts his eyebrows at us, holds his hands up in front of everyone and wiggles his fingers in a show of health. And then, looking at me with those haunting green eyes of his, he winks.
Everyone else smiles and sheepishly shuffles to a chair at the table. The conversation resumes, and they all just go on like it's nothing.
I'm dwelling on it.
I'm intrigued by his sense of humor. Charmed by how lightly he takes himself. He's so normal. So nice. A loving big brother.
I like him.
I can't believe it, but I genuinely like him as a person. I know it's Schitzo of me because I hated him this morning. Am I really this fickle and emotional? Maybe it's just relief. Yeah. That's it—relief. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that one of them can be decent. It restores some of my hope in the rest of the world. I'm sure that's where these feelings are coming from.
Now that Matt has found his brother, the frantic way that he moved and spoke is gone. His dangerous anger seems to be gone too. He doesn't think of us as horrible people who kidnapped his brother anymore. Thomas is better than ever and deeply loved by all the people in this room. I think I'm seeing the real Matt now.
As I linger on these new optimistic revelations, brooding and smiling to myself, I don't realize that Jose is praying for our meal until about halfway through the prayer. I look up for an instant and find Matt's eyes staring at me. Blushing bright red, I drop my head and pretend to pray with the others. I can hear Matt already digging in to his food before the "Amens" are said.
Chapter Seventeen
Please Pass the Foot So I Can Eat It
Dinner might have been delicious, but I can't remember tasting my food. Yes, I was really hungry, and I inhaled it. But it's more because I was so lost in my thoughts and awkward about Matt. Now that I've decided I don't hate him, I am focused on the thought that he might still hate me. I haven't been good to him at all. He has every right to hate me. I've been unfriendly, aloof, unaccommodating, judgmental, oh—the list goes on and on. I'm trying to figure out how to start being nicer without looking totally mental.
No one else is talking much; they are listening to Thomas talk excitedly about everything he's done and seen since leaving Matt. Matt listens to everything Thomas says with an adorable crooked smile on his face. I study his face while he is safely staring at Thomas. Matt’s nose is thin, but nicely proportioned to his thin face. He has long eyelashes that set off his large, emerald green eyes. Matt’s thick black eyebrows seemed so menacing yesterday; but, softened by his mood, they are comically bushy today. He has two crooked teeth that stick out just slightly on one side of his mouth. When he smiles, he only lifts his lips on the opposite side. I wonder if he's self-conscious of the crooked teeth and has learned to hide them when he smiles.
Thomas mentions God several times casually in his stories. “God helped me do this, and God showed me that.” I keep expecting Matt to be disgusted or to turn and yell at us for brainwashing Thomas, but it doesn't happen. Matt has so much love and admiration for Thomas that, even though Thomas is so much younger, you can just tell that Matt trusts him and respects his opinion. There is no condescension in his eyes as he listens to Thomas ramble, only genuine admiration. Another side of Matt I never would have guessed existed.
And I needed to see it.
I guess I had forgotten. Every day I think about how evil the zombies are. I've obsessed over it to the point of despising every single one of them. With this display of brotherly love, I am forced to remember that all humans were made to love and care for each other. That even zombies are capable of love. The Living don't own love. Family is still an unbreakable bond, no matter who you are or what you believe. It makes me miss my zombie parents. Makes me wonder if I'll ever see any of my family again. I had a sister once, too.
Hazel ran away
from home when I was just a toddler. My parents never said it, but I think she left because of me. Mom and dad had me later in life. Hazel had been an only child and was 15 when I was born. They never admitted it, but I know she was unhappy. In the few pictures I saw that were taken of her before she left, she never smiled. When I came along and they were so in love with me, it pushed her away even more. I wish she had stayed. I wish that she and I had gotten a chance to have what Matt and Thomas have.
While they all listen to Thomas talk about tent camping with Harvey in the snow, I carry on with my ogling. Matt continues to draw my excessive gaze, partly from fascination and partly from—I don't know what. He isn't gross anymore. He’s maybe almost slightly attractive. Which is crazy talk. It's just how much he loves Thomas. Like when guys are automatically cute when they are holding a baby. He's not just capable of love, he's good at it. He’s kind, funny, encouraging and gentle; not just some pig-headed, overly masculine jerk. I'm attracted to his personality. Not that he's ugly. But I guess I found him really ugly just yesterday.
Can I really have changed my mind this much about him, this fast? If you had asked me a week ago if I could ever be attracted to one of them, I would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought! Just laughed and not even answered you. This is new territory for me.
I keep reminding myself he's a zombie. He's a zombie, stop staring!
And he keeps noticing me staring, so I'm trying to look at him out of the corner of my eye to figure out if he's just staring at me because he's noticed I'm staring at him or if he's actually staring at me. This is maddening.
When Ellen stands to clear away the dirty dishes, Aunty and I stand up to help. In the close quarters of the small kitchen, I find myself brushing past Matt several times during the clean up. He smells—good. Like coconut shampoo.
All of my stereotypes and negative expectations are evaporating. My stomach somersaults every time he looks at me. It's so weird to me how normal he is. He fits in just fine, like he belongs here. I wonder if he feels it too. Visiting with Jose and Thomas, he seems comfortable and relaxed. I remember how hostile he was yesterday and how set he was on taking Thomas away from us. What if he still wants that?
*****
As the day stretches on, Matt never mentions leaving. Surely everyone else is as nervous about the confrontation as I am. I can't help obsessively wondering when it will come up. Every time Matt speaks I brace myself for it to end with, "By the way, I'm taking Thomas now and there's nothing you can do about it." I know Jose and Ellen won't let Thomas go. They'll say no for sure. What then? Do they have the right to say no?
Jose and Ellen ask Aunty to come downstairs with them to see the renovations they've been making in their basement. Jose's tone was too peppy, too persuasive for the boring subject of basement linoleum. You know, the way adults speak when they think they are fooling us kids with their obvious duplicity. I'm not an idiot—I know they are talking about Matt. I'm left alone upstairs with the boys, and I think Matt knows he's being talked about too. It's awkward.
Thomas breaks the silence. "Ivy is my best friend here."
This simple endearing statement takes me by surprise and gets me blushing again.
"I stayed with them at their house when Harvey brought me here. What room are you in Matt? Did you get the Africa room too?"
"Yeah," Matt answers Thomas but he's looking at me.
I blush even redder and look away. Stupid cheeks. I must learn to control this.
"Ivy played games with me and made me grilled cheese sandwiches and she took me for a walk all around town and she helped me make a fort under the big table in the dining room. Did you see how big that table is?"
"Yeah, it's big." Matt answers again, still staring at me and smiling his one-sided smile. "Thanks for everything you've done for Tom."
I just shrug and smile back awkwardly, barely able to meet his gaze. It's our first pleasant conversation. The first time he's spoken directly to me since I realized he isn't just a creepy zombie. It's crazy obvious that my feelings have changed. Yesterday, I glared at him with unveiled hatred. If only I could play it cool now and not look like a schizophrenic mess. But my traitorous femininity won't obey. My mouth won't stop smiling and my cheeks continue to burn brighter, betraying my new attraction.
"Really. Thank you. You've all been so kind. I was really worried," he says quietly. His tone becomes playful as he puts an arm around his brother. "Now I see that he's been living it up while I've been freaking out looking for him." Matt roughly rubs at Thomas' curly head inducing more happy giggling.
"Thomas is one of us," I say, nervously responding to his appreciation.
What I meant to say was: It's no big deal. He's a great kid who fits in perfectly and is easy to love. Expert conversationalist that I am, it sounded nothing like that.
Matt's face darkens and his half smile slowly lowers to match the other side in a firm line.
I should take a vow of silence. The whole world would be better off. Of all the things I could've said, that's the first and only thing I've added to the day. I alienated Matt and made it seem like Thomas belongs here with us and that Matt doesn't.
Brilliant.
Thankfully, Aunty, Jose and Ellen come back up the stairs—saving us from my destructive powers of foot-in-mouth conversation. Aunty announces that she and I have a lot to do at the Inn, indicating that we'd better get going. This is it. The moment. What will happen? Who will bring it up?
Aunty, pulling her coat on, offers, "Will you be staying with us again this evening Mathew?"
"Yes, thank you. Tom and I are going to hang out for awhile, though. Is it alright if I ring the bell when I get back?"
"Perfect," Aunty approves. "Your coat, Ivy?"
"Oh yeah," I mumble and hurry to pull myself into the puffy warmth of my coat. I can't bring myself to put my pom-pomed hat on—I guess I do care what he thinks. I ball it up in my hands and fiddle nervously with it. Matt doesn't look at me again; and, after thanking Ellen for the wonderful food, we leave. Just like that. No big moment.
As soon as we are down the sidewalk, I barrage Aunty with an assault of questions. "What do you think Matt will do? Do you think he'll let Thomas stay? Maybe now that he's seen that Thomas is healed, he'll be smart and let him stay where it's safe."
"I hope so. Actually, we are hoping that Matt will decide to trust God and stay here with Thomas."
I hadn't thought of that. Why hadn't I thought of that? Isn't our whole purpose to bring people to God? To tell them the good news that they can be healed? Why have I never once considered Matt becoming one of us? Maybe because he is so antagonistically against everything we believe in. Will seeing Thomas change that? I kind of doubt it—but I would like it. It would be pretty great if he did change and stay. I mean great for him—and his soul.
"Thank you for trying so hard today, Ivy. You were much nicer with Matt. I appreciate your effort."
"No problem."
It wasn't really an effort at all. It felt good to be nice to him. He's pretty cool.
Chapter Eighteen
Here's Hoping He Left Out the Gas
Back at the Inn, there are plenty of chores to fill the evening. While I dust and fold, my thoughts drift to Matt over and over again. His eyes have burned an image into my mind that I can't shake. Sometimes those leafy green eyes are dark and frightening in my memories. Other times, they pop into my daydreams full of emerald expectation, and the thoughts they evoke leave me feeling breathless. I need to think less about him. I'm not allowed to like him. What a ridiculous thought, me having a crush on a zombie. Ha! I don't. I'm pretty sure I don't. Well, fifty percent sure.
When the doorbell rings my stomach does ten flip-flops.
That doesn't mean anything. I don't have a crush on him.
I run to my bathroom mirror, wet my hands and run them through my curls to smooth the frizz. My face looks pale. I pinch my cheeks a few times. That's better. A quick swipe of l
ip gloss, okay I'm trying too hard. I run for the door, hoping Aunty didn't hear the bell ring.
It's him; I can see him through the glass. I slow down and take a breath.
No blushing. Control yourself!
Pulling the door open for Matt, I see Jose standing just behind him on the porch. "Hi," I say to both of them, breathing hard from hurrying across the big house, "Come in."
It's gotten even colder out and the freezing air rushing in makes me wrap my arms around myself. Matt steps in past me, but Jose doesn't follow him into the house.
"I was just walking Matt back," Jose says, peeking out from behind his zipped up coat. "We'll see you tomorrow," Jose calls over his shoulder as he trots down the front steps, his shoulders hunched against the evening chill.
I'm sure Matt could've found his way back to the Inn on his own, but the community wouldn't like one of them wandering our streets unaccompanied. Jose waves without looking back as he starts up the sidewalk towards home. I push the big wooden and glass antique door shut behind Matt.
Alone with Matt in the golden light of the foyer's brassy chandelier, the awkwardness of our last conversation returns. I don't want to alienate him again. I really want him to feel welcome and at home here. Aunty's words have been bouncing around in my head all day. Will Matt decide to follow God and be healed and stay here with us? I smile nervously and try to meet his stare. He looks down at me from his slightly taller view. He doesn’t return my smile, but his mysterious eyes are unleashing their full power on me and I get lost looking up into them.
"So—" I start with no idea what to say next. "Uh—How was your day?"
So lame.
"Great. Thanks," he says softly, staring into my upturned face only a foot or so away from me in the quiet foyer.
"I thought I heard someone. Matthew, how was your day?" Aunty asks, appearing out of nowhere.
Was she listening around the corner? The creaky old hardwood floors usually warn me when she's approaching. I should've heard her coming. I blush deep red, and step back embarrassed and insecure.
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