Matt's Story

by Lauren Gibaldi

  CHAPTER 8

  “YOU GUYS!” Cindy shouts, running into the bookstore’s cafe with a large envelope in her hands. “It’s my letter from Rhode Island School of Design. IT’S MY LETTER.”

  “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!” Kat yells. “You got in, of course you got in. Look at that letter, it’s like a book.”

  “Open it,” I say excitedly, heart racing for her. She applied two months ago—this is huge. I watch her gently open the package, slowly and perfectly. Not wanting to tear a single sheet of paper.

  “OH MY GOD OPEN IT ALREADY,” Kat yells, and I laugh.

  “Okay, okay,” Cindy says, and I can tell she’s shaking. The little owl knit cap she’s wearing is tossing and turning. “Dear Cindy, blah blah blah blah blah blah we’d like to offer you a spot next year OH MY GOD I GOT ACCEPTED!”

  We all jump up and tackle her in a hug. She’s jumping up and down excitedly in the middle. I put my arms around both of them, so Kat can duck down and give her a kiss.

  “I can’t believe it! I’m going to RISD! Me!” Cindy swoons as she sits down, and Kat holds her hand solidly. I grin across from them, happy for their news. Kat is still waiting for her letter. As am I.

  “I never saw your final application portfolio,” I say. “Did you send in the same one I saw?”

  “Yeah, only with one addition,” she says, getting out her phone. She flips through a few pictures before handing it to me.

  It’s another painting similar to the ones I saw, only this one is full of deep blues and purples that slowly morph toward lighter blues and purples. From dark to light.

  “That’s an awesome addition.” I nod. “It’s really neat how you merged the colors like that.”

  She grins at Kat, then looks back at me. “It’s the one I made you.”

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “I told you I’d make you one for your dorm. That one is yours.”

  “You made that for me?” I ask, surprised.

  “It’s not much,” she says happily. “I started making it and halfway through realized it was you. The dark part is your beginning here. The lighter is you now. It doesn’t get bright or happy, but it does get . . . neutral, and I think that’s where you’re at.”

  I think about it and nod, finding it funny how she got me so well.

  “Thank you so much. I can’t wait to see it in person. This is . . . really, thank you.”

  “I’m just glad you like it!” She smiles. “Ohh, but I can’t wait to see what I’ll be doing next year. Their art studio is amazing—it’s just . . . uggghh I can’t wait!”

  Kat looks on, excited, but part of her is still uncertain, I can tell. The closest school to RISD she applied to is Boston University, and she’s not confident she’s going to get in. (“I’m just getting out of Texas, that’s for sure,” she said on the matter.) While she’s trying to get as close as possible to the person she likes, I’m going in the complete opposite direction.

  “Well, we need to celebrate,” Kat says. “Dare I suggest we move our hangout to another location?”

  “Can Matt handle a change of scenery? It was hard enough getting you here!” Cindy jokes. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just so giddy.”

  “It’s okay.” I smile. “And change sucks, but I think I can handle this.”

  “Oh, look at you, growing up,” Kat says, and stands up. “I think this calls for drinks. My mom won’t be home for another two hours—and there’s champagne that she won’t realize is missing. Let’s go.”

  I drive separately and meet them at Kat’s house. She lives with just her mom in a small cabin in a woodsier area. It sounds weird and secluded, but it’s actually really nice. Trees tower over her house, placing it beneath a canopy, and there’s a small brick path leading to the backyard. When I get out, I swear I hear a babbling brook.

  “Welcome to Casa de Kat,” Kat says, holding the door open for me. “Please, come inside, won’t you?”

  “She magically becomes a polite hostess when people are over,” Cindy whispers.

  “I heard that,” Kat says, and I laugh.

  Inside it’s all natural and homey, with exposed beams and big windows with sunlight coming in. It’s beautiful. Kat runs to the kitchen and opens an already-open bottle of champagne.

  “Okay, I thought it was full, but I guess Mom had friends over when I was out. Whatevs. She won’t notice we’re drinking it.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “She never has in the past.” Cindy giggles, taking three glasses down.

  “Does your mom know about—?” I start, pointing to Cindy.

  “Yeah, both our parents do,” Cindy says.

  “It wasn’t easy telling them, but, you know, whatever, they’re okay now,” Kat says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, but I can see a look cross her face that’s part pained, and I know it was more than nothing. She’s right—she did work hard for Cindy. And it was worth it.

  Kat pours the champagne into the glasses, then gives Cindy a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “To Cindy!” Kat says, handing me my glass and holding hers up.

  “To me!” Cindy giggles, clinking glasses with both of us. We sip and it’s cold and bubbly and tastes like a celebration.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m just so excited. Did you hear back from any more schools?” Cindy asks Kat, and she shakes her head in response.

  “More schools?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I got two rejections so far,” Kat says sadly, but with a brave face. She waves it off like it’s nothing.

  “Screw those other schools,” Cindy says. “The next one will love you. You still have, what, three more?”

  “Yeah,” Kat says, trying to sound optimistic, but I can hear the fear in her voice.

  “They’ll love you,” I repeat, adding to Cindy’s optimism.

  “Hope so,” she says with a shrug.

  “Know so,” Cindy says, staring at Kat, and I can see what Kat sees. Cindy’s determination and seriousness when it’s needed. Kat smiles at her, and I know she’s feeling braver, stronger.

  “Oh, Matt, you should see Cindy’s other paintings.”

  “My screw-ups? No way,” she says, shaking her head.

  “Go show him! I’m getting snacks,” Kat says, walking toward the pantry.

  “Oh, come on,” I say, nudging Cindy, and she dramatically sighs and relents, leading me to Kat’s room. When we get inside, it’s exactly as I’d imagined—clean, tidy. Everything in its place. For some reason I always saw her like that. White walls, blue comforter, clothes in her closet. I bet Cindy’s room is a mess of life and color.

  “Okay, those are them,” she says, pointing to the four on Kat’s walls.

  “They’re not screw-ups,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Thanks, but they’re not good either. Between you and me, I made one for Kat that I’m giving her before we leave. It’s much more special than these.”

  “That’s really cool,” I say, then turn to her. “Hey, you really think you and Kat are going to work once you’re in college?” It sounds mean, accusing, when it comes out, and I didn’t mean it that way. So I start blabbering, “I mean, not that you won’t, I was just wondering what you thought—”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” she interrupts me, turning to me with crossed arms. She’s swaying back and forth, her dress billowing out.

  “I know you guys are solid, but what about the distance?”

  “I love Kat, and nothing can change that. We’ll be fine,” she says, with such strength and earnestness that I believe her. I one hundred percent believe her. So I nod and smile and agree.

  “And what about you? Found your new art yet?”

  “Ha, no,” I say, thinking of my discarded box of paper scraps. I haven’t picked any up since talking to her. I haven’t wanted to.

  “Maybe it’s time to stop living through others and make your own memories.”

  “Tried that once, it was too hard.”

  “Matt.” She sighs. “Hard is good. Hard is
worth fighting for,” she says with a raise of the eyebrow before walking out of the room.

  We sit on the couch and sip our champagne and eat our snacks. Despite Chris’s attempts at getting me to go out and party and make the most of my senior year like he did (only with far less consequences), I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve drank since being with Ella, so I say that.

  “Are you guys married yet? I mean come onnn,” Cindy says, sighing.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” I say.

  “Do you have a picture of her? You’ve never shown us,” she says, snuggling up to Kat.

  “Um, sure,” I say, taking my phone out of my pocket. I never deleted the photos. I wanted to a few times, but I couldn’t. I scroll through the photo album and find one of us from the beach. It’s a selfie she took with my phone. We’re both laughing because the sun kept getting in our eyes. After, I tickled her until she squealed, and Jake told us to get a room. We tried surfing that day because Jake knew someone with a board. He brought it and all four of us tried, unsuccessfully, to stand up. It wasn’t important that we had no idea what we were doing. Jake looked the funniest, because while the rest of us knew we looked ridiculous, he tried looking cool the entire time, which, of course, didn’t work. Especially when water went up his nose.

  I hand over the phone and receive harmonic “awwww”s in response.

  “She’s so cute!” Cindy says.

  “I’d date her,” Kat agrees, and Cindy elbows her. “What? I mean, not when I’m with you, of course!” And they laugh. I laugh, too, and take back the phone. I flip quickly, already feeling myself fall into the hole of memory. There’s a picture of the Pepperpots performing, and Jake looking much cooler than me. There’s a picture of me and Jake trying to skank at a punk show. And then there’s me and Ella again. I look into her eyes before turning off the screen.

  “Oh, hey, remember when I called you an autoclave?” Kat asks.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “The machine that murders good things, that’s me.”

  “Turns out not everything. I looked it up—I was curious. Apparently there’s this one bacteria that actually thrives in it.”

  “So what you’re saying is . . .”

  Kat smiles and says, “That some things can survive even you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  It’s been a few weeks since Chris and I finally talked. We’re better now. We hang out, we eat dinner together, and not just for our mother’s benefit. For ours, too. We’re making up time lost, and relearning what the other likes. We’re brothers again.

  “So what do you guys want for dinner?” Mom asks, putting her purse on the counter.

  “Pizza?” Chris suggests from the chair opposite me at the table. We’ve found our old seats again, the ones we always sat at, with Mom at the head of the table, me to her right and Chris to her left. It was weird without Chris last year—weird when his seat was empty.

  “Yeah, pizza,” I agree.

  The front door opens and our dad walks in, home earlier than normal, which takes us all by surprise.

  “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” he asks, looking, and seeming, exhausted.

  “Pizza night,” Chris says triumphantly, and I laugh. Mom’s been especially happy that her boys are getting along again. I’ve been especially happy that she’s been leaving me alone about everything now that she assumes Chris is my confidant again.

  “I thought you were cooking?” Dad asks, and I give Chris a look. He rolls his eyes, because Dad always gets like this when things aren’t how he wants them.

  “I came home late,” Mom sighs. “The boys seem excited about pizza.”

  To emphasize her point, Chris chants, “PIZZA PIZZA PIZZA.”

  “Okay, fine, that’s fine,” Dad sighs, kissing my mom on the cheek. “Good day, boys?” he asks, squeezing my shoulder and smiling at Chris. They haven’t had the best relationship since we’ve been here, but they’re working on it. Well, Chris is, at least.

  “Yeah, fine,” I say, flipping a pen between my fingers.

  “Good, good,” Dad says before he, along with all the tension, leaves the room.

  “Your dad’s having a tough time at his new job,” Mom says sadly. “Here.” She gives me some money. “Do you mind picking it up?”

  “I’ll go, too,” Chris says, hopping up and giving me a look. I nod and get up to leave, knowing he’s close behind.

  “Hey, how was Dad when you guys were away?” Chris asks once we’re in the car.

  “The same, really,” I say. “Always busy.”

  “That’s Dad. I don’t know why Mom puts up with it.”

  “Well, she got him here. I mean, she was livid when he didn’t want to move. Like, threaten-divorce angry,” I explain.

  “Oh shit, go Mom.”

  “Seriously,” I say, smiling at the memory of my mom starting to pack despite my dad’s reluctance. She’s stronger than she looks, stronger than I am, that’s for sure. I think Chris has a lot of her in him.

  “You think they’re okay though? Like, here and stuff?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, she hasn’t left him, so there’s that.”

  “It just sucks Dad doesn’t, like, take the time out for her. Or us . . . ,” he says, drifting off. It’s been tense between him and Dad. The ease they once had is gone, and it shows.

  “I’m just used to it. And I’ll be gone soon, so.”

  “Yeah. Oh, hey, remember Sofia? From Italy?” Chris asks, changing the uncomfortable subject.

  “Yeah,” I say, picturing his extremely hot girlfriend. She was tall with dark hair, dark skin, and she kind of spoke English. Kind of.

  “She messaged me on Facebook the other day. Dude, she got hotter somehow.”

  “Impossible,” I laugh, then pause. “Wait, you still talk to her?”

  “Sometimes,” he answers with a shrug. I glance at him before turning onto Robinson.

  “She remembers you?” I ask.

  “Why wouldn’t she? I’m Christopher Grayson. No one can forget me,” he says, back to his cocky self. He’s not recovered, not fully yet, but he’s getting back and I think part of it has to do with me forgiving him.

  “Uh-huh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “No, seriously, I figured you didn’t talk to anyone from the past. I don’t.”

  “That’s because you’re weird,” he points out, and I shove him.

  “Shut up.”

  “No, really, it’s weird. Why don’t you keep in touch with anyone?”

  “I just figured they went on with their lives after I was gone. Why would they want to keep in touch with me?” I ask.

  “Because you were friends with them. Because they were in your life. You make it out like they just forget you when you leave.”

  “Don’t they?” I ask, still sure in the fact.

  “No. Maybe your crazy ex-girlfriend who talked to cats did, but other people remember. Especially Sofia,” Chris adds with a wink.

  I shake my head and signal to turn into the restaurant. “And what does Delilah think of Sofia?”

  “Oh, she doesn’t know.”

  “Dude.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to Italy to cheat on her or anything. I’m not even flirting with Sofia. She’s got a boyfriend, some model or whatever. And Delilah and I trust each other. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, especially considering she’s still with me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “No, seriously. I’m serious about her, man.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say. “You’ve never been serious about a girl. Ever.”

  “No, really. She’s awesome. And how she’s stuck with me this whole time? It’s crazy. She’s, like, okay being around someone broken.”

  Naturally Ella pops in my mind. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mind, either. But I can’t think that.

  “You’re still hung up on Ella, aren’t you?” he asks, as if reading my mind once again. I don’t respond. “Why did you leave her again?”

  “Because we moved.
Because of . . . everything,” I say, pointing to him.

  “Hey, don’t blame your poor relationship decisions on me, man. I kept mine going, even in jail. You’re the one who gave up.”

  “I didn’t give up, I just—” I pause, because that’s exactly what I did. I gave up on her.

  “Let me ask you something—if you were in my position, God forbid, would Ella come visit you in jail?”

  “What did I do to land in jail?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t matter. Answer the question.”

  “I don’t know, I guess it depends on the situation, but, yeah, she’d probably visit,” I answer. “Well, I mean, she would have.”

  “And if it was her?” he asks. I park the car and sit there. The thought of her in jail is preposterous, but going along with his line of questions, I guess he’s right. I would be there. I wouldn’t give up on her. So why am I letting her hurt now? When I can at least try to make things better?

  Chris sees my face and nods. Like always, he knows what I’m thinking without me speaking. We used to think we had telepathy. We’d try it, try to send each other messages during dinner. Not surprisingly, it never worked.

  “Think about it,” he says, patting me on the shoulder, and then opening the car door.

  I will.

  The next day I go to the bookshop. Cindy called for an emergency meeting on a Saturday, so I drive over there, but not before checking the mail.

  I walk in and they’re both sitting there, grinning at me. They look possessed, crazed.

  “What’s going on . . . ?” I ask, sitting down across from them.

  “Can I tell him? No, you tell him. It’s your news, but OH MY GOD MATT,” Cindy shrieks, and my eyes widen. I look at Kat.

  “You got your letter?” I ask.

  She nods, a quick excitable nod.

  “Out with it!” I command, and she explodes.

  “I GOT INTO Boston University!”

  “Oh my God!” I yell, jumping up to hug her. “When did you find out? That’s awesome. Congratulations!” I say everything at once, bumbling my words together. Cindy is dancing around, practically floating on air.

  “Earlier today. I had to open it, I was just . . . like I said, I already had a few rejections,” she says. “But, oh my God!”