Crazy in Love (Matt & Anna Book 1)

by Annabelle Costa

  Of course, as I’m not interested in a mating ritual, such a deception would be of little use to me.

  It takes Matt several minutes to get the wrapping paper unraveled. What lies underneath is a simple white box. He stares at it, frowning.

  “Open it!” I say.

  He lifts open the lid to the box and peers inside. He takes out the small scrap of paper I’ve left for him. A paper with ten digits written on it.

  “It’s my phone number,” I explain to him.

  Matt looks baffled. “I already have your phone number, Anna.”

  “Yes, but…” I smile brightly at him. “I thought that… well, you know how you wanted to have dinner together? And we can’t go to a restaurant because of the germs. And we can’t do it at your house or my house because… well, you know. So I thought maybe you could call me and we could have dinner together, but from two separate places.”

  Matt’s mouth falls open. I’d like to say he seems happily surprised, but I don’t think he is. He doesn’t seem particularly happy at all.

  “Isn’t that a good idea?” I press him.

  “Yeah,” he mutters. “Great idea.”

  “Maybe we could do it tonight?” I say hopefully.

  His shoulders sag slightly and he shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t know. Not tonight. Maybe… some other time.”

  Matt didn’t like my present. I recognize that—I’m not, after all, completely oblivious. But it’s all that I’m able to give him right now.

  Chapter 52: Matt

  I meet Erin for dinner at a restaurant midway between our respective houses. Somehow in the last year, I’ve become friends with my sister. It might be the only good thing to come out of getting MS. Erin says we’ve gotten closer because I’ve “finally grown up,” but I think we both know what it was: I can’t chase girls anymore because… I can’t chase anything anymore.

  We always go to the same restaurant, which is my fault. Lately, I’ve become a lot more reluctant to try out new things. I don’t want to get to a new restaurant and find out there are a bunch of stairs I need to deal with. Or carpeting. Or there’s some secret back handicapped entrance I need to find. I just want to go to the same place that I know is okay, where everyone knows me and there are no surprises. Erin teases me that I’m getting to be an old man. Which makes sense, because I feel like an old man these days.

  When I get to the restaurant, Erin is already there with my niece Haley, who is now nearly a year and a half. Erin is sitting in a chair, waiting for me, while Haley sits happily on her lap, sucking her little thumb. When Haley sees me, she hops out of my sister’s lap and toddles over to me happily.

  “Matt!” she yelps as she points at me.

  My name is one of only a dozen or so words she can say. It’s flattering. That or my name is easy and fun to say.

  “Hi, Haley,” I say, wishing I could pick my niece up and swing her in a circle while she giggles the way I’ve seen my father do. But she seems to like me anyway. Or at least, she likes saying my name.

  “Isn’t she walking amazing?” Erin says.

  Yeah, she is. But I don’t love having it pointed out to me that Haley is just going to get better at walking while my own gait continues to deteriorate. By the time she’s able to run, I might be… well, I don’t want to think about it.

  “They’re holding a table for us,” Erin tells me. “I made a reservation.”

  I glance down at my watch. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re on time,” she says with a grin. “I always add ten minutes to the time you say you’re going to show up.”

  I stick my tongue out at her, which is the sort of immature thing you can only do around your sister.

  We get a table right near the entrance, because like I said, the staff here knows us already. They get a high chair set up for Haley and a bunch of multicolored crayons for her, which she proceeds to shove right in her mouth.

  “There was a time when you would have said a mother who let her child eat crayons was being negligent,” I point out to Erin.

  She sighs. “Yes, those were simpler times.”

  Haley hiccups a fire engine red bubble.

  “Have you talked to Mom lately?” Erin asks me.

  I cringe. “I’ve been trying to avoid it.”

  Recently, my parents have started a gentle campaign to get me to move back home. The campaign started when Mom surprised me at home and saw me with my new forearm crutches before I was quite ready for that to happen. They’re not being too pushy about it yet, but Mom is always listing reasons why it would be so great for me to live with them.

  The reasons mostly involve free cooking and cleaning. As well as the obvious social benefits of being a twenty-nine-year-old guy living with your parents.

  “You’re not considering it, I hope,” she says.

  “Are you kidding me?” I shake my head. “Not a chance in hell.”

  Erin grins. “Mom is really persuasive…”

  There is nothing in the world that could ever persuade me to move back in with my parents. It just can’t happen.

  Erin and I order food, and chat about various things while Haley eats about three crayons. It’s hard to believe that we used to dislike each other for such a long time. She’s awesome. I’m glad she’s my sister and that I’ve got her to talk to. Especially now that a lot of my former friends seem to have disappeared.

  “So how are things going on the girls front?” Erin asks me.

  I groan. “How do you think?”

  “Don’t be so defeatist,” she scolds me. “You’re still fairly cute. I’m sure you could convince at least one young lady to go out with you.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I mutter.

  She winks at me. “What about Anna? How are things going with her?”

  A year ago, it would have been unthinkable, but I actually told my sister all about Anna. About how weird she is and how I like her anyway. I had to tell somebody.

  “You know what’s cute?” Erin says. “The way you get all red and shy when you talk about her. I’ve honestly never seen you this infatuated with a girl before. Like, ever.”

  “Fat lot of good it does me,” I say.

  I explain to her about Anna’s phone date idea. About how after she shot down my dinner invitation, her suggestion was that we talk on the phone while eating dinner. When I first understood what she was suggesting, I was absolutely furious. Did she actually think that was going to be good enough?

  Then when I got over feeling angry, I just felt depressed. My crush on Anna is so pointless. She’s never going to be able to give me what I want.

  I mean, a phone date? What the hell?

  “That’s so sweet though,” Erin says. “She wants to go out with you so badly.”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Maybe I should just move on. I have enough issues myself without dealing with Anna’s issues.”

  “I think you should do the phone date.”

  A few years ago, I never would have considered something like this. But now, I’m actually thinking about it. After all, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.

  Chapter 53: Anna

  The phone date was a stupid idea.

  I thought… I don’t know. I thought that Matt would be excited about it. Even though we wouldn’t be physically close, he’d realize that I still wanted to go out with him. Except it didn’t work that way at all. I can’t stop thinking about that disappointed look on his face when he opened my present.

  Tonight is Sunday and every Sunday I make myself salmon with a side of wild rice. I season the salmon with a bit of salt and pepper, then cook it in the frying pan, skin side down, then cover the pan to steam it. It’s both delicious and healthy. It’s the sort of meal that I would cook for Matt if he ever came to my house.

  Right now, Matt coming to my house seems very unlikely. Impossible, really.

  I wash all my dishes before I use them, even if they have been through the dishwasher. I
feel like between the washing and their actual use, they’ve been exposed to the elements and therefore contaminated, so they need a second washing. I spend a lot of time washing dishes. One thing I’ve become self-conscious about is my hands and how raw they have become from spending so much time washing things.

  Once my food is cooked, I bring my plate to the dining area to eat. Generally, I eat in silence. Usually I spend this time thinking about a piece of code that’s been giving me problems. Occasionally, I put on some classical music. I don’t understand why people feel the compulsion to talk or read or watch television while they eat. I like my silence.

  I am two bites into my salmon when the phone rings.

  I’m irritated by the fact that I have to abandon my warm food to address this phone call. Unfortunately, leaving a call unanswered is something my brain will simply not allow me to do. So I find my phone in the living room to see who is calling.

  It’s Matt.

  My irritation turns to excitement mixed with trepidation. Matt is calling me. Why is Matt calling me?

  I snatch up the phone and press the green button to accept the call. “Matt?”

  “Hi.” It’s a slightly tinny version of Matt’s voice. “How are you doing?”

  He sounds nervous. As nervous as I feel.

  “I’m well,” I reply. “And you?”

  “Great,” Matt says. He coughs. “So… um, I’m having dinner now, so…”

  I’m so excited and happy, I could literally cry. I hate when people incorrectly use the word “literally,” but let me assure you that there are tears in my eyes.

  “I’m eating too, actually!” I say. I bring the phone over to the table where I’m eating so that Matt can be next to me. “What are you having?”

  “Swedish meatballs.”

  “Did you make them?”

  “In the microwave, yeah,” he says. “It’s a TV dinner.”

  A TV dinner! If he came here, he would never eat a TV dinner! Of course, I suppose him not being here is my fault.

  “You shouldn’t eat TV dinners,” I scold him. “They have way too much sodium. It’s bad for your blood pressure.”

  “My blood pressure is the least of my problems,” he says.

  I suppose so.

  “Listen,” Matt says slowly. “I’ve got an idea.”

  My stomach churns slightly. If that idea is him coming over here, I’m going to have to say no. And I don’t want to do that. “Okay…”

  “Maybe while we eat,” he says, “we could do FaceTime.”

  FaceTime. Okay, I could handle that. It might be nice, actually.

  “Yes,” I say. “Let’s do it!”

  We end the call and I find a picture frame to prop my phone up on. When Matt calls me back, I accept his FaceTime request. And there he is. His kind brown eyes, staring into mine.

  “Nice to see you,” he says.

  I smile. “Nice to see you too. It’s like we’re across the dinner table from each other!”

  Matt returns my smile. “Yeah, sort of. I like that I get to look at you.”

  This time I laugh. “You do? Why?”

  “Because…” Matt’s voice lowers a few notches. “Because you’re beautiful, Anna. I could look at you all day. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “I…” I stammer. “I think that you’re… um… also… um…”

  Matt bats his eyelashes at me. “Do you think I’m beautiful too, Anna? You can be honest.”

  I laugh again as the gravity of his previous statement lifts slightly. I’ve never had anyone tell me I’m beautiful before. I don’t think I’m unattractive or anything, but to have a man say something like that to me is a different thing entirely.

  And I’m very glad that man is Matt.

  Year Five

  Chapter 54: Matt

  As I sit in the waiting room to see Dr. Dunne, I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  It’s been four years since he diagnosed me with MS. He predicted that in five years, I wouldn’t be able to walk anymore. Well, I’m still walking. Exclusively.

  But barely. Walking has become beyond difficult for me. My right leg is so weak that I practically just drag it along behind me when I walk. It’s so difficult that I showed up early to my appointment to ensure I’d get a handicapped spot, because I couldn’t contemplate walking across the parking garage. Stairs are not just difficult—they’re impossible. I hardly ever shop anymore because I get groceries delivered, but when I do, I always use the motorized cart.

  At home, I use a walker exclusively. It’s easier than dealing with my crutches. But I’d never in a million years use it in public. It makes me feel like I’m an eighty-year-old man. But it’s fine if I need to get to the bathroom from my couch. Nobody else needs to know.

  I only go to work twice a week, and the effort exhausts me. The other five days of the week, I don’t leave my apartment. I use my walker to get to my couch, where I work on my computer and watch television. I only get up to get meals or go to the bathroom. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve gone out to a restaurant or done anything social outside of my apartment. Rosie brings me my mail.

  When the nurse calls my name to see Dr. Dunne, it takes me a good minute to get to my feet. I see that the hallway outside of the examining rooms has been carpeted, and now I’m worried. Carpeting loves to snag my feet.

  The nurse is patient. She gives me time to make my way down the hallway, but I can tell it’s pissing her off. I don’t blame her.

  Then when I’m two feet away from the examining room, I fall. I almost catch myself, but I don’t. Luckily, it’s on carpeting, so I’m not horribly hurt or anything, but the nurse cries out, and suddenly about five people are surrounding me.

  “I’m okay,” I keep saying. “I’m fine. Really.”

  I need two people to help me get back on my feet again. I feel like an idiot.

  So it’s not exactly a surprise when Dr. Dunne comes into the room, and the first thing he says to me is, “Why don’t you use your wheelchair to come to appointments?”

  “I don’t have a wheelchair,” I tell him.

  He looks at me in surprise. “You need one then. I’ll make you a therapy appointment to get you measured and trained.”

  “No, thanks,” I say.

  Dr. Dunne folds his arms across his chest. “Matt. You need a wheelchair. This is ridiculous. I can’t understand your objection.”

  He can’t? He doesn’t understand why I’d want to give up on walking?

  As if reading my mind, he says, “You don’t have to use it all the time. Just for longer distances.”

  Right. Just for longer distances. The same way I was just going to use a cane for longer distances. No, I know that once I get that wheelchair, it’s going to be the end of my time on my feet. And I’m not ready for that to happen.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Matt…”

  I look away from him. “Fine. I’ll get the chair.”

  I’ll let him order me a chair, just to end this conversation. But I’m not going to use it. I’ll stuff it in my closet just to say that I have it, but I’m going to stay on my feet. I can’t possibly get much worse than this.

  Chapter 55: Anna

  At work today, Matt is very quiet. I can tell there’s something on his mind but I have no idea what.

  I wish I could say my relationship with Matt has progressed, that we’re officially boyfriend and girlfriend. It hasn’t. Matt and I still have not kissed. We have not held hands. We haven’t eaten a meal together outside of our lunches. The thought of being close to him still sends me into a panic.

  That said, we eat lunch together every time Matt comes to the office. He still waits with me until everyone has left so that he can escort me downstairs in the elevator. And every single night, with few exceptions, we FaceTime each other during dinner. I even bought an iPad so that I could see his face better when we
do it. It’s like he’s with me. Except not really.

  I think about Matt all the time. In my head, he is my boyfriend. But I also realize that he absolutely is not my boyfriend. That I need to get a lot better before that can happen.

  I said all this to Dr. Schultz, who then increased my dose of Zoloft. I’m scratching the maximum dosage. We’re thinking about adjunct medications. I’ve also got a bottle of Xanax, which I’m supposed to use for anxiety attacks and I use it more than I’d like to admit. I worry that I’m turning into a junkie.

  “Would you like to get lunch?” I ask Matt as I stand over him in his cubicle. It is 10:40 a.m. on the dot.

  “Yeah,” Matt mutters, swiveling his chair away from his computer screen. “Why not?”

  Matt reaches for his crutches. That is one thing that has changed—Matt’s walking has gotten much worse. He leans very heavily on his crutches, and he drags his right foot behind him. A few times I’ve been scared that I’d have to catch him.

  He’s still supposed to have another year, if his doctor’s prognosis is correct. One more year of walking, at least. One more year to be able to do the prayer 121 times and save him. I’m currently on 89. I’m so close. And I know I’ve got to get it right because I don’t believe Matt has another year when I see him walk. Truth be told, I believe he’d be better off in a wheelchair right now.

  Matt follows me to the break room, and he’s very, very slow. I take small steps, waiting for him to catch up with me. He used to apologize for his slowness, but now we take it as a given. He can’t apologize every day. Anyway, I’m used to slowing down my pace to match his.

  I’ve gotten in the habit of packing a lunch for Matt as well as for myself. I always make myself the same turkey sandwich, but I’ve been mixing things up for him. Sometimes I make him turkey, but other days I might make ham or chicken or roast beef. I’ve also been mixing up the cheeses. Matt says his favorite is provolone. I’ve found that I quite enjoy making food for Matt.