The Muse's Undoing

between you and me, i think this has been good for him. he was going and “doing” too much if you catch my meaning.

oh.

yeah, so if he’s finding other ways to manage his stress by hanging at your place, it’s all good.

thanks. you doing anything fun today?

Yeah. class!!! Super fun. OMG sooooo excited.

lol i’ll let you go then

bye Fishy. Tell Matty I said hi.

Short answer: yes.

I didn’t like the long answer. And because I didn’t like it, my decision seems clear.

Sighing, I open up an email to the network I worked for before I was injured. They gave me an open invitation to reach back out if I felt like I was prepared to go back to work.

I think Matthew will understand. Hell, I’ll let him stay in this apartment if he wants. That way he can keep saving money and keep with his basic routine.

I send the email and work on my New Yorker piece while I wait for a response from the network or for Matthew to wake up. Whichever comes first.

The response happens to come first, and it’s a full throated offer to return ASAP with an assignment in Jerusalem waiting for me to accept.

Before I can reply, Matty shuffles into the kitchen and refills his water.

“How’s the headache?” I ask.

“Better.”

“Throat?”

“Not better.”

“I’ll order some soup. What do you want?”

“I’m not sure I’m hungry.”

“Sounds like you said chicken noodle,” I say, pulling up the delivery app on my phone.

He’s covered head to toe in a hoodie with the hood up, sweatpants, and socks. If he doesn’t have a fever yet, he will soon. I get up to make him more tea. “Can I talk to you about something?” I ask as I fill the kettle at the sink.

“Sure.” He leans his hip on the counter and shoves his hands into his front pocket.

“I think it’s time for me to get back to work.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I look over at him. He’s staring at the floor. “Matty? Did you hear me? Is this a bad time?”

“No, yeah. I heard you. Sure. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

“I was thinking you could stay here. I get that it’s not as convenient as living at the hotel, but it’d be good to know the place is in good hands while I’m gone.”

“Thanks. That’s a nice offer.” His voice is flat. Monotone. I remind myself he’s not feeling well, and this probably wasn’t a great time to bring it up.

“So. Anyway,” I say, wanting to wrap this up and move on. “I’ll be leaving next week, looks like.”

“Next week?”