The Muse's Undoing

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” she snaps.

Matthew shuts down. I don’t see it, but I can feel it like a ripple in the atmosphere. “I’m not prepared to argue a case right now. Fischer and I are together, Mom and Dad will deal with it, and you’ll figure it out. And there’s nothing wrong with me,” he says to her. “I’m just sometimes a messy person.”

My heart aches. Out of everyone in our family, he’d been so sure she’d be supportive. This has to be killing him.

“I need to get out of here,” she says, barreling toward the door.

He follows her. “Please. Can I explain?”

“You have five minutes.”

“Give me two seconds,” he says. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Fine. I’ll wait in the hall.” Maggie doesn’t acknowledge me as she leaves, and it’s another punch in the gut.

Matthew squats down in front of me and grabs me by the back of the head. “Hey. Look at me.”

I do.

“If she’ll listen, I’m gonna tell her everything. And then I’ll be back.”

I nod.

He stretches to plant a firm kiss on my mouth, as reassuring as he can make it. “I care about her opinion, Fischer, but not half as much as I love you,” he says.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“When I get back, I’ll make it all better, promise.”

I grab another kiss for myself. His passion is undeniably intoxicating. “I love you so much,” I tell him.

He gives me a grin. “It’s gonna be okay.”

I let him go.

Knowing I won’t be able to get anything productive done with this hanging over us, I crawl up the bed and scroll my phone, looking at but not really seeing the news of the day. I skip everything Afghanistan related. It’s not exactly fresh, not exactly PTSD, but the reminders of the desolate, war torn country still don’t sit well with me. I have too many feelings about it. About the hostilities and the unfairness of it all. The women and children who didn’t ask for this, who—by no fault of their own were born into it.

It’s incredible how easily I can still get caught up in “first world problems” having seen all the terror and abject poverty I’ve seen. It’s the reminder I need this morning. Perspective. I’m lucky. So fucking lucky.

Matthew returns less than ten minutes later and throws himself down next to me on the bed, a heavy sigh blowing out of him. I roll to face him and rub his lower back.

“It didn’t go well,” he mumbles, half muffled by the pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

“She’ll see. Deep down she wants us both to be happy, so…”

“Did she say that?”

He hesitates a beat too long. “It was always me and her growing up, and I’m usually up front with her about who I’m seeing, so I get this is a blindside. But the truth is, she’s been with Stuart eight years. This is about the wedding. How it might reflect poorly or whatever. It’s about the Marches. She’s a different person—the fucking Pierre? I don’t know what I expected.”

I expected more, but I don’t say it. I run my hand up his back and play with the thick waves of hair at the top of his neck. “Are you okay?”

“She’ll come around after the wedding. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” I say. However, now that he’s brought it up, I address the other elephant in the room. “Speaking of the wedding, it’s probably a good idea to break this to Dick and Donna before then.”