The Muse's Undoing

Gavin comes to sit next to me, offering his presence and silent support. While he says Fischer didn’t send him, his being here does make me feel like I haven’t been totally abandoned.

“I’d rather you didn’t come,” I tell Mom. “I’ve been a little under the weather. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I know you think your father and I are upset with you, but we’re actually worried about you.”

My stomach turns. I’m not sure I’ll make it through this conversation. I don’t say anything, too afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I open it even slightly.

“I need to hear from your mouth that it’s not true,” she says.

I press my lips shut and glance at Gavin. His glare at the phone says it all.

“Matty? Did he ever…hurt you?”

I can tell she’s crying. She loves the fuck out of Fischer. He’s broken her heart a million times, and yet she’s exactly like me, hopelessly wrapped up in whatever spell he casts. “Hurt can mean a lot of things,” I whisper.

“You know what I mean—what I need to know.”

“He never hurt me,” I say, except that Fischer is always hurting me. Even when he’s making me happier than I’ve ever imagined, that hurts somehow, too.

I don’t know what all my mother knows about me and Fischer—other than that I’m somehow standing in the way of her getting to see her grandson. I don’t know what Maggie told her.

If it was everything—including what I told her in confidence about our time when he was recovering—then forgiveness from me is going to take about a decade longer. I should have never told her about that, but I was too busy trying to convince her that what I felt for Fischer was different and real that I didn’t care what it might have looked like to someone like, oh, say, our mom. Or the Marches.

So I tell her the truth. “We were both adults. It’s aways been consensual. That’s all you need to know.”

“Matthew…”

“I’m not kidding, Mom. Drop it.”

She makes a noise of dismay.

Look, I’m not the golden child. That was Maggie’s job. I’ve always been the incorrigible one. The baby. The one who never kept to curfew. Who smoked pot and cigarettes at fifteen. Who started having sex at sixteen, sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to find a place to park and hook up with anyone who was willing.

Stonewalling my mom is old hat. She’s on a need to know basis.

“Look, I’m sorry Nicole is being a bigoted bitch. And I’m sorry if it’s causing you or dad any trouble, but we’ll survive.”

“I was calling to make sure you know I’m here for you.”

I scoff. “Is that right?

“Is Fischer…there?”

My laugh is mirthless. “No, Mom. Fischer is most definitely not here.” The words make my head spin. I try to find a focal point, settling on the fucking tree. On a pale green leaf that hangs perfectly still near the top. It reminds me of Fischer’s eyes, but I keep staring at it, allowing the pain of missing him to settle in my chest without fighting it so hard. I need to learn to live with it.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just don’t think I understand.”

“Do you want to?” I ask.

She harrumphs. “Good question.”

“Well, thanks for checking in,” I say flatly.

“You should call your sis?—”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Matthew, I love you. Take care of yourself. Promise me.”