The Muse's Undoing

“I was invited. Last I checked, you’re the ones who stopped by unannounced. But it was great to see you. I’ll happily see you to the door.”

She huffs and shakes her head at him. Another thing I didn’t know I missed was watching Matthew passive-aggressively manage our mother’s tendency to meddle.

Once Dick and Donna are on their way, Matthew starts making his moves to leave me, too.

I look on bleakly from my bed as he carefully rolls up his suit and stuffs it into his backpack.

“At least let me get it dry cleaned,” I beg him.

“I can take care of my own laundry.”

“But will you?”

He glares at me, his hair falling over his eyes while he hunches over his bag.

“What if I hire a service?” I ask. “They can come to your place, pick up your things and bring them back once a week. All you have to do is remember to put it out for them.”

“I’m not leaving my clothes in the hall of my building,” he says. “And I have my own washer and dryer.”

“Bring your dry cleaning here, then. They can pick it up and drop it off in the lobby. Put it under my name.”

“Haul my laundry on the subway? No thanks.”

“Just your dry cleaning.”

“This is my dry cleaning.” He gestures at the suit.

“You have more than one suit.”

“My other one’s too small. It doesn’t fit my shoulders anymore.”

“Ah, well… poor you.”

He rolls his eyes and zips his backpack. “I gotta go. You should stay off screens today. Rest your brain. I read that on WebMD last night. At least until the headache goes away, and if it doesn’t, you need to see a doctor.”

“What’s a doctor gonna tell me that you haven’t?” I ask, leaning back on my pillow and folding my arms over my chest firmly.

“Are you pouting?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do the rest of the day?”

“You’re supposed to rest.”

But I’m restless. Is that not obvious? “Am I really not allowed to see the sculpture until it’s done?”

He sighs and turns to look at me again. “You’re not coming with me.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re not going home to work on the sculpture are you?”

He grimaces, his biggest tell. He’s planning to get laid, and because I try not to devote a lot of brain space to Matty’s sex life, I’d rather this hadn’t occurred to me.

“I am going home to finish it, and then, yeah…I may have plans.”

“Right,” I say stiffly.