Page 19 of Hired By the Enemy
Matthew doesn’t seem to know what to say. He must have been aware of the difference between our circumstances growing up. He was in the mansion while I was in the hovel next door. It wasn’t exactly a state secret.
He shuffles from one foot to the other, which is made even more awkward because he’s wearing flippers. “Do you want to do some practice breathing through your mouth now while we’re still on the boat?” he asks.
“Okay.”
While it sucks to show a vulnerable side to Matthew, does it really matter if I screw up in front of him? He’s been there for some of the most embarrassing moments of my life. Hell, he caused most of them.
I slide the snorkeling mask on and bite down on the mouthpiece. Instinctively, I try breathing through my nose and freak out when I can’t get any air. Then, I remember to use my mouth.
“That’s it. Just nice and slow.” Matthew’s taken off his mask to watch me carefully, and his voice is calm.
I spit out the mouthpiece so I can talk. “You realize that I’ve spent years becoming efficient at breathing through my nose while my mouth is occupied, and now you’re asking me to reverse it.”
Matthew rolls his eyes. “Keep going. It becomes natural after a while.”
This is the good thing about working for Matthew. There’s none of the awkwardness I would feel if he was a normal client and I was delaying him from snorkeling.
And he’s right. After a while, my breathing settles into a natural rhythm. Matthew is surprisingly patient through the whole process and resists the mocking this opportunity allows. It reinforces the fact that as much as we still seem to bring out the teenage versions of each other at times, we both have actually grown up.
“You ready to try in the ocean now?” he finally asks.
I eye the water dubiously.
“So we just jump off the boat, snorkel around for a bit, and hope like hell the boat is still here when we come back up?” I clarify.
“Correct.”
“Have you seen the movieOpen Water?” I ask.
“Yes, I have. But I like to think I’m not destined to die in the middle of the ocean with you,” Matthew says.
“That would be ultimately ironic,” I say.
“Although you being here indicates someone or something in the universe has a sadistic sense of humor,” Matthew muses.
I can’t help snorting a laugh at that.
“But just imagine Ms. Beauton’s smile when she sees the death notices,” I say.
A surprised laugh bursts out of Matthew. Fuck. The sound stirs an emotion inside me I can’t put a name to.
Is this the first time I’ve ever made Matthew laugh without it being at me?
Ms. Beauton was our sixth-grade teacher. It was the year when the war between us was at its peak, and Ms. Beauton spent most of her time trying to referee the escalating pranks between us.
I’m fairly sure fantasies of a slow and painful death for both of us featured heavily in Ms. Beauton’s dreams that year.
“Well, I guess making Ms. Beauton happy would be the silver lining I’d comfort myself with while I’m drowning,” he says.
I can’t help huffing out my own laugh at that.
Matthew grins at me, and I’m grinning back at him. Which is possibly a miracle that means the Bible will need to be rewritten. Matthew seems to come to that realization at the same time I do, and he breaks our gaze, staring out at where the other snorkelers are exploring the reef before glancing back at me.
“You okay to go now?”
“Sure.”
I try to calm my nerves as I prepare to enter the water.
