Page 10 of Fall Into You
I try to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach caused by the thought of Matt with another woman. It’s completely irrational, I know. He’s not anything to me, but I just can’t help it. I don’t like thinking about him with someone.
“I was about to leave and go back to the city when I remembered your brother was from around here, and I hadn’t seen him in a while. I gave him a call from my car, and low and behold, you were all spending Columbus Day weekend in Sag Harbor!” He smiles sheepishly at me, and I flash a grin at him.
I want to switch off the topic of this other woman, and I’m guessing Matt does too, so I ask him what he’s been doing since graduating from med school. I think he sees right through me, because he grins at me before answering.
“I was doing my residency in cardiology at a hospital in Boston. Just finished my fellowship and got a job at NYU - Langone a couple of months ago. I’m actually really excited to be back in New York. I’ve missed the city.”
We reach a small playground in the middle of the patch, and Leo squirms in the wheelbarrow, trying unsuccessfully to get out. Matt notices and stops to help him. Leo runs toward the slide, and I yell out for him to be careful. I don’t take my eyes off him when I ask Matt why he chose cardiology.
“My dad,” he replies quietly.
I turn to look at him questioningly but try not to make it so that I’m pressing him for information.
“He, uh, died from a heart attack when I was about fourteen.” He shrugs. “I was always into medicine, and I guess I thought I would honor my dad by trying to save other people from having a heart attack too. It’s stupid,” he says, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair.
“It’s not,” I say. “I get it.” I shrug. “My dad died a few years ago, too,” I say, my hand flying automatically to the necklace around my neck like it always does when I talk about him. “But he died from lung cancer.” Dad’s fight with cancer was long and drawn out. Painful for him but also exhausting for my mother. It was years of treatments and doctor’s visits, of spending every weekend out in Long Island for fear of it being the last time that I saw him, watching him deteriorate from one week to the next.
I try to rid myself of those thoughts by taking a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs and expand my chest. I close my eyes and briefly focus on the cold wind on my face, on the sweet scent of hay, and on the sound of leaves shaking with each gust.
After a few steadying breaths, I look over to Leo. I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of a two-and-a-half-year-old kid, but I am. I envy his innocence and the fact that he doesn’t know that type of pain yet.
There is nothing like the pain of losing a parent.
Matt and I are quiet for a few minutes, both watching and not watching my nephew at the same time.
“What do you think is worse?” I ask out of nowhere. “To die suddenly like your dad did, where none of you were prepared for it? Or to die likemydad, long and drawn out but with enough time to say goodbye to everyone?”
Matt doesn’t answer, choosing to take his time and think on what to say.
“I guess it depends on who you’re asking—the family or the patient.”
I sniff, and he reaches out to take my hand. I wipe my eyes, embarrassed. “God, I’m so sorry. It’s just that being here is hard. It was tradition to come here when we were kids, and this year is the twins’ first time, and Dad never even got to meet them. Danielle was just a few months pregnant when he passed away.”
“It’s okay.” He pauses. “I mean, it’snotokay, but it’s okay that you’re sad.” He squeezes my hand and breaks the tension by asking, “Do you want another doughnut? I hear emotional eating is amazing.”
I look up at him and laugh, wiping a final tear from my cheek. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
He pulls a doughnut out from the paper bag and shoves half of it in his mouth, much like Leo. He chews on it for a couple of seconds and stuffs in the other half, causing the sugar to fall all over his face. Matt’s beard is now covered in cinnamon-cider powder, and I’ve never wanted to lick someone so much in my life.
“What?” he asks self-consciously, his eyes gleaming with that signature mischief.
“Your beard.” I point to his face with a smirk.
“What’s wrong with my beard?” He starts patting his right side with sugar-covered fingers, making the whole thing worse.
“You’re covered in sugar.” We both laugh, and I shake my head at him. “Here,” I say, reaching up on my tiptoes to brush it off, but when my hand meets his beard, grazing it softly, we both stop laughing. He gazes straight down into my eyes, and I’m hit with an intense array of dark greens, golds, and yellows that hypnotize me, making me forget where I am for a split second. His hand goes to the one resting on his cheek, and he holds it there.
A sudden gust of wind shakes the branches of the trees above, and the leaves come twirling down all around us, encasing us in a flurry of warm oranges and browns, leaving me hypnotized, eyes stuck on the face of this perfect and adorable man.
What is happening?
“Auntie Liza!” I hear Leo yell, and just like that, the moment is gone. I turn to my nephew to check that he’s alright. “There is a big turkey over there!” He points behind me. “Can we go take a picture with him?Please?” he begs.
“Sure, buddy,” I say cheerily as I help him jump off the playhouse. But really, I want to ask him why he couldn’t have waited two minutes for me and his dad’s friend to see where that moment would have led had he not interrupted it. Matt wipes his hands on a napkin as he clears his throat, scratching the back of his head before helping Leo back into the wheelbarrow. He tries to make a game out of it again, but it’s so full of pumpkins that there’s no way he can push a wheelbarrow with a toddler and about a million pounds of gourds through the mud.
WE TALKabout everything and nothing as we slowly make our way to the ten-foot wooden turkey. I think he’s trying to prolong our time together, which makes my heart squeeze in my chest. Eventually, we reach our destination, and Leo runs to find a bale of hay to sit on for the picture. I don’t get what all the excitement is about, but hey, I’m not a child anymore.
Matt laughs as he watches Leo jump from one hay bale to another, practically bouncing from excitement.
