Page 53 of Devoured

I cleared my throat. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing up an apartment.”

“Your apartment? Or someone else’s?”

“Mine I guess. I’m living here right now. But I’m not staying.”

“Why?”

There was a long pause before he responded. “It’s…too loud.”

It seemed like every time I called Matt, he was moving to a new apartment in New York.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist,” I said. It was a weird segue. But I didn’t think there was a good way to bring this up.

Another long pause. “That’s good.”

We’d grown apart. But I knew he still cared about me. Just like I cared about him. “Sometimes it’s good to talk about stuff.”

“I’m not going back to therapy,” Matt said.

That wasn’t what I was saying. “I just meant that if you ever want to talk about her, I’m here.” I didn’t need to say who. He’d know who I was talking about.

The power drill sounded again. And he didn’t respond.

Matt had gone to therapy for a while after her death. I knew this was a sore subject. But… “I just need you to know that I’m here,” I said again.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t in New York.”

“I’m teaching in Delaware now. You could visit. Rob’s visiting soon too. Maybe a change of scenery would be good for you. A fresh start somewhere outside the city.”

“Her grave is here.”

I swallowed hard. I got that. I’d visited it a few times when I moved back to the city after graduating. There were always flowers on her grave. And I knew Matt left them. But if he thought leaving the city meant leaving her, he was wrong. He needed to keep living. But I knew he didn’t want to hear that from me.

“Look, James, I really am busy. If there’s nothing else…”

It was a Saturday afternoon and he was holed up in some apartment he hated. Missing her. I knew he was missing her. That’s why he kept moving. Perpetually searching for a home when he’d never find it. Because she was his home.

“I miss her too,” I said.

“Don’t.”

We’d made a pact not to talk about her until Matt was ready. But if her death ate at me this much, I couldn’t imagine what it was doing to him. He couldn’t keep living like this.

I took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry. For everything. For the part I played.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

He wouldn’t talk to me or any of our friends. And he wouldn’t talk to a therapist. So who was he going to talk to?

“I’m here when you’re ready.”

“I know,” he said again.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

---