Page 31 of The Muse’s Undoing

He runs his other hand down his face and sighs heavily.

“He’s got the attention span of a goldfish,” I say. “In two weeks, he’ll think it was always like this.”

“What if I suck at this? I’ve never been alone with him for more than a couple of hours.”

I put my coffee down and scoot closer, resting the hand he’s not holding on his warm neck. “Hey—you’re his fucking hero. Do you know how much street cred that kid has just for having a dad who’s on TV?”

I can tell he tries to smile but doesn’t quite accomplish it.

“If you need to let something out, it’s just you and me, you know?”

His grip on my hand tightens and he leans toward me. I catch him against my chest and hold him while he does what he always used to do when the nightmares came. Tries not to cry.

As his body goes through all the physical motions of sobbing without making a sound or shedding a tear, I hang onto him. I smooth my hand repeatedly over his wild waves, and I keep him close with an arm banded around his back. It’s nice to see how finely tuned we still are to each other. Our movements like a well-choreographed dance, making space for each other.

It was a stupid question he asked earlier. Of course I have time for him.

Now that I know we’re not going to pretend those nine months never happened, or that we don’t know each other down to the raw bones, it might be hard to make time for anything else.

9

FISCHER

Iexpected two things upon seeing Matthew in the flesh again. Joy and relief. What I didn’t expect was this anxiety gnawing at my insides—the fear that despite all our efforts to stay connected over the last several years, that we’ve grown apart.

While I know I’ll never be part of his daily life again, other than comings and goings downstairs, I want to understand my place in it, regardless. It was too easy to forget how comfortable I feel around him. The sense of unconditional belonging he—and literally only he—offers me. As I go limp on his chest, the emotional purge over, I say, “At the risk of making this awkward…”

He laughs softly.

“This finally makes me feel like I’m home.”

He adjusts his head, and I move mine so I can see his face.

“Really?” he asks.

I nod.

Matthew loosens his arms and rubs my back. “I’m just so fucking relieved,” he says. “I worried about you a lot.”

“What happened that first year was such a fluke,” I tell him. “Nothing even close to that ever happened again.”

“I get that, but still. As much PTSD as you were dealing with, I felt like once you were back out there again—that’s when mine set in. I think it’s safe to say I got a little attached to having you nearby.”

“I did, too,” I admit.

Matthew huffs softly, like could’ve fooled me.

“Does it feel like I wasn’t attached? You know I hate hugs.”

“Do you, though?”

I pinch his arm and he swats my hip. “Ow. Stop it.”

“So, what’s it gonna look like, you and me?”

He grimaces and drops his gaze. “Whatever you want it to.”

“So we can hang out? We don’t have to stick with the doorman, family get together things?”

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