Page 71 of Unmatched

My heart sits in my throat, with just enough knowledge to guess what’s going on, but not enough to be able to cope. Quietly, I sink to the bed beside him, but I can tell his thoughts are already hundreds of miles away.

“No, Seth. Don’t give me that,” he snaps. “If Mom’s in the hospital, I’m fucking coming to be with her.”

I let out a long, low sigh of relief. Because while “hospital” isn’t good, it’s something we all know how to handle; we’ve been here before. Still, it’s an uncomfortable reassurance. Because it’s a place we can only end up so many times before we don’t anymore.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture Sharon as she used to be, as I remember her. The ultimate best mother-in-law any girl could have asked for. She’d raised Anton and Seth entirely by herself after their dad died when they were ten and seven. The first time Anton brought me home to meet her after we got engaged, she embraced me so warmly, declaring me the daughter she’d always wanted. A far cry from the visit Anton endured with my own mom, in which she shook his hand then politely grilled him for an hour on his career aspirations.

Anton snarls into the phone. “Then you know better than to argue with me.”

He ends the call and immediately pulls up one of his travel apps, searching for flights. I draw my knees to my chest, scanning his face, trying to gauge his turbulent feelings and how I might be able to help. He punches the screen with more force than necessary, but doesn’t seem to even register me.

Finally, I clear my throat. “Is your mom—” I stop. “Are you okay?”

He closes his eyes. Anton, Seth, and I all knew when Sharon went into care—first at that horrible place, and then finally in the more capable hands at Sunny Cove—that she would never be “okay” again. Not the way she used to be. The important thing was her safety, but we’ve all known for a while that things were not headed to a good place. I just don’t think any of us expected it would be this soon.

“I’m so sorry, Anton. I thought Sharon—” My voice cuts out. It just doesn’t seem fair. She ought to have decades of life ahead of her. Anton and Seth should’ve had more time to spend with their mom—as her children, not her caregivers. There’s so much tradition and family everyone’s been cheated out of. Going home for holidays, enjoying pans of her famous lasagna, just being able to call and hear each other’s voices. None of that has been possible for a while, but somehow the absence seems punctuated in this moment. When it feels like there’s so much more impending loss. Anton looks up, and my eyes brim with tears. “I thought maybe she’d stay with us a little longer.”

“Yeah. Well, it is what it is.” His voice thickens when our eyes meet. “Seth was trying to tell me not to even come.”

“No. You need to go. Your mom needs you.” I take his hand, pulling it into my lap and squeezing his fingers, our pulses beating against each other. I guess we’re both surprised by the gesture because it’s several seconds before we both let go and pull back.

He clears his throat and stands, ducking into the bathroom. When he comes back, he has a few toiletries in his hand and starts digging for his suitcase under the bed. I watch for a minute, and it feels like the whole room has shifted into slow motion. Or maybe only I have. But as the sound of his luggage zipper cuts through the air, I blink, and my body shifts back into action. I kneel at the side of the bed and pull out my own purple suitcase, laying it next to his black one. Then I open the dresser, grabbing underwear, jeans, and shirts, pausing somberly to consider whether I should pack a black dress.

I bump into Anton as we each try to navigate our narrow walk-in closet.

“What are you doing?” he asks, glancing from the clothes draped over my arm to the travel bags on the bed.

“Packing for Dallas,” I say, though it seems obvious enough.

He takes the dress out of my hands, shaking his head as he hangs it back up. “No.”

I follow his movements, eyebrows raised. “Um. Why not?”

His eyes are cool, closed-off. “Because there’s no reason for you to come.”

“If Sharon’s in the hospital, I’m coming to be with her, to be with—” I was going to say you, but the look on his face is so cold I go silent.

He shakes his head. “Please don’t.”

My eyes burn. My throat feels like it’s closing up. “Anton, I need to go, you can’t just?—”

“I think you’ve made clear what matters most to you. Stay here. So you don’t have to miss work.” He moves past me, not looking at me. “Right now, I need to be with my family.”

His words hit like a punch.

I step back. Watching. Chest hollow. He continues, going through the motions of folding clothes into his suitcase, and I step back to observe, a heaviness I’ve never felt creeping into my gut. After some minutes, I finally realize what it is—we both feel like he’s packing to leave for good.

Maybe he is.

I can’t bear to look at the purple suitcase being left behind on the bed, so I head for the bathroom. Brush my teeth. Walk to the kitchen to let Heartthrob out and set up the coffeepot for tomorrow. All things I do every day with him here. Things I’ll still do without him around. He heads into the bathroom to shave, like it’s any normal day and we’re getting ready to go to our jobs.

I’m standing in my bra and leggings in the bedroom, getting dressed for work because that’s a familiar thing I know how to do, when Anton comes in to get his suitcase. He stops and openly stares at me about to put my shirt on, and I wish for half a second that I was wearing the lingerie from the hotel. The whole point of it had been to rub one last look in his face of everything he was about to lose, and I wish I could steal that moment back for myself. I make the best of it now, even in just the plain push-up T-shirt bra, taking my time pulling my top over my head, trying to broadcast that he’ll never see these boobs again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a bright patch of pink on the floor of the closet among my shoes. I don’t know how the rabbit got there, but I cross the room and pick it up. I carry it to the bathroom, holding it out like it’s somehow responsible for what’s happening, and then I clean it carefully, a twinge shooting through my lower regions when my fingers brush the “on” button. Anton is standing in the same spot when I reenter with the sex toy. He watches me walk back over to my side of the bed and tuck it carefully away in my bedside drawer. Then I rise and turn to him, trying to school my expression to suggest I’m planning to use it without him after he’s gone.

Maybe I will.

Anton shifts, tucking his shirt into his pants, and pulls his suitcase off the bed. He’s put on jeans and a hoodie for the trip, casually delicious with a white shirt stretched across his chest. All the ladies between here and Dallas can have a visual free-for-all.

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