Page 99 of Cherry Picking
He’s right. I’d mentally and emotionally checked out of our relationship weeks before he packed his bags and made the move to Boston. Before he’d even asked me to go with him.
I think I started disappearing the moment I pulled him out of the water.
“You deserved better than that.”
“I did. I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you, though.”
Hearing that shouldn’t make me misty eyed, but even turning my head to the window and watching the snow doesn’t ease the burn.
“You’ve been holding onto his hurt for a long time,” Matty says, voice soft, and when I look at him he’s dragging a curd covered fry through the whipped cream of his shake.
“I don’t forgive as easily as you do.”
He cocks his head, blinking owlishly in my direction. “Are you still angry with me?”
I drag a hand through my hair and lean back in the booth, bringing my full attention back to Matty. “Christ, Matty, no. I’ve never been mad at you.”
Frustrated with him, sure, but mad? I can’t think of a single true fight we ever had. Playful disagreements. Arguments where one of us needed to step away to cool down and recollect. Not true anger, though.
“I was angry. When you told me you wouldn’t do it.”
I look at him, and he’s got his food pushed aside to lay his arms on the table with his cheek resting on them.
“I was angry when I woke up in that hospital room and all you did was smile and pet my hair.”
Little transgressions that add up like building blocks. Or maybe like Jenga, causing it all to come crashing down.
“You didn’t tell me you were a virgin,” I say, surprising him. “That made me mad.”
“That’swhat ruffles your feathers? The fact that I got you into bed, took your dick, and didn’t disclose that it was my first time until you were inside me?”
“Honesty and trust are important to me. I felt like you used me to get it over with.”
He gawks, mouth hanging open as it slowly forms into a grin. “Or maybe I was so into you, maybe it felt good to have someone touch me the way you did, that I didn’t want you to freak and back out.”
Because Matty’s anatomy is different. I knew it going in, but that fear of rejection that’s so deep seeded in him, I can see where he’d want narrative control. Something he has so little of.
“I was angry that you asked me,” I grit out, hating the way the guilt tastes on my tongue. “To move. To uproot my life.”
“You resented me.”
“I think I still do.”
His eyes widen, lips parting with a whooshing exhale. Hurt lines his dark irises. “Why?”
“Because you moved on,” I say with an exasperated huff. “You went on with your life like we never happened. Like I never forced you into the closet with me for years.”
Matty is a sweet, playful man, but he is also a fierce one. His eyes ignite like a roaring bonfire, and if I had a single ounce of self-preservation in my body, I probably wouldn’t meet that stare head on like a challenge.
But this is Matty.
His lips tip up just the slightest at the corners.
“Riley Nathanial Easton. I was in the closet long before I became involved with you. Maybe it was for being trans instead of liking dick, but I had a pretty damn cozy spot in there. I never judged you for not being ready just like you did the same for me.”
He takes a deep breath, but before I can speak, he holds up his hand.
“What hurt was you telling me you wanted to come out, got my hopes up, got me excited about being open in public, and then you always took it away at the last second. It felt like being rejected over and over again.”
