The Secret Of Us

Surprise must have registered on my face, because the smile broadened when he looked back at me.

“I guess I’m going to have to do the honors, since this bunch seem to be inept at introductions.” He leaned forward in the chair he was now occupying and extended his hand. “I’m Matt.”

I grasped his proffered hand, realizing that I hadn’t yet recovered from my initial shock at his joining us.

“Eira,” I stammered back.

His grip was cool and strong, the size of his hand making my own seem small and delicate by comparison. A look of confused interest flashed through his eyes and tugged at the corners of his mouth before the question passed from his brain to his lips.

“Sorry?”

This was definitely not a new response to my name.

“Eira,” I repeated. I smiled patiently, realizing that he was probably embarrassed at his reaction. “Eira,” I said one more time, just to make sure he caught it above the ambient noise of the bar. “E-I-R-A. It rhymes with Tyra.”

“Is that short for something?”

“No, actually. Full name.” I reclaimed my hand reluctantly, feeling a little silly to notice that neither of us had let go. “It’s Norse for help or mercy. And, yes, it’s a real name,” I said, absently smoothing a wrinkle from the lap of my jeans.

“Well, Eira, it sounds to me like you’ve gotten more than your fair share of crap over your name,” Matt said sheepishly.

I cocked my head and smiled with the slightest trace of acidity.

“It shows, then, does it?”

He held up his hand, thumb and index fingertips spaced millimeters apart. “Tiny bit.” He grinned and dropped his hand into his lap.

“So tell me. How do you know this lot?” he asked, indicating the group around us, all of whom now seemed completely unconcerned with our presence.

“I was just about to ask the same of you,” I replied, arching an eyebrow. “But since you asked first, I guess I’ll have to wait.” I reached for the seltzer water in front of me, rolling the skinny red stirring straw between my fingertips as I formulated my reply.

“You want the short story or the long one?”

“I’ll take the Reader’s Digest condensed version for now,” he answered, his eyes leaving my face long enough to catch the attention of our waitress. She gathered her round plastic tray from the corner of the bar where she’d been holding post and began to weave her way through the packed tables dotting the room.

I held my answer until she’d left us to retrieve Matt’s requested bottle of beer.

“Let’s just say we all met through a mutual acquaintance, and I got custody of the friends in the divorce.” I lifted a shoulder and pressed my lips together in a rueful smile.

Matt widened his eyes. “Ah.”

I realized my cryptic answer was a little too cryptic and left too much to speculation. “Not that there was an actual divorce,” I said hurriedly. “Or even a marriage,” I continued, growing more and more flustered by the second.

And redder.

Let’s not forget redder.

“I think we should keep all the paper in the place away from you, or you’re liable to start a fire.” Matt chuckled, enjoying my embarrassment entirely too much.

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered, glaring at him good-naturedly.

“Wow. Five minutes I’ve known her, and already she’s telling me to shut up,” he said in mock injury. “Feisty spirits to match the hair.” He was smiling crookedly at me, so I knew he wasn’t serious.

“Oh, stop it!” I lobbed a balled up napkin at him. “Seriously, though,” I continued, trying to regain some sort of grasp on a serious expression. “Just a bad break up.”

“And you got to keep the friends,” Matt supplied. “Must have been really bad. Anyone I would know?” he asked, his curiosity obviously piqued.

I pursed my lips. This was really not something I wanted to get into – not here, not now. Not with a guy I’d only just met. Wasn’t there some sort of rule against that, anyway? Not dredging up old flames and old wounds on a first date? Not that this was actually a date, just a chance meeting of two people who seemed to be hitting it off quite well.

But still.

“How ‘bout let’s not and say we did?” I suggested, smiling mirthlessly. “Spotlight’s yours, Matt. How did you come to be part of this merry band of misfits?”

He shifted in his chair, settling against the back and bringing an ankle up to rest on his knee. He rounded out the move by draping his right arm across the back of my own chair, the picture of cool and casual.

“Nothing as interesting as your story, I’m sure. I work on base with a few of these knuckleheads,” Matt replied with a shrug.

I watched him closely, unsure of where this conversation could possibly go now.

“I wonder where that waitress is with your beer,” I said, looking around the bar with a curiosity I didn’t really feel.

Matt followed my gaze, then shrugged.

“Maybe she had to fly to Belgium to personally pick it out,” he said with a small smirk. “Either that, or she got lost on her way back to our table. She didn’t seem all that bright.”

I turned my full attention back to him, raising my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed such a rarity that intelligence trumped looks in the eyes of the male population.

“You mean you noticed that, what with those boobs staring you in the face and all?” I asked, smiling sweetly.

“Oh, I see,” Matt laughed, his eyes twinkling.

“See what?” I narrowed my eyes.

Matt looked left, then right in mock furtiveness and leaned forward. He motioned me in closer so that I would be able to hear him.

“Boob envy,” he whispered soberly.

I frowned at him and punched his forearm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re violent,” he teased. “Has anyone ever suggested anger management classes?”

“Only once or twice,” I laughed. “Right before I introduced them to my mean left hook.” I held up my balled up fist and broke out into a devilish grin.

“Brains and brawn, huh? Aren’t you the full package.” Matt studied me for a moment, and I felt myself start to flush again.

“Well, when your cup size sounds like a battery size,” I said, glancing down at the nearly imperceptible bumps that occupied the region of my body required to classify them as breasts. My eyes widened, and I looked back up at Matt in horror.

“Did I just say that out loud?”

Fortunately, he was laughing.

“Wow,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, not every guy out there is concerned with that. At least, not the ones who actually have their priorities straight.”

Our overly-endowed waitress magically appeared with Matt’s bottle of beer and set it down in front of him with a flourish.

“There you go,” she declared breathily. She twinkled vacantly at him, ignoring my attempts to get her attention until I tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I can see that you’re extremely busy and all, but could I get some more seltzer?”

While my sarcasm wasn’t lost on Matt, it seemed to fly right over the waitress’s head. The smile plastered on her spackled face slipped for a second, then slid back into place. She’d turned off the sparkle, though, since I wasn’t a muscle-bound member of the male species.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” she said, heading off to get my drink, her hips swaying pendulously in her skin-tight jeans as she moved.

We watched her progress towards the bar, a steady succession of male heads swiveling to note her passage as she walked by them. I shook my head silently and smiled humorlessly.

“No one watches me that way when I walk across the room.”

Matt’s eyes held mine steadily, not a trace of mockery in his reply. “How do you know?”

Chapter Four

I never considered myself particularly adventurous – I didn’t itch for adrenaline, I didn’t have a need to trek up the side of a mountain or plummet thousands of feet towards Earth after jumping from the belly of a plane. Some people make lists of things like this, determined to complete every item on their list before they kick the proverbial bucket.

I, on the other hand, tended towards lists of the more attainable kind – the less adventurous kind. The kind usually classified under the heading of “To Do.” It was safe, it was controllable (at least, to some extent), and it was satisfying enough to stave off any niggling need I had for something more. It kept me distracted, kind of like chewing gum to keep your mind off the cigarette you really want.

What I really wanted wasn’t adventurous.

At least, not in most people’s minds.

What I really wanted was to get married, to wake up every morning and know that someone loved me and wanted to share their life with me. To know that my toothbrush wasn’t the only one in the holder.

Not exactly a harrowing, exhilarating existence; but it was what I’d been dreaming of, what was on my list.

It was what seemed so impossibly unattainable, what I tried so hard not to think about.

Sometimes I stood in line at the checkout of a store, my eyes roving aimlessly over the magazines that flanked either side like paper sentrymen. The bridal magazines mixed in with the tabloids and fashion glossies seemed as irrelevant to me as an issue of Men’s Health or Forbes, touting inapplicable advice. I may have been young for such a jaded perspective, but I’d had enough frustrations with dating, with laying my heart on the line, for the sentiment to seem reasonable. After all, in every situation I’d encountered so far, the guys had all presented themselves in such a way that made them seem far more interested in settling down to start a family than they actually were – especially after a few weeks with me, a girl who left no doubt that my own personal convictions would allow nothing more than a bit of making out. The sentiment of, “Wow, that’s so great, that must take a lot of self-control,” were replaced by attempts to get me to cross my own line, to give in to their particular brand of magic and my own human tendencies. And when I didn’t… the boredom crept in, and they let me see just how immature they could be.

It was a pattern I had grown to expect, one that made dating lose its allure. Still, it kept me from wasting my time with dead-end relationships, since it seemed to weed out the players; so in its own way, my self-imposed celibacy was insurance. But it definitely left me struggling to see why anyone would truly consider the dating scene “fun”. For me, all it seemed to produce was stress.

Little wonder, then, that I had basically resigned myself to the idea that I would never have my own chance to walk down the aisle in the frothy white dress towards Happily Ever After. Somewhere along the way, the sharp-edged pain of that realization had become like the dull arthritic ache that warns of impending rainstorms.

Which was why, when I met Matt, I never seriously considered the possibility of anything more than flirtatious friendship with him. I was so used to my dating life hitting dead ends that I’d lost any hint of the spark of anticipation that usually accompanies a first date. I was more in the “let’s just get this over with” school of thought. Matt seemed to be just another guy I could add to the buddy list – not that I hadn’t ever noticed how handsome or charming or perfect he was.

Quite the contrary, actually. I noticed with regular frequency, but it wasn’t an observation I allowed to go any farther than that. I was too afraid – too afraid that the feelings I had for such a great friend would catapult me into dangerous territory. I wasn’t ready for that kind of vulnerability, not after the rough relationships I’d been through in the past. While I’d never done more than date, I’d certainly invested my whole heart in a few guys who had never come to see me as anything more than a friend. Unrequited love that lasted for years, so loyal was I. And, in that compromised position, I had allowed myself to be hurt, to go out of my way, above and beyond the call of duty, in the slim hope that they would finally, finally see the light and realize that I was their soulmate.

No, it was better this way, to remain friends with Matt. Better to test the waters with other people I wasn’t emotionally involved with, in case the waters turned out to be unfavorable. It was less messy that way.

None of this was anything we actually ever discussed, of course. It was an implied knowledge, a silent agreement under which we seemed to operate, and one that seemed to satisfy us both.

After our meeting that first night in the bar, there was an easy rapport between us. Matt and I ran into each other with an increasing regularity that went from serendipitous to intentional, with the occasional midnight rendezvous in the cereal aisle of Wal-Mart thrown in. After a few months of the intermittent meetings, we slid into a comfortable routine.

Regular trips to Starbucks to sip coffee and talk as people walked by, movie dates that turned into marathon premiere parties. A weekly table at Marinara, a small Italian restaurant that was a few miles from each of our apartments that became our place. We killed countless hours talking about anything and everything – misspent youths and relationships, both past and present.

But as much time as we spent together, as intimately as we knew each other, as much as we loved one another, we’d never explored anything beyond friendship.

Some people might have wondered at that, but we both considered it to be the wisest move.

It kept things simple – until it didn’t.

After a year of the non-dating-dating and an emotional intimacy so deep we could finish each other’s sentences, there was an unconscious shift in our relationship.

On my end, at least.

Sometimes it was easy to forget, to lose myself in the comfortable familiarity we shared, and think of us as a couple. And then reality would come crashing down on my head when he relayed the events of a date he’d had the night before or asked my advice about what a certain woman might be thinking.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know how I felt – how much I loved him and wanted to try, to give us a shot.

I’d told him once, one night when I was sufficiently emboldened by the frustration of a particularly bad blind date. I had come home to find a message from Matt on my machine, eagerly awaiting details on the meeting, and just the sound of his voice had calmed me down enough to make me realize that I wasn’t simply tired of the madness of the dating game. I was tired of wasting my time with guys I knew I would never connect with the way I did with Matt.

Guys I would never love the way I loved Matt.

I had needed to see him, to talk to him face to face. I rushed back out of my apartment, fueled by the immediacy of my need, the urgency I had for him to know.

I screeched into a parking spot in front of Matt’s place, never giving thought to the fact that he might have company of his own or that I might be interrupting something. It hadn’t mattered to me at that point. All that had mattered was that I knew now that I loved him, was in love with him, and that he needed to know.

“Do you ever wonder, Matt?” I had asked after finding him sprawled out on the couch, resplendent in a ratty tee shirt and the Superman pyjama bottoms I’d given him the previous Christmas.

He had looked at me quizzically and shifted on the couch, silently patting the spot he’d cleared for me. I flopped down, feeling an odd mix of excitement, nervousness, and boldness.

“Wonder what?”

I turned sideways to face him, pulling my legs up under me and resting my head on the back of the couch. I’d closed my eyes for a brief moment and taken a deep breath, feeling my resolve slip ever so slightly.

“Wonder what?” Matt repeated softly, reaching out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind my ear.

I opened my eyes to see him looking at me intently, concern written clearly on his face.

Now or never, Eira, I thought.

“Do you ever wonder if we should try – if maybe we could,” I had paused, unsure of how to phrase the question. “What about us?”

The question had been almost a whisper. My chin was starting to quiver, and I could feel tears forming. I had wanted so badly to hear him say he felt the same way I did, but I was terrified that he wouldn’t.

And that then nothing would ever be the same.

How could it have been?

He’d ducked his head, dropping his gaze to his hands and then raising his eyes back to meet mine. They were full of undisguised affection, but there was a seriousness in them that gave it all away before the words had even left his mouth.

“Eira,” he’d started, his hushed voice cutting through the absolute silence of the room as effectively as if he was shouting. He had taken my hands in his, enveloping them in his warm strength, his thumbs rubbing gently over the tops of my hands.

“You know I love you, Eira. You know that, right?” he asked.

I nodded mutely, not trusting myself to say anything.

“I love you, but not the way that you need me to – the way that you should be loved.” He smiled a small smile edged with sadness. “Besides, I’m screwed up. You don’t need that, Eira. You deserve better than that – I want you to have better than that.”

There. He had said it.

All the things I knew I’d already known but was hoping had changed in the past year. I had listened silently, my heart breaking a little more with each word. I realized then, of course, that these were so many of the standard responses to this situation, the quickest route to damage control. But I also knew that the man saying them wasn’t just any man. He was my best friend, and someone I didn’t ever want to lose. I had trusted him not to serve me with platitudes, trusted him to be honest with me about his feelings. Even if he couldn’t give me the answers I wanted to hear.

I’d wondered as I looked into his eyes if I would be able to live like this, to continue to be his friend while he dated other women, when I loved him, was in love with him, and wanted more. He squeezed my hands, the gentle pressure communicating his understanding of the struggle going on in my head and in my heart.

“I’m not ready for you, Eira. You should have someone who will be fully committed to you, and right now I’m not emotionally in that place.” He looked away for a moment. “There’s a reason I haven’t been on a date in three months, and it’s not because I haven’t been meeting women anywhere. It’s because right now, I don’t think I should be dating. Anyone.” He smiled at me fondly. “But if I was, you would definitely be at the top of the list.”

The conversation was done, the subject was closed. I felt so many things – hurt and confusion and disappointment. And a strange desire to argue, as though presenting my case well enough might change his mind, make him see that we were perfect for one another. That he really did love me enough, that he loved me the way that I loved him. I bit back the urge and swallowed the words I so desperately wanted to say.

“Will you tell me if you ever change your mind?” I asked quietly.

Matt nodded.

“You’ll be the first to know,” he said soberly.

I looked down at my hands, still ensconced in his, and blew out a long breath.

“So, what’s on the tube?” I asked, extricating my hands and turning to face forward on the couch. I felt more like fleeing the apartment, burying myself in the safety and solitude of my bed, and hiding from the world while I cried. But I was determined to put on a brave face, to soldier on as though nothing had changed between us.

As much as I wanted it to be true, it wasn’t.

Nothing was the same, and nothing would ever be the same.

Because I knew for certain that I loved him – and that he didn’t love me back.

Months later, not even that was certain.

Chapter Five

From: Eira Larson

To: Matthew Noble

Subject: Please Read This Right NOW: I’m Going to be Totally Honest

Date: October 12, 2004

Right now I’m terrified.

Again, I don’t really know how I should be feeling, but terrified is one of the first things that comes to mind.

I want to be happy.

I want to be able to take the memory of Friday night and for it to be simple.

I want to take the memory of your face, your hands, your taste, the ridge of your jaw, your hair in my fingers – the feeling of you so close that all I wanted to do was get closer – I want to be able to think about all of those things without the sickening feeling that it was all a lie.

Was it?

Was it just some conjuring of my imagination that’s going to dissipate in the next gust of wind? I feel like I’ve lost my equilibrium, and I have no one to talk to about this except you. Only you know what you were thinking, so please tell me, Matt.

We crossed the line we’ve been dancing next to for so long, and now I need to know where to go from here. I have no choice but to take your lead. As much as I trust you, I’m afraid of what you could do to me. You already knew you had the upper hand, but now I have nothing. I laid down all of my defenses, and now I feel like I’m waiting for the destroying blow, like I’m playing Battleship with someone who can see my board.

When will I sink?

Is this the part where you forget my name?

Is this the part where our friendship dissolves, and I never hear from you again, or the part where you tell me it was all a mistake?

Are you simply going to tell me that you were just feeling adventurous and wanted to see how far you could push the limit? I’m not asking this out of anger. I’m asking it with the heart of someone who has been stripped completely bare. I’m aware, as I write this, how cynical this all sounds. It makes me sad, how quickly fear follows on the heels of happiness.

For one night, I was in a fairy tale.

But I’m not naive, and you’ve plainly stated so many times how much you don’t want a relationship. With me. So now I’m anticipating something, some explanation of things in the same vein.

Or maybe I should just expect silence.

You wouldn’t be the first man in history to decide to throw friendship under the wheels of a bus, giving in to hormonal whims and walking away as though nothing has happened. But I’m hoping you’re above that.

I’m trusting that you’re above that. Please don’t prove me a fool. You have so much power in your hands right now, and I don’t know if you’re even aware.