Let Him Cry Pt. 02

"By terms, you mean just let it fade away into almost nothing?"

"Yes!" As soon as she said it, she could see it was the wrong thing to say. Or, more accurately, she probably still thought it was the right thing to say; I was just giving the wrong reaction.

"I didn't mean forget her completely," she said quickly. "Just let it become something that's not a 'thing' in your life, even though it was before. You know, like that kid you were friends with in third grade that you don't think about that much anymore."

"What kid? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know if there was a kid!" Her exasperation morphed into irritation. "It was a metaphor."

Simile, I thought snottily, not metaphor ... because my exasperation had morphed too. I didn't respond, just took another swallow of my drink.

"Dammit, Matt. I'm just trying to help you. I know what I'm talking about."

Enough.

"I'm sure you know what you're talking about. For you. And maybe," I said before she could interject, "it worked for some of the other women in your group. But it won't work for me."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want it to! I don't want Liv to be a faint memory that I barely, if ever, think about. I want her always to be a 'thing' ... maybe not a painful one, but I want to remember her until the day I die." With that, I turned away and made my way back inside to the cluster by the kitchen that included Taty, Matt, and Angela.

Matt's expression was impassive. Taty's was concerned. Angela's was upset, but it didn't seem directed at me. I realized why.

"You heard?"

"I think everyone in the room heard," Angela replied.

A startled glance around showed everyone not looking at me or Caitlyn. I flushed in embarrassment.

Taty's laugh was a little strained but there was an undercurrent of real humor, "Quiet's not your strong suit. I think I've mentioned that?"

"Jesus!" I escaped into the kitchen. Taty joined me a few minutes later.

"A little ohmygod, but nothing nasty," she answered my question about what was going on out there. "I hear you were a little loud earlier today also."

I sighed. Apparently, it was my day to make an asshole out of myself. I said as much.

"Why? Because you said you loved your wife? That doesn't sound particularly like an asshole to me. Nor others who know you. Angela just took the hide off someone who said maybe you were overreacting."

"Angela?" I asked in surprise.

"Don't let that exterior fool you," she snickered. "She lit them up big time. Matt practically had a seizure trying not to laugh."

I let "Yikes!" show on my face and went back to rinsing stuff. Taty started loading the dishwasher.

"Remember you asked me if Caitlyn said something when she came to dinner?" she asked after a minute.

"You never answered."

"Well, while you were in the kitchen, she talked to me. After prying around to make sure I wasn't your secret fuckbuddy" — her eyes danced as she said that — "she told me that I should help her help you forget Olivia."

"What did you say?"

"I said no. I wasn't going to conspire behind your back and was kind of unhappy she'd asked. Besides, even if I agreed, which I don't, it wouldn't work. From what little I know of you, I don't think there's a snowball's chance in hell of you ever turning Olivia into a faded photograph on a shelf somewhere."

"Now, that's a metaphor."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Eventually, the evening ended. The men all shook my hand. I endured the hugs from each of the women, even Caitlyn's slightly rigid one. Evidently, a protocol had been agreed upon behind my back because no one told me they were sorry for my loss.

Bela was one of the last to leave. Ruth was still there. So was Angela, Matt having called it a night because of work the next day.

As I walked her to the elevator, Bela turned to me, "Thank you for the wonderful dinner."

"I didn't make any of it."

"I know. I just said it was wonderful, didn't I?" she said with a straight face. She winked at my "ha-ha" response. As the bell dinged and the doors opened, she asked, "Are you and Caitlyn over?"

"I'm not sure."

She nodded. "Good night, Matt." She leaned forward for a brief hug and an air kiss, then pulled back and let the doors close.

Ruth and Angela were saying goodbye to Taty when I walked back in. Ruth turned and hugged me. "Good job today," she whispered in my ear.

As she let go, Angela stepped up for her turn. I must not have hidden it perfectly; the transition from Ruth to her was so quick. I tensed. She pulled back and looked at me, upset forming on her face. I couldn't just pretend I didn't notice; it wasn't fair to her.

"It's not you," I explained even though she hadn't spoken. "Being touched by women — women my age — makes me think of Liv."

I saw understanding immediately. It wasn't the first time I'd thought about the astute side of her. "But, Mattoo, Caitlyn ..."

"Even her," I assured her.

She thought for a second, then grinned. "But it's a small price to pay for those boobies, right?"

My mouth literally fell open. I'd never heard Angela say the slightest thing off-color. She winked and stepped back. Taty and Ruth were openly laughing.

My life was filled with women.

Taty and Bela hit it off and, after carefully checking with me first, Taty started inviting Bela over once in a while. She'd show up with Rafi, and the kids would scurry into the guest room to do whatever kids that age do, while the two of them would sit and have a glass of wine at the table. I was never excluded, but I felt like I was intruding and, as often as not, would head into my room to watch a video.

Angela started inviting me to join Matt and her in a movie here, a walk there. I begged off, afraid their casual affection for each other would spoil my mood. But we'd talk in the hallway more than we did the past year. I found she had a dirty little sense of humor that I'd never suspected in the three years I'd known her. Now, I guess she figured — convinced that I'd already seen her dark side — what the heck.

Caitlyn made up with me and, after a brief affirmation of the concept of makeup sex, proceeded to demonstrate. To be honest, I loved it. When a woman you find attractive indicates that she'd like to spend whatever part of twenty-four-seven can be managed naked with you, it's hard not to love it. I existed in a haze of satiation that I hadn't felt since the galloping hornies of college years.

At the same time, a little thought wriggled in and wouldn't dislodge. It was so siren-like. Was she fucking me into forgiving or fucking me into forgetting?

An ill-timed comment by Bela brought things to a head. She was over to visit Taty, sitting at the table while Taty was in the kitchen opening a bottle of wine.

"I'm heading out," I said through the doorway to Taty.

"Caitlyn's?" Taty asked.

I nodded. Her nod in return seemed off somehow. "Is something wrong?" I asked.

"No. Have fun."

I nodded. "Bye, Bela."

"Bye."

As I closed the door behind me, I stopped to text Caitlyn that I was on my way. In the silence, I could hear Bela's voice through the door, calling out to her friend.

"You could have told Matt what you were thinking."

What? This suddenly seemed something worth hearing. Screw good manners about eavesdropping. I stepped closer to the door since Taty's voice was muffled from the kitchen.

"What am I going to do, ask him if he's sure he wants to go have sex?"

"I think that would be good."

"I know you do," Taty responded. One of them laughed, I couldn't tell who or why, and Taty's next words were too muffled to hear.

Bela answered, "You sure? You were there the other night."

Taty's voice got clearer as, I assumed, she rejoined Bela. "I guess they made up."

"I guess," Bela agreed. "Whatever. Can't really blame him. Guys drool over her."

After I got over the minor annoyance of being talked about, I thought about what I'd heard during the drive across town. I knew Taty wasn't a huge admirer of Caitlyn's ever since that night over dinner. I didn't know my relationship was a topic of conversation and I didn't particularly like what I read into what was said: was I just drooling? I remembered my thought that all we did was eat, drink, and have sex.

"I used to like to go up and see the foliage in Vermont. Want to?" I asked Caitlyn a little later.

She didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was light, "Did you and Olivia use to do that?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. Maybe. Let me think about it. In the meantime—"

I interrupted. "Is the fact that I did it with Liv a problem?"

"No. Of course not!"

"I can't live my life not doing anything I ever did with Liv. There wouldn't be a ton of stuff left."

"I'm not saying that."

"Then what are you saying?"

She sighed. "You know what I think, Matt. If going up to Vermont is a way of not letting her go, I think it's a bad idea. If you just really like orange leaves and want to go spend a romantic weekend in some bed and breakfast, I could be talked into it. Especially if we went to some other place. Maybe New Hampshire."

"There's a lot of territory between remembering the good and not letting go."

She shook her head. "No. Trust me. There's not."

I was proud of the fact that I didn't respond to that.

She lowered her head in thought. "Look," she said, "it's been a long week for both of us. Let's table this for now."

I knew what I needed to do. "If you'd like to have a drink, order some takeout, or whatever, I'm okay with that. But I'm not going to change my mind on this. Period. And I don't want to table it ... I want it to be a closed subject."

I was lying. The truth was, I had no desire to have a drink, or order takeout, or cuddle, or screw. But walking out on a date wasn't what Mama Brennan taught me.

Then I saw how stiffly Caitlyn was standing and the tight expression, and I knew I wouldn't have to walk out even before she spoke.

"It's been a long week," she repeated. "Maybe tonight's not such a good idea."

All five of the people around my dining room table were deep in chicken tikka as I came back in. They looked up in surprise.

"Want some?"

I got a call the next morning from Caitlyn. "I won't be at the site today."

"Okay."

"There's something else. I've been thinking about last night. I like you, Matt, quite a lot. And I enjoy our time together. And I want to help you. But I don't think we're on the same wavelength. If you think that might change, I'd like to keep seeing you. But yesterday you said you didn't want to change, and that's a problem for me."

That wasn't what I said at all. Not even close. I almost opened my mouth to point that out. But I didn't. Instead, a part of my brain that wasn't constantly holding debates with itself about the mess of my life took over and cut the Gordian knot.

That part said, "I'm not going to give up Liv. I'm sorry. I just won't."

"I see. Well ..." She was silent for a long moment. "I can't say I'm overjoyed to hear that. But I'm not looking to be the substitute for another woman."

I hadn't said that either. Why did love have to be zero-sum? But, again, I kept my mouth shut rather than correct her.

"I think maybe we should take a break," she finished.

Of course, the minute I disconnected, my mind conjured an image of Caitlyn naked and said, "What the fucking hell are you doing?"

The part that didn't engage in debates, the part that had run my mouth, answered for once, "Thinking with the big head."

Of course I wasn't overjoyed. Nobody likes to be dumped, even if some subconscious part of you is thinking about it yourself. It would have been nice to have Ruth's abuse to distract me, but she didn't show that day. Bela did that afternoon.

"We're almost done," she observed.

"Yeah. Excited?"

"Yeah. My first house. But a little cranky that I didn't get my four hundred hours in. I guess I'll have to find time to help with another project."

"Is that so bad?"

"Not by itself. It's just there's work, Rafi, a new house to decorate and furnish. I don't even have any furniture of my own; it's all my parents'. I guess sleep will be optional. Are you going to keep doing this?" she asked.

"I think so. I like it."

"Maybe all of us can pick one together."

"Mmm," I replied, thinking that Caitlyn would probably consider it a bad idea. At Bela's reaction to my less-than-enthusiasm, I said quickly, "Oh, no, sorry. I was just thinking some may not want to."

Her expression cleared. "Good. I'd hate to think what would happen if you meant you couldn't stand the thought of working with us."

"What would happen?"

"Your coffee. Just imagine. It's utterly gross. I can't bear to think about it."

I was being teased. That was okay. "I can't either." I shuddered. "So, I'll talk to Ruth. She probably knows the drill for signing up."

I broached it to Ruth the next time I saw her.

"Sounds good. I do this all year. I don't need to work, and it keeps me from getting old."

"Rich, huh?" I teased.

"A bit," she said, surprising me. She settled down on top of a shop vac. "You and Caitlyn?"

"She said she wanted a break."

"And how are you with that?"

"My ego's a bit bent, but ..." I shrugged. "Who knows, maybe I'll be fine in a day or two, or maybe I'll wake up one day and realize I want to shoot myself."

She looked at me searchingly. "I get that. If I were a guy, I'd probably think she was the perfect cure for a cold bed. But I told you that some need to be driven and some not. She needs the first ... or, more accurately, she wants it. You're the second; I don't have too many doubts about that anymore."

She shook her head. "She's a good woman, Matt, and it would upset me if you thought otherwise."

"I think she's a good person too, but ..."

When I didn't complete the sentence, Ruth supplied, "But she pushes at you?"

"Yeah."

Leaning back against the wall, she patted the floor next to her. When I settled in, she said, "I've known Caitlyn for a while now. I didn't know her when her husband was killed, but a few tidbits have spilled here and there through the years. And her sister came and helped on a build once, and she and I talked some.

"Everyone reacts to that kind of loss in their own way. For me, it was drugs and sleeping around. For you, I've gathered it was alcohol and not sleeping around."

I didn't take offense at that; she wasn't being snarky, just stating a reality.

"For Caitlyn, it was burying herself in her nursing work. And, when that didn't fill enough hours in the day, she found other places where she could bury herself. Leading support groups at first. This" — she gestured around us — "became her process after a while.

"Somewhere along the way, it became who she is. Yes, she has a one-size-fits-all approach to loss. Yes, she's persistent as all hell. But she's doing it because she thinks it helps."

"She won't back off. I've flat out told her, but she won't."

Ruth nodded, a trifle sadly I thought. "I'm not surprised. You, my young friend, are catching it double-barreled because she likes you. And because she likes you, she wants to force you to fit into her world. But even with others ... we've had a few people stop coming because she wouldn't let it go. Even those who stayed have had issues. Bela and this other woman, Hailey I think her name was, both of them flat out told Caitlyn to drop it. Bela added 'or go somewhere else' when it didn't stick the first time or the second."

"I don't know that I can fit into her world."

She nodded. "Only you can decide that. Just remember that she's a nice woman. But" — it wasn't a punch, just a gentle push with her fist against my shoulder — "that doesn't mean she's the right woman."

After a moment to let that sink in, she asked, "You want some absolutely ridiculous advice from an old lady that will probably make you squirm? You can ignore it and I won't mind."

"Umm."

"She cut you loose. So, if you end up getting a little nookie somewhere else, maybe think about how you feel after. If you wake up next to that girl feeling about the way you did when you woke up with Caitlyn, then Caitlyn probably wasn't much more than attraction. If you think, 'Oh my god, I want to shoot myself,' then go see if you can put things back together somehow."

Sex advice from grandma. She was right, I squirmed inside a little.

I stood to go. Turning back, I asked. "Do you think she's in love with me?"

"Honestly? No. I think she likes you and is interested in mending you." She ignored my sour expression. "And she enjoys some sex." She ignored my squirm. "I could be wrong. I'm just an old lady. But I think she hasn't gotten to love yet."

I decided I liked my newly found not-celibacy. I decided that I wanted a date. The trouble was the last time I went looking was at a frat mixer.

"Taty," I said over our glass of wine, "if I wanted a date, what—"

"Please tell me you're kidding!" Taty broke in. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing at the expression on her face.

"How many times do we have to have this conversation? I'm not asking you for a date. I'm asking you if you know if there's some thirty-something dating scene, or whatever."

Her face cleared and I saw that rush of color that was so hard to detect on her skin. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

I shook my head at her in semi-disgust and went to refill. This might be a two-drink conversation.

"I don't really know. I've been out of the man-market for a long time. But," she said, "hang on."

One speakerphone call later to someone she jokingly described as "my slut friend" and I had a ten-minute whirlwind tour that overwhelmed me with the fine points of Tinder, Bumble, OkCupid, Match and about five others I never heard of, ending with, "Or, if you just want to take your chances, try Piccolo's over on Glendale. That's an older crowd."

Older? I didn't say anything but Taty caught it anyway. "She's twenty-six," she mouthed silently and rolled her eyes.

Taty and I spent the rest of the evening crafting a profile for me that she said, "Doesn't seem like a total serial killer."

And yet, come the weekend, I still hadn't put it into play. Something about the app scene just felt wrong to me. I found myself in my best suit, sitting in my car outside a garish "Piccolo's" sign, complete with a logo of the instrument that didn't look too phallic.

Do they know what piccolo means in the original? I asked myself with a grin.

And again yet, I hesitated. Instead, I found myself ensconced at the bar down the street. "Maker's ..." I started to say, then a bottle caught my eye. "No, make that a Whistlepig." I hadn't had a rye in ages, and I felt like mixing it up tonight.

The bartender smiled, either at the choice or the name, I wasn't sure. As she was pouring, I listened for that voice, the one I'd heard the last time I visited a bar. I didn't hear it.

"Do they ticket on the street?" I asked the bartender.

"Depends on where."

"I'm right there," I said, pointing out the window.

"Nope, but I hope you locked it. Some of the crowd from" — she nodded towards Piccolo's — "are a little sketchy, and that's a nice car."

I thumbed the fob and was reassured by the flash of taillights telling me it was locked. I settled back to enjoy the pleasant warmth of the whiskey, content to do nothing but relax. The bar was virtually empty, just one lone figure at the other end who had "regular" written all over him.

"Another, Matt?"

She'd gotten my name when I handed her a credit card for a tab. I'd corrected her, "Matt. Matthew was my father yada yada ..."