Early Monday morning, when he left me, Matt pledged to contact me in the afternoon about dinner and plans for the rest of the week. We hadn't touched on the topic of therapy again after our talk on Friday, so I was surprised to receive a text mid-afternoon Monday.
Matt: I have an appointment this Wednesday with Thomas. Sandra recommended him.
I knew of Thomas. Sandra claimed he was a gifted adult psychotherapist and had spoken very highly of him many times. She even had the image of his face on two of her custom-printed T-shirts. Don't ask.
I frowned at Matt's message for several minutes, sorting through my feelings on this announcement-the surprise, then happiness, then apprehension-before messaging him back.
Marie: I hope you're doing this for yourself.
Matt: I am doing this for myself, because myself wants to have more sex with yourself.
Despite the faulty reasoning of his text, I laughed. As I was typing to tell him he needed to revaluate his priorities, he texted again.
Matt: And I'm doing this because I suspect you are as wise as you are beautiful.
Matt: I want to deserve you.
My heart twisted and I pressed the phone to my chest, sighing. I could almost see him, the heartfelt intensity in his eyes.
Marie: You *do* deserve me. And I will keep reminding you until you believe me.
Matt: I look forward to being reminded.
Matt: Dinner tonight?
Matt: I'll cook.
After I recovered from my shock, I quickly typed,
Marie: Matt? Cook? Does not compute!
Matt: I anticipate conducting a system-wide diagnostic on you tonight, AF 709.
AF 709?
. . . Hmm.
That sent me to Wikipedia, which had me looking at a picture of Julie Newmar playing the role of AF 709-Rhoda the Robot-a very, very sexy life-sized android in the short-lived TV show My Living Doll.
Ahh, the 1960s. So astonishingly sexist.
And yet, overflowing with splendid role-playing ideas.
"Is this a joke?"
"No."
"Marie . . ." Matt shook his head, his mouth moving with no sound emerging, his expression one of extreme confusion and disbelief. "You friend-zoned me."
He said friend-zoned like I'd reported him to the IRS for a tax audit.
"Matt. Come on." I shook my head, rolling my eyes before taking a sip of my wine. "I invited you over here to cuddle. On. My. Bed."
It was Monday night. Matt was standing in my kitchen, chopping vegetables for homemade tomato sauce. He claimed he only knew how to make three dinners: lasagna, meatloaf, and grilled anything.
I was sitting at the countertop, enjoying the view, and had finally broached the topic of why it had taken him so long to make a move.
"What was I supposed to do? Force my lascivious attentions upon you? Send dick pics? Hope the sight of my cock would bring you to your senses?" With each question his irritation eased into good-natured teasing. "And, as data collection for future seducing efforts, will that work?"
I had to take a deep breath before responding, because Matt said the word cock so easily. He didn't say it often. In fact, this was the first time he'd said it outside of sexy times, but I hadn't yet grown accustomed to it coming from his mouth.
I hadn't grown accustomed to his dirty talk during sex either. Though I hadn't yet told him how much I enjoyed his skill in this area, I got the impression he knew anyway.
"How much more obvious should I have been?" I challenged.
"No, no, no. There is no obvious. Not after a friend-zone maneuver. A friend-zone maneuver is the end of a book, not the end of a chapter. It's the nuclear weapon of maneuvers. Short of flat-out telling me you wanted to change the nature of things between us, or stripping naked and ordering me to pleasure you, I wasn't ever going to catch on to any hints."
"You seriously had no idea? How is that possible?"
"Friend zone. Friend. Zone. Otherwise known as The Scoreless End Zone."
"I only did that because you said you weren't interested in long-term relationships."
He gave me another look of incredulity. "What?"
"You said you were finished with long-term relationships. You said you'd read that book, blah, blah, blah. In fact, when I asked you if you ever wanted to get married again, you said hell no."
"That's the reason? That's why you friend-zoned me?"
"Yes. I even told you that, if you recall, that night I saw you at Sandra and Alex's and you walked me to the hospital so I could visit Quinn."
He blinked at me. "I thought that was just an excuse."
"What? Why?"
"Because. You weren't that into me. I thought you were lying to spare my feelings."
I choked on air. "Is that a joke?"
"No. Not a joke." His attention moved back to the mushrooms he was chopping, and he laughed.