Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(62)

Matt's smile slipped, then fell, his frown increasing by degrees. I barely registered the confusion in his face before I tore my gaze away.

"Are you hungry?" Jack asked merrily, clearly oblivious to everything as only nine-year-old boys can be.

Or maybe it was all boys.

Maybe all men are oblivious.

Or maybe they don't care.

"Nice tiara," the woman said, drawing my attention back to her as she sent me a friendly smile. She indicated with her chin to my head.

She was really pretty; dark eyes, dark hair, taller than me, svelte. And she was wearing a Star Wars T-shirt with Rey and BB-8 on it.

So this is his type.

Basically, the opposite of you.

Crap.

It's not as if I should have thought otherwise. He'd been blatantly truthful. Hadn't he said, "It's a relief you said something first. Pragmatically it saved me the conversation. You're not at all my type."

Instinctively, my fingers lifted, and I realized I was still wearing the princess tiara Grace had lent me earlier.

"Oh. Thank you," I said, feeling and sounding winded. In addition to winded, I was also feeling exceptionally confused. And maybe a little shitty about myself.

But back to the tiara.

I tossed my thumb over my shoulder, saying, "My other crown is at the jewelers, so . . ."

Unable to stop myself, my eyes flickered to Matt's and then away, jumping around the hall. He was frowning at me now, but I couldn't think about that. I couldn't quite think about anything, which was crazy. I was usually so good in emergencies. Calm and collected, level-headed.

Except, this wasn't an emergency. It was merely a disaster.

Wordlessness became silence as I struggled. I still could feel Matt's gaze on my face, but I could not for the life of me meet it. My cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. I knew they were, because I felt hot and sweaty, but also cold and wretched. 

The moment was just on the precipice of becoming awkward when Grace burst out of the door.

"What's taking so long?" she complained, but then she stopped short when she spotted Matt and his lady friend. Grace turned a confused frown to me. "Is she coming too? Because I don't think we have enough pizza."

"Uh, no." I forced a grin and smiled down at Grace, managing to speak without my voice shaking. "No. I think Professor Simmons and his friend have other plans. Come on, kids. Let's go eat."

"Aw man." Jack's glower was severe, and I saw he sent the woman a hard glare just before he turned and marched back to where I stood, brushing past me into the apartment.

I know how you feel, buddy.

Grace followed.

Pasting a polite smile on my face that didn't feel at all natural, or right, or good, I lifted my eyes as high as their necks and waved. "Well. Goodnight."

I thought I heard Matt say my name, but it was too late. I couldn't stop my forward momentum if I tried.

Moving quickly, I shut the door behind me. Then I locked it. Then I flipped the deadbolt. Then I leaned against it, wondering if it would be overkill to move the heavy console table in front of the door as well. But then I stopped.

I didn't need to erect any more barriers between Matt Simmons and me. There was no need. He'd already done that himself.





16





Weighted Myopic Matching

Helps physicians match kidneys with donors using AI technologies (a process called dynamic matching via weighted myopia).

Source: Carnegie Mellon University



I decided that there was something seriously wrong with me.

Matt had texted me not a half hour after Hurricane Hallway-because that's how I felt, like I'd been stranded outside in a hurricane-and I felt nothing but numb as I read his message.



Matt: Can I come over?



He wanted to come over?

Why?

I didn't want him to come over.



Marie: No. I'm trying to get the kids ready for bed.

Matt: I can help



I didn't respond. I felt hollow. But also, too full. I couldn't eat the pizza, so I made tea instead. But I couldn't drink that either.

When Fiona and Greg arrived home, I left immediately after, claiming a headache. It was the truth. I did have a headache. I tried not to think too much about my instinct to sprint down the hall past Matt's apartment and how I'd pressed the elevator call button seventeen times.

A rush of both relief and misery washed over me as soon as I stepped onto the lift and the doors closed. I walked home in a daze, my mind unable to concentrate or focus on any one thing. Instead, I played the five minutes of seeing Matt with his date over and over and over in my head.

I watched it. I analyzed it. Until I realized doing so made my heart ache anew each time, so I eventually stopped repeating the scene in my head.

The next morning, after not sleeping much, but not crying either, I needed to hear my mother's voice. A phone call didn't feel sufficient, so I went online and arranged for a rental car. They even picked me up.