January 25, 2001
Mrs. Bowers was sound asleep. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish lay inverted on her lap, and the beads of her rosary ticked in syncopation with the steady rise-and-fall of her chest. Her head drooped forward, double chins overlapping, glasses slipping down her nose ever so slowly. The moment a gentle, familiar snore ensued, Matt slid out from under the covers like a cat.
A lava lamp glowed forlornly beside his bed, and he flicked it off quickly. He could not, would not sleep unless the room was in pitch darkness, and he had little patience with children who required night-lights. And as for this reading material, well, Dr. Seuss had begun to wear on him after the first read. Then Matt sighed. He carefully scooped Mrs. Bowers' glasses off her nose and placed them safely on his nightstand, before adjusting the cushion behind her head into a more relaxed position. His bed looked a lot more comfortable than that high-backed chair.
Guiltily Matt stole out of his bedroom, and hurried down the corridor casting not a glance behind him. It was barely past his bedtime, and his parents would not be home till the early hours of the morning at least. His father had returned early from work, but seemed irritated and preoccupied, even saying he didn't have the time to look at Matt's new drawing. He and Valerie had disappeared into their bedroom not long after and emerged in a couple of hours, dressed and ready to go. Matt felt a momentary resentment as he padded silently along the carpeted floor, for the picture had been a good one - it was of him and Michael, looking up at the sky through a telescope.
His parents' door was closed, but not locked - it never was. Matt let himself in and went straight for his mother's walk-in closet at the far end of the room. An overhead light flickered on as soon as he entered the large, dark space though he touched nothing. Instantly a ceiling-high display of shoes began revolving vertically and a backlight glowed from a five-foot-wide, full length mirror. Hesitatingly, Matt reached out and swept his fingers lightly along a shimmering blue evening gown, one of several that hung from the many racks. Now or never.
So he stood on tiptoe and shook the dress until its thin shoulder straps slipped off the hanger and it tumbled to the ground in a glittering navy heap. Feeling ridiculous, he slipped on the dress over his pyjamas and scrutinized his reflection critically. A long line of fabric trailed far past his feet, but it was smooth and comfortable - he quite enjoyed the soft feel of it rippling against his skin. And this midnight blue was indisputably lovely. Matt recalled how starkly it contrasted with his mother's paleness, and how the dark silk would part and fall away when she moved, the side slit revealing a long, perfectly shaped pale leg beneath. On the previous occasion she'd worn this, Matt had met his brother Michael for the first time. With an almost perverse curiosity, Matt took a whiff of the rustling material and was not surprised when his nose discerned a minute trace of flowery perfume. Vividly he recalled sitting on this dresser dangling his feet, watching her sweep the dark hair off her face as she dabbed on the clear liquid out of a tiny green bottle, brushing a drop or two under his earlobes as well. Her beauty that evening had been extraordinary, something he was unlikely to ever forget during the course of his life. Even Uncle Andy had been transfixed, his eyes roving hungrily over her body whenever the silk fell away from her white, shapely leg.
Matt then turned his attention to the eerily captivating shoe-cabinet whirring away endlessly behind him. He picked out a pair of shiny black stilettos, simply because they were on the lowest shelf and within immediate grasp, and slid his feet into them. Expectedly they fit him as well as a cardboard box might, but he did the straps anyway and weaved unsteadily back to the mirror. The dress still trailed behind him like some ludicrous cape.
Makeup, Matt thought. The dresser beckoned invitingly, so he opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of lipsticks at random. After checking a few, he found a shade similar to the rose-beige Michael had tried on during his birthday. Just as he began to dab it on his lips the way his brother had shown him, a door slammed from somewhere in the apartment.
Matt froze. Was Mrs. Bowers awake? This was the last place she'd come looking for him, so that gave him at least a couple of minutes to cover his tracks. Then the cordless phone in his parents' room started to ring shrilly, and their bedroom door crashed open.
Quick as lightning, Matt frantically struck the switches nearest to him on the wall. To his utter relief, all the lights turned off and the shoe cabinet's relentless humming ceased. The phone continued trilling for a good while, and after at least twenty rings someone finally yanked the receiver off the hook.
"What?" Valerie's voice was flat and harsh.
The double doorway to the walk-in closet was slightly ajar, and a narrow block of rectangular light fell on fleecy white carpet. Matt crawled along the floor and peeked out from behind the two-inch gap. His mother was still garbed in her short lilac dress and stilettos, but locks of hair hung around her face in wild, unkempt tufts.
"Of course I'm home. You called our home number, remember?"
"Are you serious? I'm not coming back, not after the way you humiliated me."
"Where are you even calling from? Just get back to your goddamn party."
"You're leaving? You're kidding right?"
"Do whatever the fuck you want."
Another series of crashes made Matt nearly jump out of his skin. He guessed that the phone receiver had hit the crystal sculpture atop the mantelpiece, and the two had tumbled to an untimely but inevitable death. Silently he shed the dress and heels, stashing them both behind the dresser as it was too dark to return them to their original places. Very soon, Matt became uncomfortably aware that his mother was crying in the next room, so he risked another look - she lay facedown and motionless on her bed, silk dress crumpled, purse and heels discarded haphazardly on the floor. Feeling awful, he crouched helplessly in the darkness to wait.
Possibly hours passed, though Matt later found out it was merely minutes. The bedroom door clicked open, and a heavier pair of footsteps entered their room.
"Val? What the fuck happened?" a streak of panic coloured his father's voice.
"Who was she?" Matt could almost picture her words, flying sharp and deadly across the room like a knife.
"I- I don't know what you're talking about. Look, why did you just go storming out of there? I thought we were past these tantrums. You have to behave-"
"Who was she?" Another resounding crash. Matt resolved to never, ever make his mother this angry.
"Val, calm down. Please." His father's voice was low, almost appeasing, but strained. He paused. "She… she's just an intern. A college student. I - I've barely even seen her around."
"How old is she?"
"Does it even matter? Val, listen to me, she's nobody, you're overreacting-"
"Do you think I'm stupid? Is that why you married me? So you could maintain a - a - semblance of a marriage with a bimbo who never questions you? How old is she?"
"Twenty three. And I don't think you're stupid. I love you. I think-"
"So why'd you disappear with her into your fucking office, away from the party, so I had to come looking for you? And actually have the unbelievable misfortune to catch you!? Why were you whispering in her ear? Why was your hand halfway up her fucking skirt?"
Matt's heart thudded in his throat. He was aware of his chest moving and cool air entering his nasal passages, but he could not call it breathing.
"It's not what it looked like. I swear."
"Really? That's the best you've got?" She gave a hysterical scream of laughter. "You're sleeping with a twenty three year old intern? Good for you, Sam. Martin Wynford must be so proud of his son, Director of the fucking board."
"Valerie, please!"
Vaguely Matt made out the sound of muted footsteps across the room, followed by his mother shrieking, "Get away from me! Don't you dare touch me!"
"So will you please just listen to me?!"
The stillness was undisturbed but for racking, gut-wrenching sobs.
"She means nothing," Sam said quietly. "She's an intern who's in love with me. I'm not sleeping with her, I swear. You have to believe me."
"I - I can't keep doing this, Sam. I can't deal. One of these days, I will break." And so her voice did on the last word.
"Baby, please. You're the only one. I need you. Matt needs you. We'd both be lost."
"I'm already lost."
"Don't do this to me, Val. I'm begging you. You have to trust me on this."
"Trust you? How can I trust you? Like this whore was even the first of her kind! What happened to that trial lawyer slut from AWH? The head hunter skank from Oregon? And can you even imagine what I go through every time I see that smug bitch Katherine and her weird effeminate kid?" She drew a hoarse, rasping breath. "Oh god. Oh god. I can't believe I said those words about a child, I didn't mean them. Wasn't his fault he was born."
Effeminate? Weird?
"He's such a sweet child. Michael, I mean, your son. Doesn't know the hell he raised coming out of a uterus."
"Please, Val. that was a mistake, a terrible one. I'm not perfect. I'm begging you, don't hold my flaws against me."
"Your flaws? Fucking Katherine Black and myriad other women seems like a choice, not an inherent personality trait."
"You don't understand. I will never feel about anybody else the way I have - and still do - about you. Look at what we have together, look at our life! Our son is the most beautiful child in the world, and we created him! Doesn't that mean something? All of these years together, all of our time and energy and love have added up to something so tremendous and exquisite that we marvel at him every single day. We belong together. You are the one, the only love of my life. Our relationship, our love - it's karma, it's otherworldly, i'll even go so far as to call it destiny. Regular people don't love like we do, honey, we're soulmates. Our Matt, he's proof of that. I defy you to argue."
"What about Michael?" Valerie's voice was barely above a whisper, but still the sound carried dutifully to Matt's burning ears. "What's he proof of?"
Silence.
"No answer. I thought as much." Matt heard the rustling of bedclothes. She then spoke slowly and deliberately, as if to a person who didn't quite grasp the language. "I'm going to change, and then I will go check on Matt. Please don't be in this bedroom when I return."
Matt had no time to react even if he could've. The closet doors swung open, and bright light streaming in from the bedroom momentarily blinded him. His mother shrieked.
"Matt? What the - what, what are you doing here?!"
Her silhouette was a blotched, shapeless blur. Matt pulled his knees to his chest and huddled in the darkness, suddenly feeling impossibly cold. "Matt? Baby? What's wrong?"
Valerie knelt down and lifted him easily into her arms. "Sweetie, what are you doing in my closet? Did you - did you hear all of that?"
Matt nodded mutely.
"Oh, honey."
Sam appeared in the doorway, looking perplexed. Dark, exhausted circles lay under his eyes. "Is Matt in there? What the hell is he doing?"
Matt buried his face in his mother's warm, sweet-smelling chest. She began rocking him to and fro and stroking his hair, murmuring, "Don't cry baby, it's okay I promise. Daddy and I love you so much."
He hadn't realised he was crying, but sure enough damp purple patches had begun to appear against Valerie's lilac dress. She crooned in his ear, voice growing higher and shakier by the second. Sam extended a hand as if to touch her hair, but withdrew at the last instant.
"Val, would you get some rest? It's way past Mattie's bedtime, I'll put him to bed. Come on, kiddo."
Valerie clung to Matt with such surprising force that his father had to all but wrestle him away. Awkwardly he positioned his forearms to form an uncomfortable seat, but Matt was beyond protest. His legs felt like anvils, his chest like lead. In all his life he had never known such an overwhelming, crushing exhaustion.
Sam whistled all the way across the apartment, even in the semi-darkness of the corridors; Matt rested his ear against the soft lapel of his coat, lulled into calm by the rhythm of his father's strides. As they entered his dark, silent bedroom, he found he could not remember the last time Dad had put him to bed - for the first thing Sam did was switch on the lava lamp.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" Sam swore, almost dropping Matt, who clung on to his collar and stifled an unexpected urge to giggle. Mrs. Bowers, bless her, had slept through it all - the screaming, the untimely demise of several valuable objects, and of course Matt's own secret sojourn into the horrors of his parents' bedroom.
"Let her sleep, dad," he whispered to Sam, who was breathing heavily and mouthing more cuss words. "She's tired."
"I'm so sure." Sam rolled his eyes, but kept his voice low. With an unpracticed gentleness, he tucked his son securely into bed and sat down beside him, resting a hand tenderly on Matt's head. He pursed his lips and stared at the headboard for a full two minutes, while Matt stared patiently back at him. Soon his fingers began idly drumming out a little song on Matt's forehead - an old habit of his, and Matt recognized this one as the beat from 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover. This was different from the soft brush of his mother's fingers to which he was accustomed, but not unpleasant at all.
"I'm sorry, Mattie," Sam said at last. "I'm sorry that I made your mother cry, and even more sorry that you had to witness it." he let out a long, unsteady breath. "It's hard being married to someone. You'll understand when you're older. Not that i'm justifying the things I've done - because I've done terrible wrong by her - but you've no idea what a rollercoaster it can be sometimes."
He tore his eyes away from the headboard and trained them on Matt's, who was rather taken aback by the tortured, hollow soul who seemed to momentarily possess his father's body. "I love you," he said fiercely. "You and your mother, you are the two most beautiful things that have ever happened to me. I cannot say this enough. I don't deserve her. I don't deserve you. If - if i was to never see Michael again - and just Michael, Katherine's irrelevant - I could handle it. Come back from it, maybe even get past it. But I can't lose you, Matt, and I'd die if I lost Valerie. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a shit father and a shit husband. Just… trust me, trust that I'll someday be to explain this to you as an equal, and-"
Matt continued nodding, though he was long past paying attention. Dark orange blobs swirled inside the lava lamp, and their gradual, fluid motion relaxed him. His father's words slowly began to make less sense, but a couple of them caught his attention just as he was drifting into a dream. "Don't forget to show me your drawing in the morning."
With the last, the very last vestiges of his energy, Matt managed a smile.