Matt starts climbing out of the beanbag and Mason turns to leave.
“Good to see you, young man,” he says. “I hope your sister is feeling better.”
“Thanks,” Matt says before Mason leaves.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “They’re home early.”
Matt crosses the room and stops about a foot from me. “It’s so weird knowing that he’s not your real dad,” he says. “He really acts like a normal father. He deserves an Oscar.”
“Wait ’til you meet my mom,” I say with a dramatic eye roll.
Matt laughs that perfect laugh of his and in that moment, despite my confusion over the program, I’m glad that I told him everything. I feel closer to him than ever.
When he leans in and kisses me this time, there’s something new between us. Instead of first-kiss-with-a-hot-guy giddiness, there’s something deeper. I can feel it in my toes and in my belly button.
And in my heart.
When Matt leaves, I log on to my regular computer and see if Megan’s online. I message her and tell her cryptically about the evening. At least the part with Matt.
Megan: You did WHAT????
Daisy: know.
Megan: M’s going to kill you.
Daisy: Maybe
Megan: Worth it?
Daisy: Yes, if nothing more than for the kiss at the end of the day.
Megan: Spill…
We chat for an hour, until Megan has to do homework and I have to update the blog. Before signing off, she writes:
Megan: Don’t forget to comment on my latest post.
Curious, I type in the address for Anything Autopsy. Megan’s post is called “The Autopsy of the Queue” and is all about the personalities people reveal while standing in line (the cutters versus the cutees and the oblivious people in the middle who should have stayed home because they always seem so surprised when the clerk shouts “NEXT!”). Megan’s position is in defense of the cutter, who is just trying to make the most of her day. I spend an hour perfecting a platform for the cutee, which is built on the idea of karma. Practice patience and be rewarded with extra butter on your popcorn; cut and find yourself in the one seat in the theater with chocolate melted into the fabric.
I post my rebuttal, then get ready for bed. When I get back to my room, there’s a text waiting from Matt.
Matt: Can you talk?
Smiling, I type back:
Daisy: Call you in five?
Matt: I’ll be waiting.
I dial in the dark. Matt picks up after the first ring.
“I thought of something on the way home,” he says instead of hi.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t get why you guys moved here,” he says. My stomach sinks. I’m not sure why the idea of telling him I’ve been Revived more than once feels so bad, but it does. I think he mistakes my nervous silence for hurt. “I mean, I’m really glad you guys moved here. I didn’t mean it like that at all. I just—”