I wouldn’t categorize the evening as fun exactly, but I nod.
“I’m glad you had a chance to meet Skip. He’s been an important part of our lives forever. He knows a lot about boats and he’s actually helping me arrange all this.” Matthew sweeps out his arm.
I think back to the yellow roses ordered through the anonymous Venmo account @Pier1234.
I need to tread carefully as I peel back the protective layers in Matthew’s mind, the ones that keep him from recognizing the truth about his good friend and his wife. Exposure is a delicate process.
“So you and Skip are close?”
Matthew shrugs. “Yeah, I mean he and Marissa are like brother and sister. Their parents have been friends forever. So I guess I inherited him.”
Matthew’s tone is affectionate. Does he truly not see that Skip is in love with his wife?
I don’t want to lead him to the conclusion I’ve already formed; it’ll be more powerful if Matthew recognizes it for himself.
I’ve been working with Marissa about acknowledging the ugly underbelly of the different situations and relationships she navigates. Matthew has been complicit in creating a beautiful but vacant picture of their life together. His anniversary dinner is the equivalent of a dieter buying a treadmill: A splashy statement that will do absolutely no good unless the gesture turns into a routine.
What I’m about to learn is whether Matthew is ready for some fundamental changes. “I can tell Skip really cares about Marissa.”
The tiniest off note is in my tone, but it’s up to Matthew to choose whether he wants to hear it.
He nods and begins to speak. Then he cuts himself off and turns to face me. “You sound like there’s something else you want to say.” His buoyancy is vanishing; the smile has dropped from his face.
I can’t bring up the supposed pregnancy or the soup because then Matthew will know I’ve talked to Marissa or Skip.
But I don’t have to because Matthew didn’t really think there was something else I wanted to say. He meant there was something he wanted to talk about.
I let the silence stretch out until he breaks it.
“Okay, here’s the truth about Skip.”
I hear a creaking sound, as if the boat is rubbing against a piling, but I don’t take my eyes off Matthew.
“Last night, after you guys left, he texted that he’d brought Marissa some soup. At first I thought, that’s nice. You know, good old Skip, always looking out for his friends.”
Baby waves rock the boat, making a gentle slapping sound each time they hit. In the distance, what sounds like a Jet Ski cruises by, the roar of the motor swelling and then fading. Matthew’s gaze grows unfocused; it’s almost as if he were talking to himself now.
“I didn’t get the soup off the porch right away. We’d already eaten and Marissa was feeling better. I went out there when Marissa was putting Bennett to bed.”
As I picture Matthew treading onto his front porch in the darkness and spotting the carrier with Gabe’s logo, I hear something. It sounds as if it’s coming from the deck where Matthew plans to serve his romantic dinner.
A footstep? I glance up, toward the mouth of the stairs, but don’t see anyone. Sound travels over water, I remind myself. Maybe the noise is coming from farther away. Still, I shift my body to have a clear view of the stairs. Matthew is so lost in the memory of last night that he doesn’t even seem to notice.
“The bag was heavy, and when I looked inside, there was a hell of a lot of soup. After I put it all away and went upstairs, Marissa was already asleep. I guess the massage really conked her out. Normally I’m out when my head hits the pillow, but last night I lay awake. I kept thinking about something Natalie once said.” Matthew’s leg begins to jiggle, then he stills it.
“After I set her up with Skip and we all went to dinner, she told me it was obvious Skip had a crush on Marissa. I figured Natalie was jealous. She’s always been jealous of Marissa.”
I wait for more. I know there’s more.
“But.… Skip went all the way to this restaurant in Silver Spring and bought her four bowls of chicken noodle soup.” Matthew shakes his head. “Who does that?”
“Someone who…”
“… really cares about my wife,” Matthew finishes the sentence, echoing the words I lobbed earlier with a heavy emphasis on the word really.
Matthew is easing his toes into icy water; he’s not ready to fully plunge in yet.
Matthew twists to look directly at me. “So what should I do?”