Page 82 of Such Sharp Teeth

“I’ve met your mother, and I could see it,” he says, wiggling my toes. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make light of it.”

“No, I know,” I say. “It’s just complicated. Scarlett didn’t have the same experience as I did growing up, so it’s different for her. Their relationship is good. And it just feels like it’s on me, like I’m the problem child.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

I tell him about the baby shower, about Joann showing up, how the whole thing was tense and weird. I tell him I got into arguments with my mom and Scarlett but don’t specify about what. I tell him how no one called me when Scarlett went to the hospital.

He goes rigid. “Wait. What? Is she okay?”

“Everything’s fine. She was taking my mom to the airport, and she had pains or something, so they went to the hospital. And when I show up, the first person I see is Matty.”

“Fuck that guy.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say. “But turns out, so Scarlett told me he left, right? So I’ve been thinking for weeks that this guy bailed on my sister.”

“Right.”

I decide to tell him the truth. Test the waters.

“I’m fairly certain I dislocated his shoulder,” I say. “Not on purpose. I pushed him, and it happened. I think.”

He nods. He doesn’t appear to be alarmed by this information.

“Then he tells me he only left because Scarlett kicked him out. Something she just failed to mention. And either she has a valid reason that she isn’t sharing with me, the closest person to her, or it was a strategic omission to make herself more sympathetic.”

“Why would she do that?” he asks, running the back of his hand across my cheek.

“I guess she knows how much I hate being back here. Maybe she thought if she was honest with me, I wouldn’t come? I don’t know. Doesn’t really make sense. Nothing makes sense.”

“Is it really that bad?” he asks.

“What?”

“Coming back here?”

I look away from him.

“Things happened here,” I tell him. “Things I don’t care to revisit.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry about that.”

It’s too serious. Too real a moment.

“Now do you understand the hot dogs?” I ask him. “I feel like I smell like hot dogs. Do I smell like hot dogs?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Definitely. A lot.”

He’s telling me the truth. I thought he might lie to spare my feelings.

Honestly, I’m glad that he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say, nestling into his shoulder. Smelling him. His smell is the best smell.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry you had such a shitty week,” he says. He does this thing where he massages my scalp with his fingertips. It’s the greatest. “And you shouldn’t feel bad about Matty. You didn’t know. There’s also just something really punchable about that dude. I don’t want to condone violence, but at the same time, kind of wish I’d been there.”