Page 51 of Single Player

Iris nodded. “So you think you’re wasting your talents.”

Matthew shrugged and folded his arms, more uncomfortable than he thought he’d be facing this head-on. “I guess so. This guy I’ve been seeing, he made me look at myself in some pretty uncomfortable ways.”

“So do you want more? Or do you just feel like you’re supposed to want more?”

He let out a long breath. That was the question, wasn’t it? What did he really want? “I think maybe I’ve been putting off a lot of uncomfortable decisions because I’m afraid I just won’t be good enough. If I really try, and I come up short, I can’t say that I didn’t try. You know?” Tentatively, he made eye contact with Iris, who was looking across her desk at him with an expression of profound sympathy and understanding.

“God, you have no idea.” She sighed. “I lived most of my life like that. Avoiding commitment, avoiding stretching myself. It’s scary to change. But you’ll never know if you don’t try, right?”

Matthew nodded, feeling a lot of decisions slide into place all at once. “You’re right. You never know if you don’t try.” Feeling shaky and yet determined, he got to his feet. “I think I’m going to go finish up that application.”

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Matthew didn’t get home from work until late that night, since DiceCon prep always took longer than expected. He’d called his neighbor Judy to stop in and feed Zuul, as she was going to do during DiceCon, and she was there when he arrived, sitting on the couch in her ripped jeans and baggy tank top, a lap full of purring kitten. Judy was college age with a punk-rock aesthetic, and while they didn’t have much in common, she’d been his neighbor since the building opened. They’d exchanged regular neighborly waves in the hallway and had signed for packages for each other, and she’d been more than willing to watch the cat when he’d asked.

“She’s such a sweet little thing, isn’t she?” Judy was scratching Zuul’s belly.

Matthew laughed. “You’re going to spoil her.” He came over to rub Zuul as well, and she batted at his fingers. “Sure you’re good for the weekend? There’s plenty of food, litter box needs scooping every day, and she’s got her toys. You know she can’t be in her wheelchair unsupervised, right? That’s all set?”

Judy rolled her eyes at him with indulgent fondness and nodded. “We’re good. You take off early tomorrow, right?”

“Shuttle picks me up at five thirty.” Matthew stifled a yawn. He hoped he could sleep tonight, and then again maybe on the plane. Even though he wouldn’t hear about the technical manager position for a few days yet, he felt strangely calm having made the decision. He might even be able to enjoy himself at DiceCon. “I’ll be back on Monday. You sure you won’t let me pay you?”

“I told you, a bottle of wine is fine. Your cat’s cute as hell.” Judy scooped up Zuul and set her on the couch. “Have a good trip.” She left him to his apartment.

Silas was on his mind the whole time he packed. He wanted to apologize, but he really wanted to do it in person. The thought of doing it over the phone seemed awkward. He thought about driving to Silas’s house, but what was he going to do then? Say “I’m sorry” and then leave to go to DiceCon? He couldn’t. It would have to be by phone. When he finished packing, though, it was after midnight. He picked up the phone and stared at it. Would Silas still be awake? Would he even answer?

They hadn’t spoken in days, and one more night wouldn’t change anything. He would get to DiceCon tomorrow, get settled in, and call from the hotel.

Resolved, he collapsed into bed and almost instantly fell asleep.

Silas’s day was going to be interesting, he knew immediately. He’d mostly spent Wednesday designing new things for Zuul, which had become an odd pastime given the circumstances, but also played Diablo III for a little while. It was fun, although it likely would be more fun with Matthew. Today, Thursday, was going to be his busy day, though, which worked out fine, since he could distract himself from the thought of Matthew flying to DiceCon with their issues unresolved.

He had an appointment with the therapist this morning, and he was actually looking forward to it. Dr. Hillwater was direct and professional, which he appreciated, and she didn’t try to force any weird New Age spirituality on him. They talked like adults and she treated him like an equal, a professional person with opinions and thoughts, and her questions engaged his self-reflection without denying the validity of his own ideas. It was refreshing, actually. After that, he was having lunch with Elliot Turner. The email had come in yesterday, a polite check-in about how he was doing and a request to get together, and he’d agreed. It had seemed like the right thing to do. He was glad that therapy came beforehand so he’d be relaxed going into the lunch.

Dr. Hillwater—she’d given him the option of calling her Nancy, but he couldn’t stop thinking of her as anything but Dr. Hillwater—sat in one of a pair of high-backed sumptuous leather chairs with Silas in the other, a gas fireplace crackling in the background that didn’t seem ridiculous in the doctor’s cool, spacious office, despite the Florida heat outside. The setting gave their conversations the air of a casual, intellectual fireside chat rather than a formal session between doctor and patient. A light-skinned black woman, Dr. Hillwater wore her hair drawn back in a bun that managed to make her look professional without being too severe, her appearance also softened by wide-leg trousers and a button-down blouse rather than a dress suit. She made him feel comfortable, which he imagined was why she was so successful at her job. Not long into the appointment he found himself moving from discussing his time off to conversations about Matthew, including the fight from last weekend. She had heard about Matthew before, of course, but this was the first time he came up as the true subject of their conversations rather than peripherally.

“You’ve mentioned that you see the relationship as over now,” she observed in that calm way she had. “Have you confirmed that with Matthew?”

“We haven’t spoken since Saturday.” Silas ran his hands back and forth over the leather arms of the chair, the tactile sensation calming. “He tried to call once but didn’t leave a voice mail, and I haven’t heard from him since.” She nodded, but didn’t speak, and Silas continued. “I suppose that means it’s ambiguous.”

“And what would you like to happen between you two, if everything were perfect? What would that look like for you?”

Silas paused, stumped. He hadn’t considered that. The relationship with Matthew had developed in accidental steps, each new encounter bringing them closer without any real conversations about their hopes and dreams and desires. He had gone from seeing Matthew as a distraction from the more important aspects of his life to a very vital part of that life, without consciously choosing that development. He gave a short laugh. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “That’s hard to think about.”

Dr. Hillwater smiled supportively, no condescension in her expression at all. “Sometimes it’s easier to consider aspects of our life as things that happen to us, rather than what we consciously choose. Last time we met, I asked you whether you had considered changing careers, and you spoke very deliberately about that not being an option you wanted to consider.” She flipped through the notepad on her lap, skimming what was written there. “You were also clear that while your parents have influenced your work ethic, you don’t blame them for what you perceive as an unhealthy obsession with task completion. You take responsibility for that yourself.” She set the notepad and pen on her lap and fixed him with a thoughtful stare. “You’ve decided on your career and even what you perceive to be your flaws, but you don’t seem to have decided anything about Matthew. You’ve chosen neither to be with him nor to leave him. Does that seem accurate?”

Silas hadn’t looked at his relationship that way before, but he was nodding already. That made a lot of sense. “Yes, I can see that.” He reviewed the relationship as though from the outside, noticing its development, how every stage—including referring to them as boyfriends—had happened accidentally, without conscious thought on his part. Maybe on either of their parts. “So you’re saying I have to choose.”

“I’m not saying you have to do anything.” She held her hands palm up. “I’m asking you what your choice would be, if you were asked to make a choice.”

This didn’t feel as hypothetical as Dr. Hillwater presented it, but Silas felt all right engaging the dilemma. By not calling Matthew back, he was indirectly avoiding choosing again. He had been allowing the relationship to happen to him rather than be an active participant. If he were to say he wanted to be with Matthew, that would mean actively choosing this man, for better or worse, the good with the bad. It would mean opening himself up to the vulnerability of a relationship, to sharing himself with a person as flawed and complex as he was. But it would also mean having Matthew to rely on, his tender compassion, his reassurances, his warm laughter, his passionate kisses, his wild enthusiasm, his innate ability to teach and nurture and excite.

“I’d choose him,” Silas said carefully, trying out the words in his mouth, the way it sounded and felt to make a clear decision. “I would choose to be with him rather than apart from him.”

Dr. Hillwater nodded again, her full attention focused on him, as it always was during these sessions. “How does that decision make you feel?”

“Scared.” Silas exhaled, rubbing his palms on the leather armrests again. “Exhilarated. Anxious. All those things.” His heart was racing like he’d been running, or like the first time Matthew pressed him up against the wall of the coatroom at Gigi’s and kissed him like they were never going to stop.