In Case of Rejection

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Matthew knew he couldn't face his apartment again on his own, so he went down to the lobby to wait for Jean to return home from work. He sat at the back of the place, past the uniform, dark furniture and plain walls. He kicked the ground beneath him impatiently as he loitered.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he should be anticipating. It was hard to tell, since they hadn't even talked about it -- hadn't even had the chance, really.

It was dark now, and a figure shuffled past outside, under the pale lights projected onto the streets. A waiflike ghost, and Matthew looked up just barely to catch it leaving. He shook his head to no one in particular.

Will Dad try to stop me? He asked himself. He didn't have a plan -- just imagined he'd walk right into his office. Take initiative. His hands tingled with the imaginary sensation of hugging his father, how firm his body had felt. He remembered the way he was doing push-ups on TV only a night ago... Would he hurt Matthew?

"Matthew?" Jean asked, the front door whooshing shut behind her as they slid closed. Her shoes squeaked against the floor as she stepped towards him.

"What are you doing out here?" She asked again as Matthew stood. Now face to face, she reached up to cradle his cheek in her free hand.

"What's the matter?" She continued, taking note of Matthew's weary expression and the way his eyes fell around her shoulders. He swallowed.

"Dad's back," he said, and her hand fell from his face. She didn't wear any expression at all, just one of acknowledgement.

"He's upstairs," Matthew nodded in the direction of the stairwell. Jean stayed motionless, the only sound the both of them breathing.

"How is he?" She asked, returning her gaze to him, tone blank.

"I don't know, he seems sort of normal. As normal as he can be," Matthew tried to make it sound alright. Jean nodded.

"Have you talked to him?" She asked, and Matthew realized she didn't know he had already seen him, having not been at school all day. He nodded warily, bringing his hand to his temple.

"Yeah," he said, and Jean's head hung. She put a hand on Matthew's shoulder and guided him towards the stairwell. The pair of them didn't say anything as they walked up slowly, step by step by step.

When Jean unlocked the door, it felt as though the two of them were stepping into a tomb -- sealed for hundreds of years, layered in dust. Both wore suspicious expressions, eyebrows raised as they went inward. Matthew went in first, having the strangest instinct to reach out a hand over his mother and protect her.

"Dad?" Matthew asked out into the open, his voice filling the space, then rendering it painfully empty when no response came.

"Dad, I'm here with Mom," he tried again, simultaneously closing the door behind them.

"Michael?" She called forward, her voice launching into the room and filling it with a familiar ring, one Matthew hadn't heard in years. He watched as she walked forward into the space, taking tentative steps in the direction of her bedroom -- their bedroom.

She opened the door, pressing against it with her fingertips, and went through the threshold. Matthew stayed in the entrance to the apartment, almost afraid to get any closer.

Jean reappeared after a few seconds, face entirely blank with confusion.

"He isn't here," she said. Just as the both of them began their mental calculations of the event, the door to Michael's office opened. The both of them looked to it with trepidation and the expectation of something awful.

Michael stood there, in the flesh -- bulky and broad in his new stature. His attention snapped to Matthew's mother.

"Jean," he said, a slightly emotional ring to his voice, and something stirred in Matthew's chest. Jean was pensive, furrowing her brow and tilting her head a bit in her suspicion. Her lower lip quivered and she buckled, leaning into Michael and taking him into her arms. He smiled over her shoulder, and Matthew tried his hardest not to be cynical about the whole thing.