Matchmaking for Beginners
Page 45

“Well. That’s what she said. ‘I’m leaving my house to Marnie, and she’s a matchmaker, so I think she’ll be very happy here.’ Exact quote.”
“Wow. Did she tell you the part about how she actually only laid eyes on me two times? Did she tell you that she didn’t even really know me?”
He gives me a mild look. “It’s okay. I know better than anyone that Blix had her ways. I’m not going to ask you for your matchmaking union card or anything.”
“It’s just so crazy. I have no idea why I’m even here. I keep explaining to people that I didn’t really even know her, that I feel like I’m some kind of imposter getting this house from her. My parents are aghast. Like, who is this old lady and why couldn’t she have left this house to her own family? Why did she pick me? They seem to think it’s some kind of punishment and that I need to be very, very careful!”
He is looking at me with a little half smile, or what seems like it might be a half smile. Hard to tell with the hoodie he’s wearing and the fact that his face isn’t quite like other people’s faces. “And are you?” he says. “Being very, very careful?”
“Not by their standards, I’m sure. Also, what if she left me the place so I could do matchmaking, and it turns out I’m no good at it? She should have left it to Noah.”
“I think—well, do you want to know my true, uncensored thoughts?”
“Do I? Yes, I do. Tell me. Uncensored thoughts.”
“Well, my first thought is that Blix didn’t ever do anything she didn’t want to do, and when she met you, I can tell you this: you made a huge impression on her. I don’t know if you were demonstrating your abundant matchmakery skills in front of her, or if she was just discerning them—but she was taken with you, and that was that. End of story. When she decided you needed the house, you were getting it, and nobody else could have it.”
“But it’s so . . . surprising. Who does that?”
“Blix Holliday does that. Also, she did not think that Noah should end up with her house, nor should any of her relatives from Virginia. She told me that over and over. And now I’m really not going to say any more.”
“I’ve been here less than a week, and yet every single person I’ve talked to has made sure to tell me how little she thought of Noah. Even he tells me that. It must have been epic. Maybe you’re the one who could tell me why?”
“No more. I’ve taken a vow.”
“A vow?”
“A vow of silence when it comes to criticizing other people, particularly ones who were married to the person I’m talking to. And who are currently also living with that individual. It’s my policy.”
“Well, we’re not doing that kind of living with,” I say. And when he keeps looking at me, I say, “It’s not that way at all. Believe me. He’s only staying here because he’s enrolled in classes and also we’re doing some experiment to show that we can live together for the three months without killing each other. It’s so that when we’re old, we can look back and see that we were kind to each other. A different sort of breakup.”
He smiles at me. “I am so not going to comment on any of that.” He leads the way into the kitchen, which is really nothing more than a tiny stove, sink, and refrigerator all jammed into a little closet-sized room off the living room. An apple pie is sitting on the counter, with one piece missing.
“Let’s eat cookies, shall we? Or would you like some pie? Or maybe both?”
“The cookies are for you,” I say, and he laughs. “So that’s a vote for both, then!”
He cuts us each a slice of pie and piles some cookies onto some paper plates, and we stand in the kitchen, eating them. The pie is exquisitely buttery and sweet, with tart apples and a flaky crust. Kind of amazing actually. I can’t stop exclaiming over it.
“Yes, I’ve been experimenting with crusts lately. The old lard or butter question, you know? This time I went with butter. Flakier with lard, I think, but . . .”
“Oh my God. I vote for this pie. Butter all the way.”
“I’ll make a note of it,” he says.
We’re quiet, devouring our pie, when I say, “Have you lived here a long time?”
He frowns. In the greenish cast of the fluorescent light from the ceiling, I can now see more of his face. It’s a shock, a little, to see that the skin on his face is pulled taut around his left eye, leaving it extra pink and smooth like the inside of a shell. The other eye is fine, looking back at me with some attitude to it.
“Well, three and a half years, I guess it is now. Are you thirsty? Are you the kind of person who wants milk with your pie?”
“No that’s okay,” I say. “So . . . did you know Blix before that?”
“Nope. Met her outside the art museum one day. I was having, shall we say, a rather unfortunate moment, and suddenly, there she was, bossing me around even though I was a stranger. Talked to me for a while and then said I had to come live in her building.”
“Really? And so you did? You just moved in here because she told you to?”
“And didn’t you come here because she told you to?”
“Well. I mean, I guess I did, when you put it that way.”
“Yeah. She knows things about where people are supposed to be. So, am I allowed to ask the big question? Now that you’ve purchased a coat, may I assume this means you’re intending to become a Brooklynista for good? Are you staying?”
This is when it hits me, really, that my decision to sell the place actually affects his life. What if he has to move?
I put down my plate on the counter. “I feel weird about saying this, but I don’t think I’m staying, really. I’ve kind of got a life to get back to. And I’m not really a city person, you know? Blix wrote into the deal that I need to stay for three months, so of course I’ll do that—”
“Yeah. I knew about the three months.”
“Really? Did she tell everyone everything?”
“Everyone? I’m not sure everyone in Brooklyn knows about it, but we, her closest friends, certainly do.”
“So people are going to be upset if I don’t stay here. I’ll be abandoning her plan. Is that right?”
“It’s not like we all expected everything to stay the same forever. If this isn’t the life you want, then you shouldn’t feel you have to have it. I don’t think Blix ever intended that you should be a prisoner here.”
“But, oh man, I feel guilty. She obviously believed I’d keep it.”
“Oh, Marnie, for heaven’s sake, don’t put that on yourself. Maybe she gave you first dibs on the house, but if you don’t want it, then we just have to know that she’s operating in the unseen realm and will bring around the next person who should get it. How’s that?”
I stare at him until he asks me to stop looking at him. He says he can’t bear it when people stare at him. Then he says, “Anyway, the very last thing Blix would have ever wanted from you is guilt. Either keep the house or pass it along to someone else. Suit yourself. That’s what she would have wanted. Do what makes you happy.”
“But what will you do if I sell it?”
He stiffens. “What will I do? I’ll either stay here or I’ll go someplace else. And so will Jessica and Sammy. We’re all very portable humans, you know. I realize I look like a guy who doesn’t have any options, but even I can find another place to live.”
I feel my face reddening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No more sorry or guilt for this conversation. It’s met its quota.”
Just then a tabby cat comes running into the room, meowing like he’s in midconversation and needs to tell Patrick something immediately.
“And who is this? Are you the guy who steals Patrick’s wallet and orders cans of tuna on the Internet?” I lean down to pet him, and he runs right over and brushes against my hands.
“This is Roy. He’s the real tenant here, and he’s after your cookies. I’m the one who misses Blix, and he’s the one who thinks we should have cookies and possibly fry up some fish and clean the litter box more often.”