“Oh.” She paused, mulling this over. “But the people who want to introduce you—”
“Them I know.”
Annie reached for her glass of now lukewarm ice tea and took a sip. “Do, uh, I, uh, know any of them?”
“Oh, definitely.” The response was wryly ironic. “The list includes my mother, Lisa’s mother, Lisa’s older sister, my brother’s wife—”
“Eden?” Annie replaced her glass with a thunk. She’d spoke with Eden about Matt over lunch just two days ago. Her friend had been sympathetic and full of advice. Yet not once had she mentioned that she was attempting to play matchmaker for her brother-in-law. She hadn’t even hinted at it.
“None other,” Matt affirmed, picking up his beer bottle and draining it.
“I see.” And maybe she did, Annie thought. Then again, maybe she didn’t. One thing seemed plain enough, though. While she’d been “getting concerned” about Matt’s emotional state, other people had been judging him sufficiently recovered from Lisa’s death to allow them to start pitching potential replacements at him.
Friends help friends when friends need it, she’d told her best buddy earlier.
Yes, he’d agreed. But it’s important to realize that the kind of help friends need can change.
Annie drew a steadying breath.
“Okay,” she began evenly. “You say you need me to be your best buddy again and help you get a social life. But you also say you don’t need me to fix you up with anyone because you’ve got eligible women coming out of your ears. Exactly what is it that you want me to do, Matt?”
“I want you to clue me in about being single.”
“Huh?”
“You know the scene, Annie,” Matt explained earnestly. “You’re a veteran of the battle between the sexes. You’ve been going out with guys for years.”
“Not that many,” she retorted, stung by what he seemed to be implying. “I’m only thirty-one!”
“But you have been around the block a few times,” he persisted. “You’ve got some mileage on you.”
Was Matt trying to be insulting? Annie wondered. She could live with him describing her as a “veteran” of the dating wars. She’d used the phrase herself once or twice, joking that she had the scars to prove her claim. But when he resorted to automotive analogies...
“I don’t know what kind of social life you think I’ve been leading, Matt,” she observed stiffly. “But I haven’t been cruising the highways or racing in the Grand Prix!”
“You haven’t been sitting in the garage, either,” he countered. “I have.”
Although comprehension didn’t dawn at that point, it definitely began nibbling away at the edges of Annie’s confusion.
“Oh,” she murmured after a moment or two, studying Matt very carefully. His cheeks were slightly flushed and he suddenly seemed to be having trouble meeting her eyes. Yet the squared set of his shoulders signaled determination. So did the stubborn jut of his jaw. “Matt, look—”
He preempted her with a rush of words.
“You and I both know I wasn’t Mr. Suave and Studly before I met Lisa,” he said flatly. “I was a short, hormonally challenged geek in junior high. Even after the testosterone finally kicked in the summer before freshman year, I didn’t pick up any action. Eight inches of height and a crop of zits, yeah. But action? No way, Jose. I hit tenth grade without ever having had a one-on-one date. The only girl I’d ever kissed was you. I didn’t have a clue—”
“Wait a minute,” Annie interrupted. Although she thought Matt’s assessment of his adolescent self was unduly harsh, she was willing to let it pass. Not so, the claim he’d made regarding her. “You never kissed me!”
Matt clenched his right hand and thumped it against his chest, feigning a stab to the heart. “I’m wounded,” he declared with a comic groan. “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten playing Spin the Bottle at Tommy Lombardy’s thirteenth birthday party.”
Annie frowned, trying to remember. After a few seconds of concentrated effort, she began to recall the event under discussion. All things considered, she would have preferred not to.
“That wasn’t a kiss, Matt,” she stated.
“Oh, really? What would you call it?”
“A head-on collision with teeth. You nearly broke my nose!”
“And you split my top lip with your braces,” he riposted. “But don’t worry. I’ve forgiven you. I’ve also acquired a little finesse since that episode. At least...” Matt paused, a smile ghosting the corners of his mouth. “I never had any complaints from Lisa.”
An odd, edgy emotion stirred within Annie. Not envy, exactly. But unnervingly close to it.
“She was a happy woman,” she said quietly, meaning it. “And it was because of you.”
There was a pause.
“You didn’t like Lisa at first, did you?” Matt said after a few moments.
Annie blinked, taken aback by the assertion. “I didn’t dislike her,” she responded, grappling with feelings that were nearly a decade and a half old. “Lisa just seemed... different...from me. She was so feminine, you know? So girly. She was perky and pretty and she looked like she perspired cologne. Assuming she perspired at all, of course. I, on the other hand, was a flat-chested tomboy who sweated like a horse. She made me feel—oh, I don’t know exactly. Self-conscious, I guess. And then there was the way she affected you. I mean, you took one look at her the first day of junior year and all of a sudden you were walking around like a character in Invasion of the Body—”
She stopped abruptly, fearing she might have gone too far. “No offense meant, Matt,” she tacked on awkwardly.
“None taken.”
“You don’t mind me, er—”
“Joking about my relationship with Lisa?”
Annie nodded warily.
“Not at all.” The answer sounded sincere. “I know how careful you’ve been the past fifteen months, Annie. But you don’t have to tiptoe around my sensibilities anymore. As special as what Lisa and I had together was, the memory of it doesn’t have to be treated like a holy relic.” Matt paused, then started to chuckle. “Invasion of the Body Snatchers, huh?”
She smiled. “Your reaction was pretty radical.”
Matt smiled back at her. “Yeah, well, true love has always hit the men in my family like lightning.”
There was another break in the conversation. Annie found herself savoring a buoyancy of spirit she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
“Lisa didn’t exactly like you at the beginning, either, you know,” her dining companion suddenly remarked.
“She didn’t?” This was news to Annie. Lisa Davis had always been extremely nice to her.
“She was jealous.”
“Of me?”
“Yeah. She used to talk about how smart you were. And about how you always stood up for your convictions. Like the student protest you organized when the school board tried to ban a dictionary from the library because it supposedly contained lewd definitions. She said you made her feel inferior.”
“I certainly never tried—”
“Of course her real problem was you and