Next to You

by Hannah Bonam-Young

Instead of opening the email, I click on the “you have a match” notification. Ah, yes, the pretty brunette, Valerie. Twenty-nine, single, interested in women, Gemini. Her bio reads, “here for a good time, not a long time,” which makes me wonder if it’s a Walk to Remember situation or if she’s that cliché. I message, “Stop making a fool out of me. Why don’t you come on over, Valerie?” and pour one out—hypothetically, because my coffee is piping hot—for my girl Amy Winehouse. I screenshot it and send it to my group chat with Em and Chloe. CHLOE: Make sure to ask if she has a good lawyer. EMILY: Tell her you miss her ginger hair! I love them.

“My rabbit ran away on my birthday.” I slump into the chair. “I’ve never been lower.” “Really? Are you sure about that?” she asks flatly. “Ow,” I whisper. Liz can’t help it. She’s always been…a bitch curt.

“Phillip is taking me out for dinner.” Elizabeth and Phillip—never not funny. I stifle a laugh, but it comes out as a soft snort from the back of my throat. “Don’t,” Elizabeth warns. “I didn’t say anything!” I protest. “Your fascination with the British royal family is bizarre.” “Sorry… your majesty.” I smirk into the phone,

I snatch the paper from him and try to make sense of what I’m holding. Reading it over, it becomes obvious. There is a list of all the movies I’ve referenced or we’ve watched together since we became friends squished together at the top of the page. The bottom half is a chart of sorts. He’s filled in the date, the title, his rating—he drew actual stars—and his favourite quote or scene.

“What about… books?” he asks, his attention directed back to me. “Dickens?” I feign shock and offence. “Pardon me, sir? Dick-what?” He rolls his eyes. “Austen?” “Texas?” I shake my head internally at the stupid series of jokes I’ve now attempted. Still, Matt seems to find me amusing—his smile growing lopsided and sincere.

“This is such a you gift.” The words tumble out of me. “Cheap? Boring? Peculiar?” He crosses one leg over his knee, which is bouncing. “No.” I find his eyes and hold his stare. “Thoughtful, careful, beautiful.”

“So, uh, how’s your head?” I suppose I appeared more drunk than I thought last night. “I’ve not had any complaints.” The words slip out before I think twice. So not the time for a blowjob joke. He snorts. “My god, you’re twelve.” “I guess that’s why I bought a school bus…

“Bye… Oh, wait!” “Yeah?” I bring the phone back to my ear. “Congratulations!” My smile unfurls slowly, like a blooming flower. He’s the first person to acknowledge it as a thing worth celebrating. I know I’ve only told a handful of people, but it still feels nice. “Thank you, Matt.”

“I just thought… Well, I thought I should invite Liz’s fiancé Phillip too. Because he never got to meet Dad, right? And maybe, if he isn’t right for her, she’d listen to him.” I brush tears away with my free hand. “Then I thought that I’d want my person there too. But…” I sniffle. “The chair was empty. Ya know?” Matt sighs, his upper body hunching in on itself. He lowers our hands to his lap and then releases mine. “Can I come?” He looks up at me through heavy brows. I suck in a breath. “What?” I ask, trying to find a napkin or anything other than my sleeve. “To your dinner party. I’d like to meet your dad.” His lips twitch into a dim smile. “I know I’m not your person, but it would be nice to meet your family.” I nod, my tears turning into soft laughter at his sweetness. “Yeah, okay.”

I’ve been described as strong-willed most of my life, but the universe is unkind, and he’s wearing grey sweatpants.

“Nah, I usually account for power outages, rainstorms, and horror-film motels,” he teases softly with a smile. “Seriously though, it’s all good.” “Okay.” But it isn’t. It’s far from okay. “The company isn’t half bad.” He offers a sleepy smile, his eyes still adjusting to the light. God, I could get used to waking up to that smile. “No?” I scrunch up my face. “Even when I make myself your personal weighted blanket?” I bite my lip, squinting like he’s the morning sun coming through the window. Did I make him uncomfortable? “What?” He startles like that is the single most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. “That was the best part. I was cursing those lights for making me move.” He jumps to stand, as if he didn’t say anything important at all. As if my heart didn’t just perform a triple back handspring. “You know, people would pay for that service. Like a deep tissue relaxation technique.”

I consider myself a feminist. Not always a perfect one—but I do my best. However, right now, I’d let this man take me back to his cave and have his way with me. I’d put on a fifties housewife dress, make him his favourite meatloaf, and sit with an empty plate in front of me while watching him eat adoringly. I consider the complications that may arise if I attempt to carry his giant babies between my narrow hips and decide it’s worth it.

The door shuts, and my brain turns back on, leaving the magnetic force field of his half-naked body. Note to self: do not go to the beach with Matt this summer. You may drown.

Matt’s arms cross, and I almost wonder if a new pet peeve of gentle misogyny has joined the ranks.

“Why are you glad to hear that I’m driving?” Matt smiles like a predator. It’s strangely doing things to me. Like, turned on things. Yes, protect my honour, dear knight!

We’re close enough to the bus that the light reflecting off its sides turns the air around us yellow. “Wow.” I gawk at its sheer size and feel my heart begin to flutter. It’s here. It’s cool and it’s real and it’s huge and it’s mine. “Think this thing has a speaker for Jane Eyre?” I ask. “I love that that’s where your mind went.” Matt opens the door and gestures for me to go inside. “After you.”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s great. I hope I’m wrong.” I look out the window. “I still need to find a date to bring to her wedding. And it seems like drastic changes are needed on my dating profile if—” “You should take me,” Matt says, our eyes catching in the mirror. “Bet his conservative parents would love to see a giant brown guy with longer hair than you show up as your date.”

“When are you going to understand that I like being around you?” Matt’s voice is tougher than usual, as if he’s trying to stop an argument before it happens. “This isn’t a favour, and that wouldn’t be either.”

“Is it a date or more of a friend-thing?” I look at Matt in the mirror. He’s got his lips pulled into his mouth, a concentrated look on his face as he nods along to the quieted song playing from the radio. A piece of his bun has fallen out on the back of his neck, and it has a soft curl to it. He taps the steering wheel, his rhythm totally off, and I feel a smile spread across my face. The feeling in my chest is similar to a too-tight hug. Comforting but also a little painful. It’s a familiar ache that is present whenever I’m around him but has only grown heavier these past two days. And I fear I know what it may be. “I don’t know,” I reply honestly before letting Liz get back to her workout. What I do know is… I’m screwed either way.

“There’s this quote that I like about grief… about how it’s really just all the love you want to give to the person you lost, building up until it hurts.”

“To Dominic.” Matt raises his bottle. “For being a good man and raising a fine daughter.” I choke over a sob but raise my beer to meet his. “To both of our fathers, their stars, and guiding lights,” I add before we cheers gently.

WARREN: Somebody’s doing overtime. Thought you’d want to know. LANE: Is he always like this?? WARREN: Not for me. He doesn’t want to get in my pants. LANE: You kiss my best friend with that mouth?

“I did it,” I tell him quietly. He turns to me, his expression softening only a little, but appearing more curious than murderous, as it had been. “You’ve got to act like everyone’s having the worst day of their life, right?” His hands untighten, and his shoulders relax as he nods. “I like this more.” I nod to myself. “The high road feels pretty damn good.” I smile up at Matt. “I’d like to throw him off the high road. A bridge, preferably,” he says, voice eerily relaxed.

My eyes fill with tears of gratitude, and I don’t fight them off. “Thank you.” I reach up, my arms over his shoulders, and pull him into a hug. “My bus is going to be blue,” I mumble into his shoulder. He breathes in against the side of my hair, a deep inhale. Of me? That’s new. The butterflies in my stomach are not.

“Pizza and painting. Perfect.” “Sweet alliteration.” I look between the paint cans and the bus again. “I’m so excited.” Matt smiles at his feet, then the bus, then me. He lingers. His eyes are warm and soft and full of something daring to be spoken.

Matt ordered the pizza while I changed inside the office. He had a spare shirt in his car that he suggested I wear under coveralls instead of my blouse. It fits like a dress on me, so I’m just wearing it with the bike shorts I had under my skirt and forgoing the coveralls entirely. And it smells like him. He’s never getting it back—covered in blue paint or not.

“Are you flirting with me?” I ask. Or at least I think I do. His soft, single laugh surprises me. “For over a year now. Thanks for noticing.” He kisses next to my ear.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we seem to have this dynamic where you ask for something, and I take care of it.” He licks his lips as my eyes fight to close and give in yet again. “You need me to drive cross-country with you?” He kisses my cheek. “Done.” He ducks lower. “Need me to work on your bus?” He kisses my chin. “Done.” He moves to the left. “Need a ride home from a shitty date?” He kisses the opposite cheek. “Done.” I gasp as his hand curls around my jaw and he tilts me to look at him, his rough fingers in my hair. “You need someone to take care of you in bed?” He kisses my lips, so brief and teasing, regret washes over me, having missed it. “Done. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“Next time we do this, I’m going to ask you to compliment yourself while you finish. I might have you in front of a mirror, too. You’re perfect, manamea. And I won’t rush perfection. Hear me?”

When I feel strong enough to support my own head, I look up to the ceiling and attempt to catch my breath. A laugh of disbelief escapes my lips as a bead of sweat drips down past my ear. Matt. Mattheus Tilo-Jones. My friend, Matt. Is the best I’ve ever had.

“I don’t want…” I take a deep breath. “I don’t want it to feel like you’re doing me a favour. Like it’s fixing the bus or a ride home. I want it to be for both of us. Otherwise I’ll just feel pathetic.” Matt’s nostrils flare as a smile grows, his lips shaking with restraint—trying not to laugh. “Matt…” I whine. “No, I hear you.” His laughter bursts out. “If you want to return the favour, I guess I’d be fine with that,” he says, biting his lip. “If I must.” “I hate you.” “That’s not what you were saying thirty minutes ago,” he mutters.

“You obviously do care. You’re more worried than I am.” “Right, but…” “Try being selfish. Just for a little bit. Just with me.” He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me towards him over the centre console. “I want it like that.” His voice is deathly low.

“You’re sure? You’re absolutely sure you want this, no strings attached?” I just need one more reassurance. One more, and then I think I’ll feel okay. “Hmm…” He hums against my throat. “No, actually.” He bites, soliciting a gasp from me. “I don’t think I want this at all.” He takes my hand and puts it in his lap—showing me exactly how much he wants this.

I feel like it’s impossible for one human to have that much sex unless they’re a paid professional. But he at least has his PhD in sex or something. There’s a dick joke there somewhere—but I’m too worn out to find it. Oh… wait. Pretty Huge Dick. Found it.

Attention: new kink unlocked. People who can carry you and squat while doing it.

I circle him with one eyebrow raised before pulling off my shirt and shorts and lowering into the warm lavender water, moaning my approval. Matt wets his lips, and his eyes widen as if he’s trying to take in my body all at once. “Why do you ever wear clothes?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “It should be a crime.”

Matt laughs. “It felt like a long time… coming?” He pushes his lips together. “Did you just make an orgasm joke?” “No.” He pretends to be offended. “Get your mind out of the gutter.” “I hate you.” “You keep saying that. Deflecting much?” Shut up. “Shut up.” I splash him. “Let me enjoy my bath.”

He slides off his boxers, and whoa. I lower into the water until I must look like an alligator peeking out of a swamp—just two hungry eyes. He laughs at my reaction to his naked frame, his throat bobbing.

It should be cast and hung on a wall at a museum. The plaque will read: World’s Best Ass, belonging to Mattheus Tilo-Jones, as discovered by Elaine Rothsford on the eve of her demise.

“I can do some things for myself.” He holds my hand as I step out of the tub. “You can, but this way, maybe you’ll keep me around.” He licks his front teeth as he smiles roguishly.

“Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?” Matt asks, checking behind us as we put the second layer of blue paint on. “You’re freaking me out.” “Warren’s watching us and… smiling.” “So?” “So? So he never smiles.” “Maybe he likes the colour you chose.” “Or maybe he knows he’s about to win a bet with Chloe.” I glance back. He’s cleaning a tool, eyes still on us.

“Wait—I missed my favourite part.” He pauses it, rewinds it slightly, then hits play at regular speed. I watch, my face burning, as Matt exits the bus after we’d finished, and he began tidying up. The moment he’s outside, he spins on his heel and mimes scoring a touchdown. I’m mortified, and yet I can’t find the strength to not laugh at such a dorky show of emotion. How does he go from I’m going to fuck you in front of a mirror to doing a silly victory dance?

“Show me the security camera feed.” He looks at me with humour dancing in his eyes as he opens the security app on his phone. I screenshot the main feed of the six different camera angles and hit share with text. “Really?” I ask, voice cold as ice. “What?” He chuckles at the back of his throat. “I’m saved as Lame in your phone.” “A happy accident.” “You’re the worst,” I mumble, hitting send on the photo. “Why do I feel like I’m giving you all the secret make-out spots?” “Because you are.”

unison. “Wait. Then how did he know?” I giggle, looking up at him. “Your victory dance.” Without a word, Matt takes his arm off my shoulders and begins walking in the opposite direction, across the parking lot. “Where are you going?” I call after him. “Looking for a hole to crawl into.” He kicks at the gravel under his feet, committing to the bit. “It was fun while it lasted, but I’m going to go die now.” “It was endearing!” I walk over to him and grab his arm with both hands, pulling him back towards the office and our things. “I’ve lost any edge of cool I might have had.” “We’ve been friends for too long for me to think you’re cool, babe.” “I guess I wasn’t going to be able to keep that up anyway.” He opens the door for us, and we grab our gear before going back to his car. “You’re funny, handsome, and probably good in bed… so”—I tilt my head back and forth—“cool is overrated.” “Probably?” He scoffs, clutching his chest as I bend into the front seat. “Probably?” he asks again, turning the ignition. “That’s what you took from that?” “Probably?” he asks again, voice pitching up. I roll my eyes. “Fine—you’re a fantastic lover, Matt. Happy now? But technically, we haven’t been in bed…” “That can be arranged.” He tilts his head, wearing a mischievous smirk.

“I really want to taste you again. Can I?” He rests his chin on my hip, digging in slightly. “Can I have you first?” I ask. “Should we flip a coin?” He licks across my lower belly, looking up at me through heavy brows. My breathing is suddenly ragged. I’m unable to concentrate on the simple task of filling and emptying lungs. “I’ve never had to ask a dude not to go down on me,” I whisper, joking but not. “They’re clearly all idiots.” He kisses my pubic bone, and I fall back to the mattress in silent permission. “Because you’ve got heaven between your legs.”

Manamea translates to: favourite person, dear, darling, sweetheart, lover.

“We should have done this months ago.” Matt struggles to catch his breath, a sign of a job well done. “The anticipation probably helped,” he says, kissing my cheek. “But you’re even better in real life than you were in my guilty fantasies.” I lift off and lie down next to him, and he immediately tucks a blanket over me. “Guilty?” I ask. “Friends aren’t supposed to fantasise about friends naked and moaning. But then again, you’ve dreamed about me too.” “Ha! You wish.” I tuck the blanket up my chest, rolling onto my back. “You talk in your sleep, remember?”

“I hate you.” “You keep saying that to me, and I’m going to develop some sort of strange need for it.” Matt laughs, falling beside me.

I turn off the light and remain sitting up against the headboard. “Goodnight, Matt.” I look down at him as his smile fades to a contented line, almost asleep. I brush my knuckle over his beard, down one side and up the other. “Mmm. That’s nice,” he says, half-awake. “Physical touch,” I remind him. See, I listen too. “I’ll get you a present tomorrow,” he quips back, mumbling. I flick his nose gently. “Do not.” “Fine. I won’t.” I pout privately in the darkened room. “You changed your mind, didn’t you?” he says, his smile audible. “One gift couldn’t hurt.” I laugh quietly.

“Not really. I have a hard time falling asleep. Most nights, it takes hours.” “Come here.” He opens his arm out toward me, and I shuffle down the mattress, curling myself into him. I tell myself that it’s simply a friend giving another friend comfort. Nothing more. A sleep aid, like melatonin in human form. “Did I tell you about the time my brother Ian jumped into an old well on a dare?” he asks. I huff a laugh. “No.” “Well, then brace yourself.” I fall asleep before they get him out.