Warning: Brief and vague discussion of emotional abuse and of body image issues
Eric's Point of View
Three months have passed, I still think about Matt every single day. There've been multiple situations where I've almost tapped the send button on a long, pathetic apology text. But every single time something stops me. I'm just too scared, I guess.
These last two weeks have been especially hectic. I have one final promotion interview for the film before I head back to London to film another movie. It was a very quick turnaround for the editors and producers, because there's a lot of pressure from the studio. They wanted this film done in time for a Christmas premiere.
Filming doesn't start until the new year, but I figured I'd spend the holidays in England and settle in before filming my next project. It's actually a movie I agreed to do because Matt said it's one of his favorite books. It's a psychological thriller novel set in 1920s London called "Maybe in Mayfair."
"So, I heard you loved filming in London. Is that true?" The interviewer asks.
"Yes, I had a wonderful time there."
"And you're going back soon?"
"I am filming another project at the start of next year."
"Do you have a favorite spot in the city? Anything you're looking forward to doing again?"
I don't give the answer I want to say, but I give one close enough to the truth. "There was a pub, a really good friend introduced me to it. I don't want to name it, otherwise I'll never get a seat when I'm there next." I try to lighten my face and hide the fact that I miss my 'good friend' very much.
"How lovely, sometimes it's not the place but the people. I hope you get to see this friend again while you're there."
"So do I. But I'm not sure." I know immediately I've said too much, I lost my focus thinking about Matt.
The interviewer perks up, trying to get me to bite. "A former friend then?"
"I hope not, but probably."
"I get the sense you're not over this person."
I see my publicist, Kelly, shaking her head at me, but I don't know what comes over me when I speak. "I'm not, but I only have myself to blame. Nothing horribly dramatic happened, but I just wasn't a good friend. Much like my character in this movie."
"We all feel that way sometimes. I hope it works out for you. Thank you so much for your time."
"Thank you."
***
Back in London, I finally build up the courage to do something.
I purchase a beautiful bouquet of flowers and write out a letter 'Three months later and I'm not over you. And I don't want to be. I let my fears get in the way. I miss you, I'm sorry.'
I send them to his apartment and impatiently wait, and hope for, a response.
After much pacing and failing to distract myself, my phone rings.
It's him.
"Hello?" I answer. "Matt?"
"Hi, Eric." I hear his magical voice. He seems very neutral. "I received the flowers... and the note."
I let out a sigh. "I kept it brief, but I mean every word."
"I...I don't know what to think." He says.
"I would love to meet, have dinner, talk about things more."
"Uh, yeah. Okay, let's do that. My place, 6 o'clock?"
"That sounds great, I'll be there."
"Okay." He says, still a note of hesitance in his voice.
At exactly 6 pm, I arrive at his apartment complex. He's standing in the lobby, and as soon as he sees me, he waves. He looks exponentially more adorable than the last time we saw each other. "Hello." He says, his hands shoved in his pants pockets.
"Hi." I smile at him.
"Come up." His eyes are colder than I remember.
His apartment is quite beautiful. Very modern, but has many touches of warmth in the furniture and decor.
"How have you been?" I ask, looking around and admiring his place. It fits him well.
"Quite well." He says. "I was promoted. More work but at least it keeps me busy and I enjoy it."
"That's lovely to hear, congratulations."
"And you?"
"I've been fine. I have a little break before production on my next film starts in January."
"And you're here to celebrate the holidays instead of in America?"
"I am."
"I see. What's the next movie?" He asks, trying to make small talk.
"'Maybe in Mayfair.'" I answer, looking at him. I chose it because of him, for him.
I think I see the tiniest glimmer of realization in his eyes. "Would you like anything to drink? Dinner is almost ready." He avoids eye contact, changing the topic.
"Water, please." He nods, turning towards the kitchen which is open to the main living space of the apartment. "It's for you." I say softly.
He turns back towards me. "What's for me?"
"The movie." I say. "I already loved it, but I love it more because you love it and because you encouraged me to do it so..." I trail off. "And I'm here early to see you."
His eyes warm up ever so slightly. "I see."
"I never should've said what I said that day." I blurt out. "I didn't mean it. Well, not truly. I was just scared. Scared of missing you and hurting you and being hurt."
"I see." He says again, giving me nothing to work with. I'd prefer if he would just spit at me with all the hatred he has for me.
"But I guess I did all that anyway. Hurt you, hurt me. I just knew how much I felt about you then, what would happen down the line once we really put our everything into this thing?" I take a deep breath. "But clearly, I've not been able to brush those feelings aside. I think about you day in and day out. I miss you. I want to give us a real try, an actual chance. I'm scared of the long distance, but I want to make it work. And I'm here for the next four months. I want to give this a real shot. Because three months ago, you made me feel like a real human being, like a person worthy of being truly loved by someone, and I know that's crazy but you are the warmth I need and I promise to be that same warmth for you. If you let me." I take another deep breath.
The oven timer fills the air, cutting through the tension.
"Dinner is ready." He says, turning back away from me and pulling it out of the oven. He sets it on the dining table, and grabs two glasses of water for us. I'm taken aback by the lack of response. My mind is going over every little word I said and every slight movement on his face. I don't know if I should just leave or stay. He has, at the very least, set a place for me.
"This looks lovely, thank you." I say, taking the plate of salmon, mashed potatoes, and asparagus he offers me. I set it down on the table, but before I can sit down, he starts talking.
