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“I don’t like you, Murdock.”
Matt blinks. He’s been in the SIPA library stacks for hours trying to write an essay on cooperative property law. It was the last place he expected anyone – particularly Marci Stahl – to bother him.
He touches a hand to the rim of his glasses. “Sorry, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m blind. Who am I speaking to?”
There’s a snort, and then the scrape of a chair being pulled out beside him. Marci sits down and pushes her hair behind her head, it wafts the scent of her perfume right into Matt’s nose; he works to keep his face neutral.
“It’s Marci. Don’t act like you didn’t already know. I’m sure you figured out who I was the second I walked over. You’re many things, Murdock, but I won’t do either of us a disservice by pretending you’re stupid. Blind or not, you always seem to know exactly who you’re talking to.”
Matt’s smile is sharp. “Oh, Marci, hey. What brings you here?”
“Cut the shit for once in your life,” Marci says. “I mean it; I don’t like you.”
Matt doesn’t let his smile waver. “Well, thank you for seeking me out to let me know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get back to this essay.”
Marci exhales a sharp breath of air out of her nose. She straightens her shoulders, vertebrae in her spine aligning under her skin. “Your essay can wait a little longer. I’m here because I want to make some things clear between us.”
“What business could we have?” he asks.
There’s the sound of Marci’s head being tossed back, and she laughs, big and fake. “What business? Maybe you’re stupid after all. Murdock, we don’t have business; this is all personal.”
Matt raises his eyebrows. “Personal?”
Marci taps her fingers on the table for a second. They’re manicured, the click of each nail harsh against the cheap woodchip surface. She sighs, the sound of it shifts her whole diaphragm.
“Look,” she says. “We both know if you told Foggy to break up with me, he would.”
Matt opens his mouth to protest, but she slaps her hand down between them, cutting him off.
“No, stop. I’m here to talk, you’re going to listen, okay?”
Cowed, Matt slumps back into his seat. He gestures for her to go on, and he can hear the slick movement of her lips stretching over teeth as she smiles at him; he doesn’t need to see it to know it’s not genuine.
“If you told Foggy to break up with me, he would,” she repeats. “I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Foggy’s his own person,” Matt says. It comes out sullen, childish. “If he likes you, what can I do about it?”
“Why are you so determined to be an idiot today?” Marci says. He can hear the grind of her teeth, the lock of her jaw. He smiles, pleased to have established a small piece of ground in the conversation.
“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “If your relationship with Foggy was secure in the first place, you wouldn’t need to come here and beg me not to say anything.”
She rears her head back, heat and smell leaning away from Matt. His smile grows as he hears the squelching click of Marci’s throat working as she swallows. He’s succeeded in frustrating her.
“For God’s – Murdock, stop grinning. You’re not as slick as you think you are. He told me about Deborah.”
Matt does stop smiling. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and clenches his jaw. He imagines Foggy and Marci, sitting next to each other in bed, talking. Telling each other about their old relationships. The intimacy of it makes his chest feel tight.
“What does Debbie have to do with anything?”
“Oh, you mean what does the end of a three-year relationship that fell apart because of you have to do with this conversation? Nothing. I’m sure it’s unrelated.”
“I didn’t ask him to break up with Debbie,” Matt grits out. Underneath the table, he clenches his fists.
“Stop trying to get away with semantics. You didn’t ask, but you pulled your sad face and made your snide comments enough it wore Foggy down. He told me about how awful it was you and Debbie never got along; how difficult it made things for him. It’s easy for anyone with half a brain to figure you wanted the relationship to end,” Marci says. “You’re pretty possessive of him.”
“Possessive?”
“You hang over him like a monkey. Foggy and I would have been together weeks earlier if you didn’t always mysteriously need him right when I was about to ask him out for drinks. Like I said, you aren’t slick. In fact, I’m almost embarrassed for you.”
Matt’s throat feels tight. He grips the edge of the table and forces himself to continue angling his head in Marci’s direction; she would take him turning away as defeat.
“So, you came here to have a conversation about how my presence ruins Foggy’s relationships?” Matt tries to smile, though he’s sure it’s sitting on his face wrong. “How is any of this going to help Foggy believe we get along?”
Marci sighs again. Her breath smells like coffee and the dining hall’s Greek chicken salad. It mixes unpleasantly with her perfume.
“I came here to lay my cards on the table, Murdock. I don’t like you. You’re smug, and you didn’t deserve to score higher than me in civil procedure last semester, and it’s pathetic you slept with Mary Walker three times then dumped her via text.”
“I didn’t, Mary wasn’t –”
“Shut up, I don’t care about your excuses,” Marci says. “The point is, it doesn’t matter what I think of you, because my opinion isn’t going to change anything about how much Foggy cares. Half his stories include you. You spend Christmas with his family. He loves your gross little apartment and implausible dream of opening a firm together. I know how these things work. If it comes down to a choice between me and you, he’ll pick you. I’m here to make sure you don’t force him to pick.”
Matt leans forwards across the table between them, further into Marci’s space. “I don’t know why you’re so sure I’m going to do something.”
There’s the wet sound of Marci’s eyes moving; Matt suspects she’s rolling them.
“Stop playing stupid. If you’d been able to get along with Debbie, she’d be with Foggy, halfway to fucking Vegas for a wedding by now! I don’t want to be just another girl he breaks up with because she couldn’t manage to get along with his best friend. I don’t want to be just another girl full stop. I like Foggy. He makes me laugh; he’s shockingly good in bed; and he’s less of an idiot than most other guys here, present company included.”
“I don’t need you to tell me how great Foggy is,” Matt grits out. He clenches his fists tighter, fingernails digging into his palm.
Marci’s hand slides across the table, closing in on Matt’s space. She’s wearing a ring on her index finger, the metal of it scratches across the surface. He flinches away from the sound, and she doesn’t press closer. He hears the fabric of her top shifting as her shoulders droop.
“Look, Murdock. I don’t like you, but I don’t want to fight with you either. This is me waving the white flag, okay? If you play nice with me, I’ll play nice with you.”
Matt grits his teeth. “Elaborate.”
“I won’t say anything mean about you when Foggy’s around. I won’t get annoyed or tell him to stop spending so much time with you. I’ll be an excellent girlfriend who buys fantastic gifts, I’ll pretend all your little inside jokes are oh-so-cute, and I won’t even tell Foggy you’ve been pathetically in love with him since undergrad.”
Matt reels back. He swallows down a sudden excess of spit, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He feels like he’s been punched in the throat; he didn’t sense the hit coming.
“What? I don’t – I’m –”
“Matt,” Marci says. She’s softened her tone, the use of his first name is jarring enough he shuts his mouth. He should stop being surprised Marci can disarm him. No wonder Foggy likes her.
“Marci,” he replies. He rests his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. “How did you know?” His voice comes out whispered, raw and too honest.
“Give me some credit. Just because you’re blind doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“Marci,” Matt repeats. “Please.”
There’s the wet squeak of Marci chewing the inside of her cheek, the harsh rap of her nails on the table.
“You always who you’re talking to,” Marci says. “I don’t know how you do it, but I know you can do it, because I’ve seen you when Foggy walks in a room.”
Matt lifts his head from his hands and readjusts his glasses. He licks his lips, still feeling sweaty and off-kilter. “Oh?”
“What do you want me to say, Murdock? You light up around him. It’s like someone’s switched you back on. Foggy walks into a room and it’s the only time I see you smile like a real boy.” A snort, the shift of hair. “I’d judge you more, but I get it. I wouldn’t have this awful conversation with you if I didn’t get it.”
Matt still feels knocked flat, the sick surprise of a punch connecting. To think he’d been so obvious – to think people can look at him and see how weak he is, how much he relies on the the familiar rhythm of Foggy’s breathing, the musky smell of his sweat mixing with their shared laundry detergent. He lets a slow breath out, tries to recover some ground.
“You seem pretty certain you’d lose if Foggy did have to pick,” he says. He forces his lips back into a smirk, hopes the lines of his body look surer than he feels. “Why are you so sure I’ll agree to your terms?”
“I’m not writing a contract; I’m asking you nicely. Act like you don’t hate the air I breathe, and I won’t tell Foggy how much you dream about your last names being hyphenated.”
Every relationship Matt’s had has fallen apart. Every relationship until now. Until Foggy.
Matt knows friendships are easier than romantic relationships. Sex and intimacy complicate everything, leave too much on the line. Right now, Matt is Foggy’s best friend. Right now, Matt gets to listen to Foggy talk about his assignments while they drink too much beer. Right now, Matt gets Foggy’s easy laughter and an unquestioned excuse to hang out with him. If Foggy knew the extent of Matt’s feelings, it could change everything. Foggy would want to talk. He would sit Matt down and ask him questions, and Matt would end up lying, because every day Matt doesn’t tell Foggy about his senses, or his past, he’s lying.
He works his jaw. “Okay.”
The squelching sound of a throat constricting with a swallow, a heartbeat that spikes. Marci takes a quick, harsh breath in. “Okay, what?”
“Okay,” he says. “You don’t tell Foggy any ideas you have about my feelings, and I won’t deliberately do anything to interfere with your relationship. If we’ve ever gotta hang out all three of us, I’ll be nice.”
“Well. I’m glad to hear you’ve considered the facts and come to your senses,” Marci says. There’s a smug quality to her tone, her heartbeat evened out. The metal of the chair legs drag across the floor, and she stands. “I’m very glad I could take this time to talk to you, Matt. I look forward to seeing you on Saturday for the dinner Foggy’s going to invite you to when you next see him.”
“Of course. I should have realised why you were on the offensive,” Matt says. He chews his bottom lip and tries not to think about spending a whole evening with Foggy and Marci, together. Tries not to think about how Foggy will put his hand on Marci’s back, and Matt will hear the scrape of skin on fabric, and he will have to smile through it like it's okay. Like it doesn't kill him. “You knew we were going to be spending time together sooner, rather than later.”
“Foggy wants the people he cares about to get along,” Marci says. “And I want Foggy to have everything he wants.” She sounds airy and unaffected, but Matt hears the nervous way she shifts forwards onto her feet.
“You won, okay, Stahl? I’ve already told you; I’ll play nice.”
“Good,” Marci says. There’s a beat, the heat from her body holding in place. Then, “Your secret’s safe with me, okay? I’ll see you around.”
“Forgive me if I don’t say the same,” Matt replies.
Marci’s laugh is a startled exhale of air. “Goodbye, Murdock.”
She turns and walks away, footsteps echoing back to him from between the shelves of books. Matt waits a beat, two. He puts his head back in his hands. It takes a long time for the smell of Marci’s perfume to dissipate. He tries not to think about how cloying it will be to smell it on Foggy’s skin.
Slowly, he lifts his head. He straightens the papers in front of him and forces himself back to his notes. He has an essay to write.