Single Player (25 page)

“No, it's okay.” Silas let the actions of his hands quiet his mind, which was agitated again thinking of Matthew. “I'm doing all right, I guess. Could be better. This time away from work has been good for me, though.” That was a hard thing for Silas to admit, even to himself, but it was true nonetheless. “I think it's helpful. I . . .” He thought about what to say next, how to put it into words. “I generally like being alone, but I've gotten used to not being alone recently. The adjustment is . . . difficult.”

“Yup, I understand.” Caleb handed the completed portion of the box to Silas. “Let me know if you need anything else, though, okay? I don't mind.”

“Thanks.” Silas nodded. “I appreciate it.” He really did. He wasn't saying that just to shut Caleb up, or because he was supposed to. Rather than wanting to avoid other people, he found himself not minding the idea of expanding his social circle a bit. Maybe change wasn't as terrible as his mind had always made it out to be.

The day before DiceCon
was always a mad rush from morning until well after closing, so Matthew was prepared for the onslaught of tasks and responsibilities when he arrived at PI Games on Wednesday. He had a to-do list of his own, plus the tasks that would undoubtedly fall to him as de facto team leader, and he would have to put aside his own exhaustion to get everything done. He had stayed up way too late gaming these past few nights, and then struggled to sleep, only ending up with a couple of hours of shut-eye each night since . . . well, since Saturday. His last good night of sleep had been with Silas in his bed.

Silas. The thought of the man who had all but stomped all over Matthew's heart filled him with the same mixed emotions he'd been battling this whole time, anger and guilt and sadness, this emotional upswell that had become so regular he wasn't even surprised.

He exhaled and tried to shake those thoughts from his mind. He had a job to do today, inadequate as Silas thought that job was.

That, also, was the next problem. Will wanted his application for the technical manager position before Matthew left for DiceCon, or he was going to start advertising the job. He'd been hemming and hawing about it since Silas left. After his disappointing shift at Gigi's, he'd spent the rest of the weekend facing some big decisions about his future, and facing big decisions was one of his least favorite activities. In avoiding that decision, he'd ended up marathon coding
Endgame,
getting fully immersed in the complex game and completing far more than his assigned portion of the work, which seemed to indicate that he should go ahead and take the damn position already.

Whatever his decision would be, he needed to make it today.

One of his first stops was Iris Parker, the HR manager. She was in her office as usual, one of the first to arrive each morning, blond hair impeccably coiffed and red nails tapping across the computer keys. She smiled when Matthew entered. He'd gotten to know Iris a bit last year when she started freelancing as a designer for
Endgame
and became a more regular part of their team meetings.

“Hi, Iris.” He dropped down into the chair in front of her desk. “How are you doing?”

“Can't complain.” She smiled at him as she moved away from her computer and instead pulled out a file drawer in her desk. “I assume you're here for the
Endgame
prints, right?”

He pointed at her in a “bull's-eye” gesture. “You've got it.”

She lifted a box out of the drawer and set it in front of herself on the desk, removing the lid to reveal a stack of colored prints. “They're here. Take a look, tell me what you think. I printed up twenty copies of each of the five main designs.” She handed him the top five sheets from the stack, which were the five greater guardians the player's avatar met in the game, the “boss monsters,” except that this game wasn't a game of monsters. Matthew loved
Endgame
for its unique premise, a psychological exploration of the afterlife that revealed aspects of the player based on choices he or she made throughout the game. The five greater guardians were keys to those choices, each one offering a different psychological conundrum and shaping the game as a result. Iris had done the original concept art for the game, from the settings to the main player avatars to the greater and lesser guardians, and her work was incredible. It had been Caleb's idea to have her work sold as prints at DiceCon to accompany the game promotion, and Will had been enthusiastic about the entire process.

Each greater guardian had a different concept, but they shared the same Gothic-design look that permeated the entire game. He looked at the five glossy prints, then the stack of copies in the box, and nodded his approval. “These are fantastic, Iris. Will's going to love them.”

Iris smiled shyly. He only saw her get shy when she was discussing her art, which he hadn't even known existed until last year when she'd started the freelancing gig. She was normally the consummate professional, put together and organized and so good at her job that she handled the endless paperwork that was a requisite of working in HR without anything ruffling her, but the artist side of her revealed a whole different aspect of her personality. Matthew had enjoyed seeing this Iris, the one who shared his love of craft, even if their crafts of choice were different.

“Thanks. I had a great time making them.” She handed over the rest of the box.

“You signed them all, right?” He scanned the first few in the pile, noticing Iris's signature scrawled across the bottom of the prints.

She gave him a pained look. “I did it because Will said to, but I felt really silly doing it. Nobody cares about my signature. It's not like I'm famous.”

“An artist's official seal is a big thing, Iris.” He gave her a patient look. “That's why programmers put Easter eggs in game code.”

Iris shrugged. “If you insist.”

“You know I think it's amazing that you do these, right?” Matthew lifted the box. “I'm so glad you got into freelancing. You're really good at it.”

Iris shrugged again, but smiled all the while. “I'm glad, too. I started taking classes through the art program at USF, and it's been gratifying to study something I love without the pressure of having to build my whole career around it. I get to do a little of all the things I love. If I hadn't taken the freelancing job, I never would have known what I was capable of.”

Matthew nodded, a few pieces of something clicking into place in his brain. “Were you nervous, taking that next step?”

Iris laughed. “Oh my god, yeah. I was completely freaked out. I love HR, don't get me wrong. Filing, paperwork, organization—it's totally in my wheelhouse.” She examined her nails, momentarily sheepish. “There was a time last year when I'd never have admitted that. But even though I wanted something more, something to feed my creative side, I was terrified that I was going to suck at it. The art freelancing and classes have shown me that I can do this, though. Between HR, art, and Owen, I feel like I've got everything I want right now.” She smiled again. “I guess I'm lucky.”

“No, not luck,” Matthew said thoughtfully. It wasn't exactly luck, but craft, choosing the elements of life that would fulfill all her needs. “You designed this.”

“I suppose so.” Now Iris was looking at him thoughtfully. “What's on your mind?”

Matthew considered what he could tell her without oversharing or burdening her with his issues, issues that felt numerous right now. “I'm trying to decide if I should apply for the technical manager position.”

Iris's eyebrows drew together. “I thought for sure you'd apply. You're considering not doing it? Why not?”

Matthew looked off to the side, staring at her office without really seeing it. “I haven't been a really serious guy. I work, but I don't do things that are particularly challenging. I've been coasting pretty happily for a few years now, programming here, picking up bartending shifts at the club, partying, and goofing off. If I take this position, those days are probably over for me. I'm not sure I'm ready to give it up. And yet if I keep on going like I am, I feel guilty.”

Iris nodded. “So you think you're wasting your talents.”

Matthew shrugged and folded his arms, more uncomfortable than he thought he'd be facing this head-on. “I guess so. This guy I've been seeing, he made me look at myself in some pretty uncomfortable ways.”

“So do you want more? Or do you just feel like you're supposed to want more?”

He let out a long breath. That was the question, wasn't it? What did he really want? “I think maybe I've been putting off a lot of uncomfortable decisions because I'm afraid I just won't be good enough. If I really try, and I come up short, I can't say that I didn't try. You know?” Tentatively, he made eye contact with Iris, who was looking across her desk at him with an expression of profound sympathy and understanding.

“God, you have no idea.” She sighed. “I lived most of my life like that. Avoiding commitment, avoiding stretching myself. It's scary to change. But you'll never know if you don't try, right?”

Matthew nodded, feeling a lot of decisions slide into place all at once. “You're right. You never know if you don't try.” Feeling shaky and yet determined, he got to his feet. “I think I'm going to go finish up that application.”

---

Matthew didn't get home
from work until late that night, since DiceCon prep always took longer than expected. He'd called his neighbor Judy to stop in and feed Zuul, as she was going to do during DiceCon, and she was there when he arrived, sitting on the couch in her ripped jeans and baggy tank top, a lap full of purring kitten. Judy was college age with a punk-rock aesthetic, and while they didn't have much in common, she'd been his neighbor since the building opened. They'd exchanged regular neighborly waves in the hallway and had signed for packages for each other, and she'd been more than willing to watch the cat when he'd asked.

“She's such a sweet little thing, isn't she?” Judy was scratching Zuul's belly.

Matthew laughed. “You're going to spoil her.” He came over to rub Zuul as well, and she batted at his fingers. “Sure you're good for the weekend? There's plenty of food, litter box needs scooping every day, and she's got her toys. You know she can't be in her wheelchair unsupervised, right? That's all set?”

Judy rolled her eyes at him with indulgent fondness and nodded. “We're good. You take off early tomorrow, right?”

“Shuttle picks me up at five thirty.” Matthew stifled a yawn. He hoped he could sleep tonight, and then again maybe on the plane. Even though he wouldn't hear about the technical manager position for a few days yet, he felt strangely calm having made the decision. He might even be able to enjoy himself at DiceCon. “I'll be back on Monday. You sure you won't let me pay you?”

“I told you, a bottle of wine is fine. Your cat's cute as hell.” Judy scooped up Zuul and set her on the couch. “Have a good trip.” She left him to his apartment.

Silas was on his mind the whole time he packed. He wanted to apologize, but he really wanted to do it in person. The thought of doing it over the phone seemed awkward. He thought about driving to Silas's house, but what was he going to do then? Say “I'm sorry” and then leave to go to DiceCon? He couldn't. It would have to be by phone. When he finished packing, though, it was after midnight. He picked up the phone and stared at it. Would Silas still be awake? Would he even answer?

They hadn't spoken in days, and one more night wouldn't change anything. He would get to DiceCon tomorrow, get settled in, and call from the hotel.

Resolved, he collapsed into bed and almost instantly fell asleep.

Silas's day was going
to be interesting, he knew immediately. He'd mostly spent Wednesday designing new things for Zuul, which had become an odd pastime given the circumstances, but also played
Diablo III
for a little while. It was fun, although it likely would be more fun with Matthew. Today, Thursday, was going to be his busy day, though, which worked out fine, since he could distract himself from the thought of Matthew flying to DiceCon with their issues unresolved.

He had an appointment with the therapist this morning, and he was actually looking forward to it. Dr. Hillwater was direct and professional, which he appreciated, and she didn't try to force any weird New Age spirituality on him. They talked like adults and she treated him like an equal, a professional person with opinions and thoughts, and her questions engaged his self-reflection without denying the validity of his own ideas. It was refreshing, actually. After that, he was having lunch with Elliot Turner. The email had come in yesterday, a polite check-in about how he was doing and a request to get together, and he'd agreed. It had seemed like the right thing to do. He was glad that therapy came beforehand so he'd be relaxed going into the lunch.

Dr. Hillwater—she'd given him the option of calling her Nancy, but he couldn't stop thinking of her as anything but Dr. Hillwater—sat in one of a pair of high-backed sumptuous leather chairs with Silas in the other, a gas fireplace crackling in the background that didn't seem ridiculous in the doctor's cool, spacious office, despite the Florida heat outside. The setting gave their conversations the air of a casual, intellectual fireside chat rather than a formal session between doctor and patient. A light-skinned black woman, Dr. Hillwater wore her hair drawn back in a bun that managed to make her look professional without being too severe, her appearance also softened by wide-leg trousers and a button-down blouse rather than a dress suit. She made him feel comfortable, which he imagined was why she was so successful at her job. Not long into the appointment he found himself moving from discussing his time off to conversations about Matthew, including the fight from last weekend. She had heard about Matthew before, of course, but this was the first time he came up as the true subject of their conversations rather than peripherally.

“You've mentioned that you see the relationship as over now,” she observed in that calm way she had. “Have you confirmed that with Matthew?”

“We haven't spoken since Saturday.” Silas ran his hands back and forth over the leather arms of the chair, the tactile sensation calming. “He tried to call once but didn't leave a voice mail, and I haven't heard from him since.” She nodded, but didn't speak, and Silas continued. “I suppose that means it's ambiguous.”

“And what would you like to happen between you two, if everything were perfect? What would that look like for you?”

Silas paused, stumped. He hadn't considered that. The relationship with Matthew had developed in accidental steps, each new encounter bringing them closer without any real conversations about their hopes and dreams and desires. He had gone from seeing Matthew as a distraction from the more important aspects of his life to a very vital part of that life, without consciously choosing that development. He gave a short laugh. “I don't know,” he admitted. “That's hard to think about.”

Dr. Hillwater smiled supportively, no condescension in her expression at all. “Sometimes it's easier to consider aspects of our life as things that happen to us, rather than what we consciously choose. Last time we met, I asked you whether you had considered changing careers, and you spoke very deliberately about that not being an option you wanted to consider.” She flipped through the notepad on her lap, skimming what was written there. “You were also clear that while your parents have influenced your work ethic, you don't blame them for what you perceive as an unhealthy obsession with task completion. You take responsibility for that yourself.” She set the notepad and pen on her lap and fixed him with a thoughtful stare. “You've decided on your career and even what you perceive to be your flaws, but you don't seem to have decided anything about Matthew. You've chosen neither to be with him nor to leave him. Does that seem accurate?”

Silas hadn't looked at his relationship that way before, but he was nodding already. That made a lot of sense. “Yes, I can see that.” He reviewed the relationship as though from the outside, noticing its development, how every stage—including referring to them as boyfriends—had happened accidentally, without conscious thought on his part. Maybe on either of their parts. “So you're saying I have to choose.”

“I'm not saying you have to do anything.” She held her hands palm up. “I'm asking you what your choice would be, if you were asked to make a choice.”

This didn't feel as hypothetical as Dr. Hillwater presented it, but Silas felt all right engaging the dilemma. By not calling Matthew back, he was indirectly avoiding choosing again. He had been allowing the relationship to happen to him rather than be an active participant. If he were to say he wanted to be with Matthew, that would mean actively choosing this man, for better or worse, the good with the bad. It would mean opening himself up to the vulnerability of a relationship, to sharing himself with a person as flawed and complex as he was. But it would also mean having Matthew to rely on, his tender compassion, his reassurances, his warm laughter, his passionate kisses, his wild enthusiasm, his innate ability to teach and nurture and excite.

“I'd choose him,” Silas said carefully, trying out the words in his mouth, the way it sounded and felt to make a clear decision. “I would choose to be with him rather than apart from him.”

Dr. Hillwater nodded again, her full attention focused on him, as it always was during these sessions. “How does that decision make you feel?”

“Scared.” Silas exhaled, rubbing his palms on the leather armrests again. “Exhilarated. Anxious. All those things.” His heart was racing like he'd been running, or like the first time Matthew pressed him up against the wall of the coatroom at Gigi's and kissed him like they were never going to stop.

“Choosing can be a frightening experience.” Dr. Hillwater crossed her legs at the ankle. “It's also empowering. You can move forward in many different ways from here, but I'd like to challenge you to be deliberate about choosing your next steps, rather than just letting them happen to you. Does that feel like a fair challenge?”

Silas nodded. He still felt the adrenaline rush of opting in to whatever he had with Matthew, and having done so, couldn't imagine not acting on that decision.

Dr. Hillwater flipped to a new page in her notepad. “Now, I'd love to talk about your experiences with anxiety this week.”

---

After the therapy session,
Silas went to the nearby deli where he and Elliot had agreed to meet. He was early, so he ordered his sandwich and chose a window booth, feeling a mixture of emotions brought on by his time with Dr. Hillwater and this upcoming meeting. He had a lot of lingering feelings of resentment toward Elliot that he was trying to work through, feelings that he might bring up during his next therapy session, but this lunch meeting was probably a good start. There was always the possibility that Elliot had ulterior motives with this lunch, calling him to a neutral space to let him know that they wouldn't need him back at Wayscorp. Silas had read and reread Elliot's email yesterday combing it for tone clues, but had come up with nothing to indicate this was anything other than a friendly check-in. Still, Silas was a little nervous as he waited for the other man to arrive.

Elliot was easy to spot, his large frame filling the main entrance, and he smiled in greeting when he spotted Silas. “Did you order already?” he asked, coming up to the table and shaking Silas's hand.

“Hello, Elliot. Yes, they're making it now.” He nodded to the counter.

When Elliot rejoined him after ordering, sliding into the wooden booth, he carried a tension in his frame that gave Silas a knot in his stomach even as he told himself to keep calm and relaxed. “So,” Elliot said, rubbing his palms together. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

Silas almost said something snarky like, “It's not like I have anything better to do,” but he was trying to be less negative, and so he just nodded. “No problem. How are you?”

“I'm good, good.” Elliot nodded. “How about you? How are you . . . doing?” The pause felt awkward. What had he been thinking of saying? Silas wondered. Holding up? Managing? Surviving? He felt some compassion for Elliot's position, having had to put him on leave. It must not have been an easy or comfortable decision to make.

“I'm doing better, actually,” Silas answered. If he set the issues with Matthew aside and looked instead at his mental health otherwise, he had been improving. “I started seeing a therapist. Dr. Nancy Hillwater. I've seen her twice, and it's been very helpful.”

Elliot visibly relaxed. “Good, good. That's really a big step, Silas. No shame in it, either.”

Silas tried not to bristle. “No, I'm not ashamed at all. Mental health care is just as important as physical.”

Elliot nodded. “I agree. After my divorce, I started seeing a therapist, Dr. Castillo, and he helped me work through a lot of things.”

He hadn't expected Elliot to open up like that, and the honesty made him relax. “Thank you for sharing that,” he said, meaning it. “How are things at Wayscorp?”

Elliot shrugged. “Somewhat the same. We've divided up your work temporarily, and you know, it makes things a bit slower going, but we're making do. Looking forward to having you back, though.”

Silas felt a palpable sense of relief, all the tension leaving his body at once as he sagged a bit in the booth. “Thank you. I'm looking forward to coming back.”

They paused as both sandwiches were delivered, multilayered beasts with piles of meat and all the fixings. It's what this deli was known for. “Christ, that is a beautiful thing,” Elliot said reverently.

Silas smiled. “I know, right? This is so big, it should have its own zip code.”

“You're a pastrami man, too?” Elliot looked over at Silas's sandwich with a nod of respect. “I wouldn't have guessed.”

Silas looked down at his sandwich as well, a New York–style pastrami on rye, which was nearly identical to Elliot's. “You can't beat it. I'd like to have a real one from New York someday.”

“I love New York.” Elliot looked up from his sandwich. “Katz's Delicatessen, buddy. It's all about Katz's. It's a bit of a trek from downtown and pricey as hell, but totally worth it. That's an experience everybody should have. You ever been to New York?”

Silas shook his head. “I used to live up in Massachusetts when I was at MIT, but I never made it down to the city. I'm not a huge fan of cities. Boston was about all I could handle, but I suppose everybody should visit New York at some point.”

“True.” Elliot nodded. “I lived in New York for a few years after graduate school.”

“Why'd you move down here?” Silas asked. So few people were born in Florida like he was; most were transplants. He finally started in on his sandwich, which was delicious, a perfect blend of salty pastrami, tangy yellow mustard, and the earthy richness of fresh rye bread.

Elliot finished chewing his own mouthful to answer. “My parents retired down here, and my wife and I moved down to take care of them when they started getting older. Got the job at Wayscorp, and I liked it a lot, so I stayed even after we ended things.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I sure don't miss the New York traffic, but I do miss the food sometimes. This sandwich is pretty good, though. So, how have you been filling your time, if you don't mind me asking?” Elliot switched from his sandwich to the chips.

“A few different things,” Silas said, not sure how to describe the mishmash of activities of the past week and a half. Elliot looked like he wanted more info, but Silas wasn't sure what to tell him. Despite the hostility he'd felt for Elliot when he'd first told Silas about the forced leave, he could see the real reason for this meeting had to do with Elliot's guilt, or maybe he'd been put up to it by their boss and the guilt was just a side effect. Regardless, he didn't want Elliot feeling terrible about what had ultimately been a smart decision.

“Listen.” Silas set the sandwich down. “I know it wasn't easy to do what you did, putting me on leave like that. I'm not saying I was happy about it, but I understand why you did it, and I don't hold any grudges against you. I wasn't myself there, and I think this time away will be good for me. It already has been.” He watched Elliot's face as a measure of relief washed over it.

Elliot cleared his throat, taking a gulp of soda. “Thanks, man, that means a lot to hear you say that,” he said. “You're right. It wasn't easy. I'm glad it's been helpful. And thank you for agreeing to meet with me today. I know I'm not your favorite person right now.”