It's Definitely Not All Mary Poppins

A Very Old-Fashioned Idea, To My Mind (1)

Their waiter was a delight – friendly and understanding and kind. The restaurant – an Olive Garden – was quiet but not empty. The food came out punctually and hot despite issues in the kitchen. It was too far away from the forest preserve, which meant no easy escape for Matthew if he decided this night was spiraling. Which it was.

Matthew could barely open his mouth, much to his own relief. Much to his own chagrin, because when he did speak, he droned on and on about Lloyd, how much he loved his work. He knew he should stop. Out of some sheer anxiety of being caught, Matthew felt the need to overcompensate.

"I'm so sorry," he stammered, hand trembling as he shuffled his pasta back and forth on his plate. He regretted ordering pasta; it sat so heavy in his stomach that it made him nauseous to even think about, turning sickly in his chest. "I jus – I'm at a weird point – "

"I know," Edward sighed, his patience obviously wearing thin.

"No, Mr. Reyes, I – "

"It's Eddie," he said. It was through his teeth, forced and hard.

Matthew shuddered. He glanced away.

Edward sighed. His elbows impacting the table as he drew in another breath, he asked, "Would it help if you talked it all out? My friend's a therapist, and he tells me that, sometimes, when you're anxious – like, really anxious – you talk it out."

Lifting his gaze, Matthew cocked his head to the side.

"No, he called it something else. Uh..." Edward's fingers tapped against the edge of the table, causing ripples in both their drinks. "Talking it dead, I think."

Still, Matthew gave him a skeptical look.

"Don't look at me like that," he said, his easy smile returning. "It's exactly what it sounds like. Talking about something until you don't know any other words to use to explain it. Till you've said everything you want to, and the words are gone, and then you can be quiet again."

Matthew straightened up. He snarled his lips in discomfort. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just anxious, and – "

"Then talk it dead."

"I get the intention, Mr. Reyes, but I don't – "

"I don't like that you do that."

Matthew blinked. He frowned, glancing away again.

Edward sat forward, his eyes sad and his lips turned down. "Sorry, but I just – I don't like feeling...dismissed, I guess. I'm not 'Mr. Reyes'. Literally, never been 'Mr. Reyes'. Even at work, I'm 'Eddie'. I appreciate the formality, but we're not strangers, at least I don't think we are." He paused, watching Matthew's reaction. Gauging Matthew's reaction. "I-I invited you out because I – I don't know, how many people get to almost be stabbed in the grocery store by someone cute? And I invited you out because I – okay, I did ask you out, but I was more than happy to keep it casual with this not-date after your friend stole your phone and messaged me. And I know that's probably not what you want to hear but I don't..." Edward glanced up. "Ugh, I'm just irritated by you. I don't know what I was expecting from this. I just kept reading your responses about childcare in the modern world and thinking of how much of a creep I was but also, just, remembering how badly I wanted to talk to you more but by God, I'm so tired of feeling like I'm inconveniencing you by asking you to come out with me. You didn't have to come. You could technically walk back to wherever you're living now and just leave this at that, but you're still here and I'm just – "

"I'm sorry."

"I don't even care, I just want you to tell me why."

Matthew scoffed, offering a smile that fell immediately. "Honestly, I don't want to. I-I don't want to feel like I'm burdening you."

"You are by not talking," Edward sighed. "Just because you keep it to yourself doesn't mean you're not making other people miserable. Like, I just...I feel like I'm wasting your time right now, because you obviously don't want to be out with me – you want to be wallowing alone, and I don't – " He grunted. "I don't know what to do."

His skin prickled, but Matthew settled into it, uncertain and wavering. He sat forward, clasping his hands on the table, considering the offer carefully. "...talk it dead?"

Edward shook his head. "Talk it dead. Only if you want to."

"Doesn't really feel like I'm given the choice."

"You're the one who decides if you want to do it or not," Edward pointed out. "I see the benefit of it, but if you don't...then that's that."

Matthew shuffled his pasta around his plate for a few more moments before putting his fork down. "I feel sick."

"Shouldn't of ordered Alfredo," Edward answered on cue, smirking. The glint in his green eyes was returning. He wiped it away a second later with a quiet, "Misplaced. Sorry. Continue."

Groaning Matthew pressed his hand to his forehead and sat forward. "I'm in this...annoying state of, constant anxiety, that I'm going to lose my job, even though my boss said that as soon as I'm fully healed, mentally and physically, I can, just, come back. How fucked up is that, that I don't believe him?" He paused, gauging Edward's reaction.