14. Enemies & Other Lovers

Turns out Matt* is his real name, but I can’t stop staring at the photo of him next to the Christmas tree.

January 2022

After school, Amy and Henry go straight for their laptops. Henry is parked in his spot on the big couch watching a video of his favorite YouTuber throwing things into an industrial strength shredder: paint cans, scissors, legos – whatever he could find around the house. It looks ridiculous until I remember the guy is worth $20 million dollars.

Amy is sitting on the bar stool’s faux black leather seat, feet tucked up under her, at the far end of the kitchen island. She’s got a determined look in her eye, but her slumped shoulders tell me she’s not one hundred percent sure her plan to verify Matt’s identity is going to work. I know she wants so badly to control the situation, but there’s only so much she can do with such limited information.

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I’ve been noticing it’s harder for me to manage my emotions. Before I even realize what’s happening, I feel rage exploding to the surface. I just sat down at my laptop, plan at the ready, but now all I can think is, “Fucking Matt, if that’s even his real name. How dare he fuck with me!” Henry is on the couch behind me, so I can’t lose my cool. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

All I can think is that the only reason someone uses a Google Voice number is to hide their identity, and the only reason they want to hide their identity is because they want to fuck with someone. We’ll see about that, asshole.

My internal bravado is masking some serious doubts about my ability to figure out who “Matt” really is. He hasn’t given me any identifying information, unless I can match his dick pics to a porn site. Ha ha Amy, you’re hilarious….

Then I remember I took a couple of screenshots of Matt’s profile pictures to send to a friend. Ugh, now I wish I hadn’t sent them. Still, they may serve a purpose. It’s a long shot, but there’s a background checking website that focuses on catfishing. It has a photo lookup option similar to what Google offers, but for a couple of dollars, it can do an advanced search.

It’s not NSA level facial recognition software, but it’s worth a try, right? For a moment I wonder if I am losing my mind. What am I doing? Am I going too far to invade this man’s privacy? How do I know he’s not who he says he is? Am I being paranoid?

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Amy is definitely acting paranoid, but I sort of understand. She thinks of herself as a badass, and she is, but right now she’s also vulnerable. I know my cancer diagnosis and my death made her realize how little control she has outside of herself. I wish I would have understood that earlier – that control is just an illusion.

I’m looking over her shoulder, and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing on the screen. There’s an exact match for one of Matt’s profile photos. He’s fully clothed in this one, wearing gray dress pants and a crisp white button down shirt. It’s either Brooks Brothers or another high end brand. 

There’s nothing remarkable about the photo, it’s just a handsome guy standing in front of a fireplace, a tall, decked-out Christmas tree to his left. I take a closer look, and then I see it – the photo appeared in a magazine article about… his wife.

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Turns out Matt is his real name, but I can’t stop staring at the photo of him in front of the Christmas tree. It’s no longer a profile photo in a dating app “for the curious”, now it’s in a national magazine. The photo was taken a year ago at his house in a suburb of New York where he lives with his wife and three children.

The article isn’t about him, it’s about his wife and her company. She is a very successful business woman, and he is a stay at home dad to their daughter and twin boys. 

I cannot help myself, I Google both of them. Of course there’s a lot more information about her, but I do find his very public Facebook page. There has to be something wrong with him, maybe he’s an addict? Why else take these stupid risks? Then it dawns on me, and I think about my own risky behavior.  

I decide it doesn’t matter why he’s cheating on his wife, I know he’s going to get caught eventually. I think about him losing it all, his home, his kids, his family, his life as he knows it. I know my world imploded when Steven died, and I would never wish that on anyone. 

The anger drains from my body, and all I feel is sadness for those little kids who are going to lose their daddy. I feel like everything is spinning out of control. I told Matt that I was a widow, he knows Henry will grow up without his father. Doesn’t he understand his kids don’t have to go through the same heartache? What can I do to stop this from happening? 

Later that night, after Henry falls asleep, I text Matt:

I know who you are. Stop being an idiot and make your Facebook account private. Right now any random person can see and comment on your posts. I would NEVER do that. You got lucky that I'm a mom first, and my desire to protect your family, especially your innocent kids, is more important than any anger or bad feelings I have towards you. I think my heart is more broken for my son who doesn’t get to grow up with a dad. I’ve already lost everything, but you don’t have to.

I know I’ll never hear from him again. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if he reads my message it won’t change anything. People do not understand what it means to lose their person until it happens to them. I certainly never could have imagined. I feel like an idiot, but at least I tried to help his children.

It’s late, and I’m exhausted. Post adrenaline rush, my eyelids heavy with sleep, I reach to turn off my bedside lamp. That’s when I hear my phone vibrate; I have a new iMessage:

You’re right. Thank you. I am getting help. My family is everything to me.

It could have ended there. It probably should have… but it didn’t. I wasn’t interested in a future with Matt, even if he had been single. I recognized he was dissociating from pain just like I was, but I still never would have predicted what happened between us next.

* Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved.