“Nope.”
“Shit,” Mark mutters.
Shit is right. My friends are happy, falling in love, living life, and I’m miserable and breaking apart.
“Do you want me to turn around and come get you?” He asks.
I groan. “Don’t even think about it. I swear if I see your face before Tuesday, I’ll slap it.”
Mark and Hal are finally an official couple. They’re spending the long weekend together at a cabin that Hal’s family owns. Apparently, there’s a hot tub. Even in my messed-up state, I’m not about to ruin a weekend that includes a hot tub for my best friend.
“Are you sure?” He whispers into the phone. I can just picture him, sitting in the passenger seat of Hal’s SUV with his hand cupped over the phone. “You know that I will. You and I—we’re the home team. Everyone else is playing on the guest side.”
That makes me smile. “Yes, I’m sure. Now go and enjoy yourself, and don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do.” I pause. “Or maybe I should rephrase that. Do everything that I wouldn’t do.”
Mark chuckles. “Tomorrow I’ll call and check on you, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Love ya, chica.”
“You too.”
After hanging up with Mark, I lay in my bed for a long time. The house is eerily quiet and I wonder what it will feel like tonight when no one is here. I realize that I’ve never slept here alone. In fact, now my brain is moving that way, I’m not sure that I’ve slept anywhere alone. How weird is that? And I think I saw online that it’s supposed to storm this weekend. Great.
“It was a dark and stormy night,” I mumble to myself.
“Talking to yourself?”
I lift my head and see Ben, standing the doorway to my bedroom. He’s got his hair pulled back and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. There’s another bag clutched in his hand.
“Yeah, I guess.” I try to shake away my funk. “Are you headed home?”
“I am.” He steps closer and frown lines appear on his forehead. “What’s wrong Ellie?”
“Uh, it’s nothing,” I say.
“I don’t believe you.”
I squeeze my eyes hard so that the tears won’t come and hold up the letter. I feel Ben take it from my fingers. When he’s done reading, he sits down next to me on my bed. I think that he’s going to feed me some line about things working out for the best, and fate, and all that crap, but he doesn’t.
“Well, that sucks,” he says evenly.
It’s so unexpected that I choke out a laugh. “Fuck yeah, it does.”
After about a minute of silence, Ben asks, “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing,” I grumble. “Sleeping in bed. Wallowing.”
“Not true.” He’s talking like he knows something that I don’t.
I open one eye so that I can see his face. He’s studying me like he’s looking for something. Suddenly, I’m aware that I’m a disaster. I’m wearing the yoga pants with the bleach splatters on the legs, and my hair is sticking up in the back, and my makeup’s been smudged away from wiping my eyes.
“Oh? What am I doing this weekend?” I croak.
Ben stands up and takes my hand with him so that I’m forced into a sitting position.
“You’re coming home with me,” he states as if I go home with him every day. As if that’s not the strangest idea in the history of the world.
I look at him. I mean, really look at him. And even though he’s not wearing the mask anymore, he’s still changed. Like he’s not quite there. I think that he looks the way that I feel—raw.
“You’re coming home with me,” he repeats, his voice dropping off at the end.
“Aren’t you flying?”
He shakes his head. “No. Since we have four days off, I decided to drive. That way, I can have my car to get around Asheville.”
“Oh,” I say, considering this. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.
Ben bumps his foot against the bed frame. “So…?”
“Why?” I ask because I can’t help it. Sure, there’s a part of me that’s practically giddy that Ben wants me to spend the entire weekend with him. But, there’s this other part of me that can’t stand to be the recipient of his pity. If he tells me that I should make the trip so that he doesn’t have to worry about me, I’ll probably die right here on my bed.
But, Ben doesn’t tell me that he feels sorry for me. He looks directly at me and says, “Because I want you to.”
Want.
That’s enough to convince me.
One hour into the drive and we haven’t said a single word to each other. We’ve passed a hundred thousand billboards. They’re mainly for personal injury attorneys or Jesus.
Ben is keeping beat to the music by tapping his index fingers on the steering wheel lightly. I’m systematically picking the red and purple Skittles out of a bag and popping them in my mouth one by one. Even with the music in the background, the silence feels epic. This is weird.
“This is weird,” I say, flicking my nails against the skin of my wrist.
Ben looks at me sideways. He’s biting the inside of his bottom lip. “You’re right,” he agrees. “This is weird.”
I laugh, enjoying the wave of relief that crashes over me. At least I’m not the only one thinking it.
Ben grins crookedly and I catch a glimpse of the dimple. His hair is still back in the ponytail but a few strands have come loose and are falling down over his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and the dark growth only makes his square jaw seem squarer.
I grin back.
“How can we un-weird the situation?” He asks me finally.
I crinkle my nose. “Un-weird?”
“You know what I mean,” he says, letting his head drift back toward the headrest.
I sigh. “I guess that I do know what you mean. But I have no idea what to do about it.”
“Well, that makes two of us,” he says.
I let that digest as I take a red Skittle out of the bag and put it gingerly in my mouth. “Do you think that your mom will mind that I’m with you?”
His eyebrows pull together. “Why would my mom mind?”
I shift, shrugging lightly. “I don’t know. I guess I just wonder if it will seem strange—some random girl showing up with you for the weekend.”
Ben’s voice is soft. “You’re not random, Ellie.”
I feel a little dizzy. My heart is acting funny—rattling against my breastbone. “I’m not?”
He nods. He doesn’t look over, but it’s like I can feel his brown eyes on me anyway. I shiver.
“If you remember correctly, it was my mom that told me to go back to school early over Thanksgiving break, so she knows how I feel—” He closes his eyes quickly. “How I felt about you.”
I do remember Thanksgiving break, and the park, and everything that came after.
“Oh,” I say softly.
Things get awfully quiet for a few minutes.
When I can no longer stand it, I say, “So what’s the deal with all the religious billboards?”
Ben looks out the window as we pass another massive billboard. In this one, a likeness of Jesus is standing with his arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture. It screams in glaring yellow font: Before it’s too late.
“I have no idea, but there does seem to be an abundance of them,” he says and laughs appreciatively.
“I’m curious to know if there’s any evidence of anyone converting while driving down the highway.”
“They should have churches combined with the rest stops, just in case,” he offers. “For the folk.”
“Folk?” I fish.
“Yeah. You know… the folk. Everyday people.”
“Ahhh, everyday people.” Like that explains it.
“A butcher, a banker, a drummer…”
I smile, recognizing the song lyrics. I roll my hands. “And so on, and so on, and scooby dooby dooby.”
Ben laughs. “Exactly.”
/>
“Are we everyday people?”
“Well,” he says leaning over the console to reach into the bag of Skittles. His hand brushes against mine and it’s like being zinged by a socket. “We’re obviously too weird to be average folk. You only like the red and purple Skittles and I only like the orange and yellow ones.”
I glance at the bag. “What about the greens ones?”
Ben’s mouth quirks. “Different strokes for different folks.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bacon is Breakfast Candy
You would think that showing up at Ben’s house at nearly one in the morning, and having his mom greet us by the front door while wrapped in a massive bright purple bathrobe with fuzzy slippers on her feet might be awkward.
You would be right.
Lisa Hamilton is a shorter, softer version of her son. Same gold and brown eyes and dark lashes under straight eyebrows. Same narrow nose. Same crooked smile. Same epic dimple.
After a hasty and hushed introduction so that we don’t wake any of Ben’s younger brothers, I follow Lisa up a steep flight of creaking stairs bordered by a curling wooden banister. Floral wallpaper that’s about ten years past its prime is stretched over the bottom half of the wall.
Lisa turns right at a braided wool rug that graces the upstairs landing. She enters the second door and flips a switch as she rounds the doorframe. It takes a moment for my eyes adjust to the overhead light. It’s a small room with one window facing east. A room, which I very quickly realize, is Ben’s childhood bedroom.
A double bed covered in a thin burgundy quilt dominates the space. Next to it is a small painted table stacked with dog-eared paperbacks, a brass-plated lamp, and a small analog clock that’s shaped like a human head. The clock face is where the mouth should be.
The wall on the far side of the room is covered in posters of bands that I’ve never heard of. Some of the posters look vintage—browning and dingy in the corners with retro designs in a myriad of muted colors. There’s a bulletin board suspended on the wall over a dark-stained oak desk. It’s dotted with snapshots and musical programs and old concert tickets.
Still gripping the handle of my powder blue rolling suitcase, hoping that I won’t tip over, I turn my head and look at Lisa. “I—uh—I…”
She blinks at me. Then something registers and she smiles purposefully. “Benjamin is taking the rec room downstairs. There’s an old pullout down there.” She walks over to a small trunk under the window and pulls out a folded blanket and sets it at the foot of the bed. “He thought you’d be more comfortable up here where there’s central heat and a mattress that doesn’t dip all the way to the floor. I have to agree with him.”
This triggers something inside of me. Ben shouldn’t be sleeping on some crappy couch while I’m up in his room. How wrong is that? This is his house.
I take a step toward the door, rolling my suitcase on two wheels behind me. “Mrs. Hamilton—”
“Lisa,” she corrects me.
“Lisa,” I say. “This is ridiculous. Honestly, I don’t mind using the couch downstairs instead. Ben should sleep in his own room.” I take a breath. “He didn’t even have to bring me along, and now his visit home is going to be ruined.”
Keeping her eyes on me, Lisa crosses to the door. “Sweetie, if you think that sleeping on a pull-out for a few nights so that a pretty girl can be more comfortable is going to ruin Ben’s weekend, then you don’t know my son as well as I thought you did.”
I flush. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She allows me a few seconds to digest that then continues in a very business-like tone. “The bathroom is just down the hall. It’s the first door past the stairs. Towels are in the linen closet. Now, try to keep in mind that it takes a few minutes for the water to heat up this time of year. You know how old houses are. Convenience takes a backseat to character and charm.”
I nod.
“Good, then we’ll get acquainted more in the morning.” She dips her hands into the deep pockets of her robe and lifts her shoulders. “Get some rest. There’s another blanket in that trunk over there if you get chilly.”
“Okay.” It’s late, or early depending on how you look at things, and the day and the drive are finally catching up to me. I yawn and place both hands flat on the bed. “Goodnight Lisa. And thank you.”
Just as the door is about to close, she pops her head back in and smiles at me. “Ellie, I’m glad that Ben brought you home so that I finally get the chance to meet you.”
Awhile later, lying in bed and looking at the night sky through the window, I let thoughts of Ben swirl around in my head. In this room, he’s everywhere. In the music pasted on the walls and tacked to the bulletin board, and in the book choices left next to his bed. The smell of him lingers on the handful of shirts hanging in the closet, and in the sheets of this bed. I roll over, relishing the tiny thrill of the fabric sliding against my bare legs.
I lay my palm against the skin of my stomach. Disappointment over my rejection from Columbia, and confusion over Ben are gradually burning away to something else. Something new that tastes a little like hope. I let the feeling tease me to sleep.
If it weren’t for bacon, I’d still be dreaming. Even buried under the quilt and the extra blanket, with my head stuffed into the pillow, I can smell it.
My stomach rumbles, protesting that I only fed it a meager dinner of gas station snacks topped off with some red and purple Skittles last night.
Groggy, keeping my eyes half-shut, I grope around my open suitcase for a sweatshirt and a pair of socks. I stumble into the hall and listen to the murmured conversation that drifts up the stairwell. The volume of voices increases as I trip down the stairs, using my nose to follow the heavenly scent of bacon.
In a kitchen lit by morning sun, Lisa is standing at the stove. I can tell by the way that she moves with surety, that this is her domain. She adjusts the control knob on the stovetop and turns in my direction. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail. Loose brown strands fall haphazardly in front of her eyes. The robe is gone—traded in for a simple blouse and a pair of worn jeans held up by a brown corded leather belt.
Ben is standing at the counter next to her, pouring a cup of coffee into an oversized mug. He smiles when he sees me walk into the room. That small gesture warms me all the way from my head to my socked feet. I wasn’t really sure what to expect this morning. I half-wondered if Ben would regret his decision to bring me home.
On the far side of a blue-tiled kitchen island, is a set of large bay of windows that overlooks the backyard. In front of the windows, there is an oblong table topped with a basket of fake flowers in an array of autumnal colors—red, wine, and deep purple. All four of Ben’s younger brothers are around the table, eating and talking loudly. The smallest one is up on his feet reaching for the salt shaker. He’s wearing a dark blue baseball hat.
I’ve seen pictures of these brothers in Ben’s room back at school, so I already know that the Hamilton boys look eerily similar, but I still have to laugh when they look up in unison. All of the boys have matching faces and dark hair. Ben smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Ridiculous, right?” He whispers as he comes up beside me.
After a quick hug that takes me by surprise, Lisa hands me a ceramic plate piled with scrambled eggs, a croissant and three strips of bacon, and ushers me toward the table.
Ben gestures to an open chair and I sit. Introductions are handed out. I nod to each of the brothers. Asher, Logan, Blake and Kyle.
Asher, second oldest, leans over and shakes my hand. He’s seventeen, a senior in high school, and clearly the cockiest of the group. I get the distinct impression that Asher is accustomed to having girls throw themselves at his feet on a regular basis.
“I’m varsity,” he informs me with a flirty wink. “For both lacrosse and baseball.”
I nod my head and hope that I’m maintaining a distinctly impressed expression.
“I’m
sure that Ellie doesn’t care what sports you play Ash,” Ben says grittily. He sits down in the seat next to me.
Asher flicks a challenging look at his older brother. “I think maybe she does.”
They both look at me. I school my features to be non-committal and shove a piece of bacon in my mouth.
Ben lowers his shoulders and clears his throat. “Asher, just stick with high school girls to flirt with, okay? Trying to charm Ellie is just pathetic.”
“Jealous much?” Asher puts down his fork. “Anyway, you already told me that she’s not your girlfriend anymore, so what do you care if I flirt with her? Unless you want her to be your girlfriend…”
Logan, fifteen and not quite filled out yet, looks ready to choke on his bacon. Ben narrows his eyes at his brother as he stirs sugar into his coffee. Asher responds by stretching his arms back over his head so that we all catch a glimpse of his muscled stomach.
“Asher…” Lisa says with that particular mom tone.
“What?” Asher complains. “I’m just getting things straight!”
Lisa sets her lips into a thin line and urges the boys to finish up. Unlike Ben and me, they’ve all got school today.
“Enough, Asher.”
“Fine,” he mumbles. “But whenever she’s interested, I’ll be here.”
When Lisa goes upstairs to get her purse and keys, I lean toward Asher. “You do know that I can hear you, right? I’m sitting two feet away from you.”
Ben chuckles.
“What?” Asher shrugs. “I just wanted to make it clear that this Hamilton brother is available if you’re inclined.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” I say.
Five minutes later, Ben and I have successfully convinced his mother to let us clean up the dishes. She cradles a pile of papers against her chest and pushes the boys toward the door.
“Just so you know,” Kyle, the youngest, says to me as he rounds the corner to the front hall. “I play basketball.”
Blake, thirteen and clearly just getting out of the awkward acne phase slaps Kyle over the head.
“Dude. What was that for?” Kyle picks up his hat from the floor and readjusts the strap of his backpack.