The One I'm With

by Jamie Bennett

  Brooks walked me past the tree and into the little sun porch off the living room. No, this had to be repeated: Brooks walked me past the tree with his arm around me. Like, our bodies touching, our hips bumping. But then he let go, to slide the glass doors to the porch closed, separating us from the party.

  “Are you limping?” he asked, sounding concerned. “Did you hurt yourself when you caught that kid?”

  “Wait, you believe that I caught him? That I didn’t trip him, or something?”

  He looked puzzled. “You just explained it. It sounds like you prevented him from breaking a bone. Here, sit down.”

  I did, on the couch facing the dark back yard, and Brooks sat down next to me. “What’s wrong? Where’s the injury?” he asked.

  “Something…my ankle,” I mumbled again. It was a small couch. He was very close.

  Brooks reached down and I felt his fingers softly touch my leg. “It feels swollen,” he commented.

  No, it felt amazing. “It’s good,” I said dreamily. His fingers rubbed gently, then stopped.

  “Besides saving small children from stage dives, what else have you been doing?” he asked.

  “I moved. Temporarily, back into the main house. My mom decided to redo the guest house and I’m looking for my own place now.” There was no need to mention that she was kicking me out; better to sound like I was making a planned and gracious exit.

  “That’s exciting.”

  No, living with my mom and Kristian was somewhat of a nightmare. They were…loud. “Sure, yeah. It’s fun to live with my mom and her child-husband. Tell me about this new investor you came back out here to cozy up to,” I said.

  He had a funny look on his face. “Well…”

  All of a sudden, the noise level swelled in the house behind us. Laughter, loud voices, even a champagne cork popping. “Oh. My mom is here,” I told him. She kind of brought the party with her. “She and Kristian drove over in his new Scemo.”

  “Is that the little Italian car that goes over two hundred miles per hour? Those are street-legal in California?”

  “Yes, I believe so. My mom just gave it to him for Christmas. She thought he would get a lot of use out of it in our neighborhood where the top speed is thirty.”

  The glass door slid open. “Brooks! Your mother told me you were out here.” My mom swept over and Brooks stood and I slowly got up too. She kissed him on both cheeks and kept her hands on his shoulders. “Are you telling Lanie?”

  “Telling me what?” I asked cautiously.

  “Our good news.” She waited a dramatic moment then announced, “I’m Brooks’ newest investor! I called him after I saw him at my party, and he gave me his pitch. I was very impressed, and I’m in.” My mom smiled at me now, too, then gestured with her finger: stand up straight.

  I did. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I asked her.

  “Oh, Lanie, you know I never discuss business with you. You’ve never been interested in how things really work.”

  “It’s not that I’m not interested—”

  “Brooks, come out of this dark room and explain your concept to my husband, Kristian. He’s very excited about your ideas. He has such a quick mind. Lanie,” she said to me, nodding at the door, and I followed as she led Brooks back out of our cozy spot together and into the party.

  An hour and another drink later, I was back on the sun porch, my leg up on the couch. My ankle was throbbing and I was exhausted. It had been a long week at school, a lot of very busy days as we wrapped up the year and prepped for the big Expo. I’d had no idea, when I was a student at Starhurst, how much work went in behind the scenes to pull off all the performances. And I’d had a lot of trouble with Felix, too, which was draining. As things got more chaotic in the classroom and our regular routines changed to accommodate the show and the rehearsals, he acted out more and more. I rested my head on the cushion, not worrying about my hair anymore.

  I could hear my mom’s laugh through the glass door that I had quietly slid closed. The idea that she was involved with Brooks—no, not involved, that wasn’t the right word, I told myself, as absolute fury suddenly swamped me. What was the matter with me? Why would this make me angry? It was excellent news. He would come out here, now, and I would get to see him more, probably.

  The door slid open and Brooks looked in. “This is a good spot to get away,” he commented. “Zara’s husband just got into his belligerent phase of drunk and I’m going to let Scarlett’s fiancé handle him this time. Like an unofficial welcome to the family. Can I join you out here?”

  “It’s your house,” I said, and it sounded a little surly. I moved my leg off the couch.

  “It’s my mom’s house,” he corrected. “I’ll need to find somewhere to live, too.”

  “So it’s definite? You’re for sure coming back to California?”

  “We’re still working out the details, but yes, things look positive,” he said carefully. “I’m planning the move now.”

  I swallowed. He was coming home.

  Brooks sat next to me. “I haven’t told else besides you, but the company I work for in New York is heading for bankruptcy. It’s over, there. The writing has been on the wall for months, and they let me go last week. I had to find something new.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I hope it works out for you here, with my mom.”

  “I didn’t want to mention it until it seemed more settled. I guess your mom thinks that it is.” He was looking at our reflections in the windows to the pitch-black yard. “How’s the ankle?”

  “I’m ok.”

  He laughed a little. “I remember you saying that before, when you dislocated your shoulder when we were skiing in Idaho. We made it all the way to the bottom of the mountain before I noticed the partially frozen tears running down your face.” He picked up my legs and swung them onto his lap and a flash of heat ran through me. All the way to my…nether regions. I swallowed. “This is more swollen than it was earlier,” he noted, touching me gently again. “I’m no doctor, but maybe standing for hours in these shoes didn’t help it heal.”

  “Maybe,” I conceded. “But as you said, your expertise lies elsewhere.” Like making women feel like they would do anything for him, including the senior girl who “prom-posaled” him when he was only a freshman by running naked through a Starhurst baseball game with the words “Brooks Wolfe, PROM?” written in marker on her back. I understood her completely. His hand was resting on my legs, his fingers gently gripping, and I was practically panting, just from that.

  He leaned down closer to look at my shin. “Did you get this bruise at the same time?”

  “What?” I was in a little bit of a haze. I felt his thigh muscles clench as he had moved. “Oh, no, that’s from another student. Fel—I mean, the little boy I mentioned to you before, whose mother is such an asshole. He had a difficult week.”

  “What does that mean? He took his problems out on your shins? What was his punishment?”

  “We don’t talk about ‘punishments,’” I explained. “We talk about ‘proactive models’ and ‘effective learning environments.’ In other words, I tried to demonstrate that kicking the crap out of my leg was not a good way to express his anger and I talked to him about other ways to convey his feelings. He had to tell me he was sorry.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I could have sent him to talk to the head of the lower school, my boss, but that makes me look like I’m not successful at classroom management. Meaning that I can’t keep them in line by myself. At least my aide didn’t see him do it.” Which led to me having to explain the Mrs. Rosse situation.

  “You’re afraid of your aide?” Brooks asked.

  “No! I’m not afraid of her.” Yes, I was afraid of her. “I just need to be careful. I have to show everyone there how competent I am. This is only my second year and I already have a major issue with one of the families, and the mom is an alum. You know how they value the alumni.”

  “Especially if we’re
big donors.” He ran his hand down my shin. Did he know what that could do to a woman? “I’m tired.”

  “Me too.”

  He patted my leg. “But I’m glad to be back home. For good.”

  “Me too,” I repeated, and I meant that with every bit of my heart.

  That night, lying in bed and thinking about him, I put Brooks back into my list of contacts on my phone. Just in case.

  Chapter 5

  Ava tapped her foot with a tiny movement, click click click. It was the only outward sign that she was upset, because I thought she had something done to her forehead, preventative measures against wrinkles. She didn’t do the tiny line there anymore. “What do you mean that it can’t be done?” she demanded.

  “I mean, we don’t have the tile,” the contractor explained for the 40th time. “We can’t lay tile that we don’t have. It’s backordered.”

  “What about that tile?” Ava asked, pointing (again) to the boxes of bathroom tiles sitting in front of us, and the contractor explained (again) how it wasn’t enough to finish the job, and how he’d have to mix the new stuff with the old stuff, color variations, blah blah. He’d already gone over this repeatedly, but Ava clearly didn’t believe him, and she shook her head no as he spoke. His displeasure with her showed in his face. By that I meant, he looked like he wanted to tell her what he really thought of her.

  “This needs to be complete by tonight,” she told him, click click, tap tap. “I need to go back and tell Juliette, Ms. March, that this will be done and you’re moving on to the next phase of the project.”

  The contractor opened his mouth and I stepped in before his true opinions emerged from it. “Ava, it looks like you’re not going to be able to tell my mom that when you talk to her. You can say that they’re doing the best they can, working through the holidays and having a few problems that are not anyone’s fault. Let’s go and let them get back to work on the things that can get done, ok?” I suggested, and although she managed to convey with a tiny lip twist that she thought I was wrong, she agreed to leave, and the contractor looked very grateful.

  The workmen had been in the guest house since about the second I had gotten my things out of it, and today, the freaking day after Christmas, they were back at it again. As was Ava, to push things along, since my mom and Kristian had decamped for Bora Bora. It turned out that Ava had arrived at the house that day with a two-pronged goal: to get the construction finished, and to get me out of there, permanently.

  She phrased it a little differently from that as we walked across the muddy yard to the main house. “Your mother asked me to assist you in finding a new place to live. She thought you might be struggling a little with your decision-making. As you do.” She looked down at Maisie, leaning on her leg. “Your dog is so…indiscriminately affectionate. She seems starved for attention.” Ava stared at me for a moment. Just like her owner, she wanted to say.

  I picked up my indiscriminately affectionate, bad dog and kissed her head. “I’m already looking on my own and I’m not struggling with my decision-making,” I informed Ava. I wasn’t making too much progress, however, especially since my mom and Kristian had left on Christmas day. I liked being back in my old house, alone, just me and Maisie. But I knew I had to get out. I just had to motivate.

  “Mmhm,” Ava answered, staring at me. I can see that you’re useless and I’ll have to take over, she meant. “Well, I’ll assist you, now that I’m here. I’ll be in Marin most days until Juliette gets back. There’s just so much to do at this house, it’s overwhelming. Very hectic,” she said evenly, sounding the opposite of stressed-out. “I’m just furious about this tile issue,” she continued in the same voice. “I don’t know what your mother is going to do.”

  “Probably nothing, since she’s in the South Pacific.”

  She glanced over at me. “I mean,” she enunciated, “that she will be upset.”

  “Ava, she’s sitting on a gorgeous beach with a man less than half her age. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to focus on bathroom tile.”

  Ava nodded. “Yes, they’re probably busy there, together. Juliette and Kristian.”

  I stared at her. That had sounded a little odd. Her usually flat tone had taken on a different note that I couldn’t immediately place.

  “I have an idea,” she said. From the absolute lack of enthusiasm in her voice, it didn’t sound like a very exciting one. “Let’s go to lunch.”

  “You and me?” I asked, confused.

  “Yes, but no dog.”

  “Um…”

  “Do you have other plans?” Ava seemed shocked by the idea. “Does your dog need a bath or something?”

  “I do other things besides bathe my dog,” I informed her. She just looked at me, as if thinking, sure, you have other things to do, you friend-less, boyfriend-less, live-at-home loser. Now I wanted to go with her even less than I had before. “Why would we go do something together?” I asked.

  “Your mother suggested that I invite you, so you’re not lonely while she and her husband are gone,” Ava explained, and I turned red.

  “I’m not at all lonely!” Not that I would tell her, anyway. “And I’m sure you have other things to do rather than have a forced lunch with me, right? Contractors to ream out, sinks and toilets to approve?”

  Ava didn’t answer at first, then bit out, “Four years.”

  I stared at her again. For the first time that morning, I saw something, an expression besides a fake smile, on her controlled face. Her nostrils flared; she was blinking rapidly. The strange note was back in her voice—hold the phone, Ava was angry! “What are you saying?” I asked, confused. “What about four—”

  “Your mother is always going on about how you went to college for four years and how she paid for it, and now all you do is cut out construction paper and count on your fingers,” Ava told me acidly.

  “Teaching kindergarten is not all—”

  “Well, I went to college for four years, too. I graduated almost at the top of my class, thinking I could do anything. I managed to get a job with Juliette March—I fought for this job. Do you know how many other applicants there were? And now here I am, arguing about bathroom tile, babysitting.” Her voice had risen out of its usual neutral pitch into a strident, east coast-accented whine. Wow, this was what she really sounded like when she wasn’t playing California cool! Then I took in the words.

  “Are you talking about me? You’re not babysitting me! I don’t need a paid companion,” I protested. Now I was angry, too. “You picked the job working for my mom! If you don’t like it, then you should quit and do something else.”

  “I—” She stopped herself and her face regained its normal, expressionless aspect. “I very much enjoy working for your mother and I hope you won’t repeat what I just said. I think I’m coming down with something.” She coughed slightly. “I’m not myself. I’m sick.”

  “Sure,” I told her, still fuming. “Don’t worry, I won’t rat you out.”

  “Great. I’ll drive out tomorrow to check on things, Lanie. I’m sure I’ll feel better by then.” Her voice was back to being calm, and the accent was gone, too. But when she started her car and threw it into gear, she pulled down the driveway so fast that the car fishtailed on the wet surface and the tires screeched.

  The contractor came out from the back yard. “Did that woman leave?”

  “Yes,” I said, listening to Ava’s car roar off down our street. “Can I help you with something?” He said yes, so I went with him to assist in the renovation of the guest house that I had lived in, the renovation that meant I wouldn’t be living there anymore. God, I was a sucker.

  My phone had three notifications when I was done with the contractor. See, Ava? I was in high demand. Sadly, the first one was from my mom, a picture of her in a tiny bikini and Kristian in a bathing suit that was even smaller than hers, both of them standing in turquoise water. His tongue was visible as he licked her neck. I quickly deleted that, gagging slightly as I did. Joli
e had texted that she would be back the next day because she could only stand 24 more hours with her relatives in Trinity County as they fought about anything and everything, loudly. “Hope you had a good Xmas,” she wrote. “Santa didn’t bring me a man here but maybe he’s waiting at my house.”

  And Brooks had written too. “Happy Boxing Day, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

  I laughed. We had been sending messages back and forth a little since his mom’s party. He had asked how my ankle was, and I had sent a picture of my Christmas present from Kristian, a pair of sweatpants that were at least five sizes too large for me and several inches too short. Kristian had accompanied this heartfelt gift with a card that said he hoped that the pants would be big enough to fit me after everything I had eaten over the holidays, and that he was sure I would get a lot of use out of them on my Saturday nights. I had wanted to shove the fuzzy dice I gave him down his throat.

  I thought about Ava and what she had said to me. I had other things to do with my day than give my dog a bath. I planned to bathe her that night instead, so there. “Are you busy right now?” I texted back to Brooks. “Want to go look at a rental house with me?” I swallowed, and waited, looking at the screen.

  “Sure.”

  My heart sped up. Sure, ok, yeah, sounded good to me too, and not any kind of monumental thing that I had just pretty much asked someone out. Well, not really at all, but a little. Maybe. I sent him the address and then we met up in San Rafael, in a residential neighborhood with mid-century ranch houses.

  “Hi, Peanut,” Brooks greeted me as I got out of my car. He grinned. “I guess you’re not so small anymore.”

  “Most people close to six feet tall don’t get called that,” I agreed. But it was one nickname that I loved to hear. “You can call me Peanut.”

  “You’re still a lot shorter than I am,” he said, and stood close to me, so that I had to look up into his eyes. “See? A mere peanut.”