“Stop it!” I begged when I caught Tony staring at her antics. “It’s not that easy.”
“Yes, it is that easy,” she insisted. “You’re making it hard.”
“This whole leaving in a month thing is tripping me out now. It changes everything.”
“How? Does it suddenly make your feelings speed up or slow down? That’s not possible. You feel what you feel. Emotions aren’t subject to time constraints.”
“That was almost profound.”
She shrugged. “I’m channeling Oprah again. Seriously, Jess. What do you feel right now? Because that’s what you should focus on.”
“I feel overwhelmed and insecure and confused. What’s the point of hanging out for a month if he’s going to leave?” I blew out an exasperated breath.
“Why do you need to have this planned out?” Sandy asked. “Just go over there and see where it takes you.”
“Good idea. I’ll show up at his house, knock on the door, and stand there and say nothing. I’ll stare at him, all mysterious, until he’s creeped out and slams the door.”
“Or you could let him do the talking. Hear what he has to say and trust your gut to know how to respond.”
“My gut hasn’t been so helpful in the past.”
“What past? You never depend on instinct. It’s always think, think, think with you.”
“I trusted my gut with Jason, and that was a disaster.”
“No, you didn’t trust your gut with him. Remember telling me how things seemed off when he got home from his mission, but you ignored it, thinking it would go away?”
I nodded reluctantly.
“That was your gut, and you didn’t listen. That was the mistake. Maybe you should hear Ben out and trust yourself more.”
“That’s crazy talk,” I protested, but Sandy grinned, knowing she had scored a point.
Tony wandered over, check in hand. He laid it facedown on the table and backed away. Sandy flipped it over, and I reached for my purse, but she waved me away.
“I told you, my treat.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t know I’d order four slices of cheesecake.”
“You didn’t order them. I did,” she said, fishing her own wallet out of a bright orange Coach purse.
“Only because I wanted them,” I argued. “Let me pay. I can afford it.”
This elicited another grin. “I hate to burst your bubble, Jess, but I get a bigger paycheck. I’m paying.”
“What? You do not. How do you know that?” I demanded.
“I know everyone’s salary because I have to make offers to new employees, and we want to stay competitive.”
“I’m raising your rent,” I said.
“Okay, but I won’t share my closet with you.”
“Fine, I won’t raise your rent.”
“Good. Mi armario es su armario.”
“I thought you took French in high school. When did you learn Spanish?” I asked.
“Spanish language CDs in the car on the way to work. Life makeover and all. Oh, hey, since you’re not working crazy late hours anymore, we can carpool, and you can learn Spanish too.”
“Uh, I know Spanish.”
“Huh.” She thought for a minute. “I’d be willing to switch to Japanese.”
I squinched my nose.
“German?” she tried.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’ll stick to my iPod and news radio.”
“Que lastima.” She slapped some cash into the payment jacket and declared, “Let’s roll.”
“More like roll ourselves out of here.”
“Right. That’s what I said.”
We headed back to work and parted ways. The rest of the afternoon at work stayed blissfully uneventful. I assigned my staff to complete our project documentation and finish any leftover filing or shredding. I spent a couple of hours hammering out a support strategy with Apoor Gami, figuring out what my team needed to do to help. It would be a light rotation; Apoor was easy to work with and already had things well in hand.
By three o’clock, I had a clean desk and no crises to occupy my time, so naturally, my thoughts turned to Ben.
Sandy was right. Ben wasn’t at the root of my confusion and insecurity. I was. How many times did I have to figure this out? I had hunkered down in a bunker constructed out of work excuses and then bludgeoned him over the head with overtime to keep him away. Could I complain because I was a tactical genius at self-sabotage? And as for him leaving in a month . . .
Well. I liked him.
I mean really, really liked him.
I liked him more than chocolate and at least as much as ice cream. And I wanted to spend all my free time soaking up the month with him.
I was in serious trouble.
Chapter 33
WALKING THROUGH THE DOOR BEFORE four o’clock on a Friday afternoon was a novel experience. On the one hand, traffic was worse when I left work early. On the other hand, I made it home hours earlier than usual, and I had nothing but time on my hands. No overstuffed work bag, no jellied Chinese takeout.
I plopped down on the sofa in satisfaction, surveying my domain, thinking for a moment. My current plan was to reveal my new worldview to Ben at dinner tomorrow, but I didn’t want to wait a whole day to finally see him again. I had the overwhelming urge to live my own movie and show up on his doorstep tonight with dinner in hand and an announcement: I was ready to redirect my extra work energy toward our relationship, to give us the time to find out if we truly had something together. I hopped up, grabbed my keys, and headed for the grocery store, determined to act spontaneously for once. By the time Sandy walked through the door at six, the rich smell of a roasting chicken wafted out to meet her.
“Whoever you are, come out from the kitchen slowly with your hands up. I’ve got pepper spray,” she called.
I poked my head around the wall. “Why would an intruder break in and make dinner?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said with exaggerated surprise. “You actually left work on time.”
“I left two hours early. I told you I wouldn’t work late.”
“And I’ve heard that before. This is the first time you’ve backed it up.”
“So you’re saying it’s going to take you awhile to accept my conversion to the forty-hour workweek?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” she agreed. “Do I remember this correctly? You’ve recognized that you did wrong. You’re going to confess and make amends to Ben. So that leaves the forsaking your long hours part. Is that what you’re doing?”
I retreated back to the kitchen. “Fine, don’t believe me,” I called. “But I’m not sharing my big dinner secret with you until you accept that I’ve changed.”
“In a day? Ha,” she scoffed. She wandered in and sniffed the air. “Besides, I gave up red meat last week, so you can have dinner all to yourself.”
“It’s roast chicken. And you’re not getting any of it anyway. It’s for Ben.”
She turned to stare at me. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. As soon as this is done, I’m packing it up and heading to Ben’s to have that talk.”
“That’s amazing!” she squealed. “I demand details as soon as you get back!”
I smiled and waved her off then headed to my room to change. What do you wear to say, “Sorry for being an idiot, but I’ve seen the light”?
It was hard to believe I hadn’t had any contact with Ben for a week. It hadn’t taken long from our first e-mail for him to stake a claim on part of each day, whether in a phone call or face to face, and I missed that. I couldn’t wait to see him. I definitely had questions and maybe even some answers for him, but mostly I looked forward to him scooping me up in one of his hugs.
After that, we could talk. He would say, “I’m totally into you and want to be with you,” and I wouldn’t fidget or blush this time.
I would say, “I want to be with you too,” and turn only a little bit red.
He would say, “
I changed my mind about your work commitment. I like you so much that I don’t care when you can see me; we’ll find a way to work around your crazy hours.”
And I would say, “Thanks for being willing to support me. But I figured out that Craig was a waste of energy, and I’m ready to date you now. I’m cutting back to forty hours. Kiss me, Ben,” and Sandy would be stoked that I’d used her line, and I would ignore her gloating in favor of smooching Ben.
We might talk about what him leaving in a month meant and what might happen during and after that month, and we’d work it out. Because this was Ben, not Jason. Ben, who had been up-front with me from the beginning, who carried himself with a confidence Jason didn’t have, who knew what he wanted and asked for it. This was not a newly minted returned missionary trying to figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up, too inexperienced to know how to communicate in sticky emotional situations. And despite the number of third dates I’d turned down in the last several years, this was probably not the first guy who could handle himself like an adult in relationships; however, this was the first guy I had given that chance.
I took a leap right there in front of my closet with that decision. A leap of faith. Faith that Ben was the guy he said he was, that asking me to balance my work hours more implied a commitment to growing what had budded between us. I was about to dump a box of Miracle-Gro on that bud and watch it shoot up, blossoming in direct correlation to the excitement burbling inside me.
I discarded four outfits before throwing on a black cashmere turtleneck, some old Lucky jeans I had snagged from DownEast Outfitters in my Provo days, and my trusty Converse. I wanted to look sophisticated and trendy without looking like I had tried too hard. Even though I totally had. Ten minutes in front of the mirror took care of makeup. I could hear Sandy stirring in her room. She’d be in to inspect me and send me off on my mission but not until I glossed to her satisfaction. Swiping some fruity peach gunk over my lips did the trick. Examining my handiwork with a critical eye, I smiled and hoped Ben would like what he saw.
No one could resist peach lip gloss and my mom’s rosemary roast chicken recipe. Ben Bratton was as good as mine . . . I hoped.
The oven buzzer chimed, and I rushed to turn it off, my nerves skittering. Sandy popped back in as I tried to figure out how to transport the minifeast. Besides the chicken, I had whipped up some garlic mashed potatoes and some carrots in a honey sauce. I wanted to be at Ben’s house by six, early enough that I figured he wouldn’t have eaten dinner yet. She watched me without comment while I waffled between plastic wrap and aluminum. In a calmer state of mind, I would have remembered that you should always use foil when dealing with heat. It helped keep it in and all.
Ultimately, Sandy’s impatient, “Foil!” interjection reminded me. Like I hadn’t heard the same thing from my mom before every potluck we ever went to. But my jangling nerves interfered with normal brain function, so I just reached for the foil, thankful someone in the house was keeping her cool.
When I had dinner neatly packed and stacked, I turned to Sandy. “Am I presentable?” I asked.
“I can only speak for the top half of you. The bottom half you’re hiding behind the counter could be a polyester trouser disaster, but from what I can see—you’ve got it at least half right.”
I stepped all the way into the living room for her approval. She gestured for me to do a spin. “I probably can’t talk you into boots, can I?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“Well, Converse are their own kind of classic. And with your turtleneck, the whole effect is kind of funky.”
My eyebrows snapped together.
“The good kind of funky,” she clarified.
“Oh. So I look okay?”
She nodded. “You look kinda hot. You’re like a hipster chick, but the kind that washes her hair and smells good.”
“Thanks?”
“Yeah, no problem. Nice gloss. Too bad it’ll only stay on for about two seconds once he sees you.”
I dug out the tube from my back pocket. “I’m totally prepared.”
She smiled. “I wish I were going to be there to see his face. I want a dramatic reenactment later, okay?”
“Okay, but it’ll be the G-rated version.”
“That’s the one where they cut out all the kissing,” she objected.
“If you do a load of towels, I’ll give you the PG details,” I bribed.
“If you don’t spill the PG details, I’ll revoke your lip gloss privileges,” she retorted.
“How do you always win these arguments?”
“Because I have all the cool girl stuff,” she said.
“You’re right. That’s why. I’m going to have to hit the Nordstrom cosmetics counter soon to stock up, or I’ll never have leverage over you.”
“Good luck with that. Unless you can get the mythical Smashbox George and Wheezy eye shadow duo, it’ll never happen.”
I shook my head but knew I didn’t have time to spar. This meal and talk with Ben, my favorite computer nerd, would mark a reboot for our fledgling relationship, complete with programming updates and debugging solutions to help speed things up.
Sandy helped me load my meal on wheels into my Accord and then scurried back inside to escape the chilly evening air. Wishing I had brought a jacket, I resisted the impulse to go searching for one, knowing I’d better point the car toward Ben’s house before I could change my mind.
Chapter 34
FOR THE ENTIRE TWENTY-MINUTE DRIVE to Ben’s house, my stomach flipped. This was it; I was going to be a grown-up, one who made big-girl decisions and talked things through like an adult. One who took calculated risks to improve her happiness and welcomed open communication.
Exhilarated, I cranked up the local classic rock station when Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” blared out of the radio, and I sang along. I didn’t care that the song had been overplayed since its resurrection on Glee or that it was one of the greatest slices of cheese in the classic rock canon. The unapologetic optimism in the lyrics fit my mood perfectly.
As I neared the turnoff for Ben’s neighborhood, I entertained myself by imagining his expression when he opened the door and found me standing there. It felt good to be turning the tables on him for once, to be the one showing up at his house with food in hand and a challenge to take another step forward.
I peered at the street signs and looked for landmarks. At last, I recognized a small bungalow on the corner marking his street. Its remarkable shade of pink made it memorable. I suspected the owners had intended to create some kind of mellow Mediterranean terra cotta effect. Instead, they got a shade of salmon, its freshness questionable.
I hung a left and peered at the left side of Ben’s street closely, looking for his house. I spotted his car in the driveway. My nerves would have exploded if I’d had to sit and wait for him, wondering if every pair of headlights turning onto the street belonged to him. I parked in an empty spot two houses down, got out, and retrieved the dinner sitting on the floor mat. I had learned the hard way never to transport food on a seat after a childhood incident involving a sudden stop on the way to a Church dinner and a massive pot of chicken and dumplings sloshing to the floor of our minivan.
Hefting the awkward bundle of baking dishes, I managed to navigate onto the sidewalk and up to Ben’s walkway. I stood at the foot of it for a moment, taking in the sight of the house and enjoying the warmth that came with knowing I had made the right decision about my love life, for once. I stepped to the door and awkwardly shifted my cargo to one arm so I could knock.
When the door opened half a minute later, I smiled, eager to see which expression would win out on his face.
I got shock.
Ben’s lips parted but instead of puckering up to kiss me hello, they formed a wordless “oh,” and consternation creased his forehead. My confidence faltered as he stared at me. “Jessie. Hi. What are you doing here?”
He didn’t sound delighted like I thought he wo
uld in my daydream, but I pressed ahead. I had resolved to be a grown-up, and I would see this through. “Hi. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow night to talk stuff out. What are you doing right now?” I tried to make the question sound flirtatious.
When he flinched, I knew I had failed miserably. “Uh, now?” he asked, casting an uncomfortable glance over his shoulder.
“Sure, now,” I answered, feeling stupid with my arms full of a chicken.
“I totally want to talk, but tomorrow would be a lot better. I’m kind of in the middle of—”
“Ben?” a soft female voice interrupted. A hand appeared on his bicep, resting there comfortably, tipped in manicured pink fingernails. Whoever the voice belonged to stood out of sight, hidden by the door frame. “Who is it?” she asked.
A flush suffused my face, and I backed up, ready to retreat. Ben took a step toward me, a hand outstretched. His shift created enough room for a pretty blonde to take his place in the door, her hand fixed firmly to his arm. When she saw me, she tightened her grip possessively. “Who’s this?” she asked coolly.
I could see Ben’s reluctance to make introductions written all over his face, so before he could walk us through that particular exercise in humiliation, I jumped in. “I’m Jessie,” I said. “Ben’s friend from church. I was assigned to fellowship him so I stopped by with some food. You should have some. It’s from one of my mom’s recipes,” I babbled, amazed I could lie so easily. And I only lied to save Ben from a tough spot so he wouldn’t be on the hook with this girl. Who I didn’t even know. Which meant I had lost my mind, so I switched into escape mode, desperate to get away.
“Anyway,” I continued with my word vomit, “I’ve got a busy night, so I’d best be going.” Not knowing what else to do, I turned and set the food at the edge of the porch and whipped around, heading for my car.
“Jessie!” Ben called, shaking off the hand on his arm and taking a few steps after me.
I turned and said, “No, Ben. I don’t want to intrude. Enjoy the meal, and maybe I’ll see you around.”
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