It occurred to me that I’d missed my mother more this time around. I couldn’t remember missing my family much during my time in Texas. Here in Colorado, thoughts of my mother and grandmother and other family members pulled at me more. Despite that, I had no desire to go back to Minnesota for good. That wasn’t me anymore, but those people, my people . . . I felt lonely for them.
Buying the house felt a bit like signing my life away. The six-months-before-May deadline I’d set for myself had come and gone, but I’d reached out to Denise and she said there was one house left that would be ready by the end of May. The loan fell through for the couple who was trying to buy it. It was time to decide, in my heart, to stay and settle and let roots grow. To make Denver my permanent home. To sign up for dance lessons.
Let go of Texas. Let go of Ben.
Just breathe.
The last Sunday in March, I went to church. It had been weeks and I felt this inner push to just go. I sat with Paige and enjoyed the new worship pastor at Rock Community. We listened to Eric preach on sacrificial living and then we went to The Egg and I. This time we sat alone in the booth—no Milo and Ben.
“Have you, um, been on Twitter lately?” Paige asked, pouring syrup over her pancakes. I sprinkled salt on my egg and mushroom omelet.
“Yes. I saw the picture,” I told her. She nodded.
“Have you talked to Ben?” she asked, her voice overly light. I’d seen the same pictures she had, of Ben and a well-known, young, gorgeous pop singer—looking extremely chummy. Her arms around him and his arm around her waist. Her gaze looking up adoringly at him.
“He left a message on my voicemail last night, but I’d already gone to sleep. All he said was that we needed to talk.” I took a small sip of my hot coffee.
“Oh,” Paige said. I could hear the dip in her tone.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “I’ve sort of been preparing for this. It’s only a matter of time before they get a label. I don’t think Ben’s going to come home. At least, not permanently. If they get a label, they might need to hunker down in a studio and start making more music.” I took a bite of my omelet.
“Are you really okay?”
I nodded. “I am. I think I know myself better this time around. And Ben—everything was different with us. In fact, when it comes to Ben, I just really want him to be happy. I’m glad he did the tour. I watched him on YouTube last night. The concert in Seattle,” I said, not quite keeping the wistfulness from my words. “He was fire, Paige.” I peered at her. “Have you heard from Jason lately?”
I caught the slight flush creeping up her neck. She stabbed a sausage patty with her fork. “Yeah. Ever since he got that sous chef position, he’s busier than ever. But it sounds like he loves his work.”
I took another bite and savored the taste and then looked at my buzzing phone.
“Is it Ben?” Paige whispered. I nodded.
“Answer it!” she scolded. I clicked on the answer button. I hopped up and moved to the front waiting area.
“Hey, how are you?”
“Good,” Ben said. “I didn’t want to wait for you to call me back. Because—”
Because lately I hadn’t been calling back.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to skip past the awkwardness.
“I just want to talk to you, Deb. We don’t talk much.”
I bit my lip. “That’s not entirely my fault and you know it.”
Ben sighed. “Okay. Fair enough. You knew we’d be busy.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m busy too.” I wanted to be chill and indifferent, but that never seems to be my forte. “How’s Rachel de la Rosa doing?” I said, a snap in my voice.
“What do you mean? She was at the festival we played at in Washington state.”
“I’m aware. I mean, all of us in America are aware,” I said, regretting the bite in my tone, but there it was.
Ben was quiet for a split second. “Just say what’s on your mind.”
I gripped the phone tight. Then a few seconds later, closed my eyes.
Let go.
“Ben, maybe we shouldn’t talk till after the tour. Until you come back. If you come back.”
He paused.
“It’s just,” I continued, “I really want to be supportive. But I see these pictures of you with girls like Rachel—up close and personal to the extreme—and it’s not as easy to brush it off as I thought. I want Twenty-Four Tears to make it. You guys deserve all the success in the world. I mean that. But for my sake, I think we should cool this.”
“Deb,” he said after a minute, in that oh-so-familiar voice. “I’m still me.”
“Maybe,” I said, “or maybe you’ve changed. That’s allowed, you know. We change. I’ve changed. But I don’t want to be jealous and worried. That’s not who I want to be. Maybe we should just stop this. So you can pursue your dreams.”
“And what about you?”
My breath caught. Oh, believe me. I’m wondering that too. “I’m buying a house,” I told him. “A new paired home actually. It’ll be ready at the end of May.”
“You’re what?” Ben’s voice spiked.
I tried to swallow but couldn’t, so I ended up coughing. “My job is here, Ben. My lease is up in May. I need a plan for the future. So I’m buying a house.”
“How long have you been planning this?”
Eek. My stomach tightened. “It’s been on my mind for a while, but I just recently decided.”
“How recent?” he asked, his tone uneven enough to tell me he was angry and trying not to blow.
Um, one and half seconds ago.
“I haven’t signed anything yet. But I talked to my parents, talked to the bank—everything looks good to go.”
“And you never told me about it.”
My heart felt like it was crushed in my chest, weighed down. “I wasn’t sure yet, Ben,” I said, my voice soft. I tried to keep the pleading tone I felt from seeping into my words. “You’ve got so much going on for you right now . . .”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” The hollow sound in his voice hurt worse than the anger.
I blinked back tears. “I think we’re going in different directions. It’s nobody’s fault.”
“Deb, please. I know it’s been harder than we thought, but—”
“Maybe we can talk sometime when you get back,” I said, as gently as I could.
“I keep chasing you, Deb. But you don’t seem to want to be chased.”
My breath stopped for a moment. Was he right?
“At this moment, I don’t know what I want, Ben. You’re right . . . this is harder than I thought.”
“It’s hard, so you’re ready to bail?” Ben accused. My lips tightened and I gritted my teeth.
“Bail from what? You’re not even here.”
“Debra.”
I knew what he wanted to say. That I did this. That I started him down this road. Even if he was right, we were here now. “We both know you won’t be lonely. I’m the one being left behind here, so spare me the anger.” I couldn’t believe I’d said those words. I bit my lip hard, my eyes watering. Ben didn’t say anything for a moment but the rage came through loud and clear.
“Well, we both know I was never your first choice. I can’t compete with that guy forever.”
Now I was the one shaking with anger. “Stop trying to fight with me!”
“Baby, you’re the one who wants to fight.” His tone stayed even but softened a tad. “So let’s fight.”
I could hardly breathe. Fury came up against all the crazy feelings that came over me when Ben called me baby. I wanted to throttle him. I also wanted to hear him call me that forever. I tried to steady my voice. “I don’t want this right now, Ben. Neither do you. You just won’t admit it. You need to let it go. Go be a rock star. Fall in love with a new actress or singer every few months. Don’t worry about me.”
My finger pushed the end-call button—before I could say a bunch of things I knew I’d r
egret. Then I made my way back to Paige. Her eyes were round, pained, waiting for the verdict. I relayed the conversation to her. She reached across the table and took my hand in hers.
“One thing I’m learning is . . .” Her voice trailed off for a moment and she took a breath. “Sometimes the path leads us back to only ourselves, and that’s okay too. We’re strong.”
I held her hand tight.
That night my phone rang late, waking me up. My hand scrambled in the dark, knocking a water bottle—closed thankfully—to the floor, and I groaned. I found my phone and brought it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Debbie, I don’t want you to worry.”
I sat straight up at the sound of my mother’s voice. “What’s happened?”
“As I said,” she reiterated in that calming (sometimes grating) way of hers, “everything’s going to be fine, so I don’t want you to worry. But still, I thought you should know. I’ve brought Nana to the hospital. I knew she’d been sick but she said it was just a cold—typical!” I heard the frustration in my mom’s voice. “She called and seemed scared, so I came over and decided she needed to go to the ER.”
“Oh, God.” Tears were filling my eyes.
“Honey,” she said. “Please listen. She has pneumonia and she’s going to be okay. They admitted her and a real nice doctor has talked to us. She’s got an IV for fluids and she’s taking medicine. They say she’ll need to be here a couple of days; then we’ll get her home. She’s already doing better from that IV. Apparently, she was severely dehydrated. Anyway, I’m here at the hospital. I’d let you talk to Nana but she’s worn out and fast asleep.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll call her tomorrow. I’m going to see if I can come out—maybe next weekend.”
“She’s going to be fine, Debbie.”
“Even so,” I said, rubbing my nose. “I need to see her. I should have a few days of vacation time by now. I’ll check on flights and let you know.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to come, but I understand if you want to. And that might boost Mom’s spirits.”
A huge lump rose in my throat at the thought that I would raise anyone’s spirits.
The reminder that I mattered to people.
I hung up with my mom and searched online for discount flights. Every flight looked expensive, but I needed to see Nana. I finally set my phone aside and decided to search again in the morning. I rolled over, part of me breathing relief that it wasn’t more serious, another part of me aching to be with my family.
Five a.m. was brutal. I pulled myself together and drove to work, downing an espresso before going on air. During every intermission, I searched flights. After my shift, I booked a flight and worked out my schedule with Andy. I’d leave the next Friday, early afternoon, and come back Monday night. Andy would let one of the interns cohost with him Friday and Monday. I hoped that wouldn’t be a disaster, knowing Andy’s propensity to get annoyed quickly with interns, but it couldn’t be helped.
When I called Nana that afternoon, she sounded weak and tired, and I wanted to be right there with her, turning on White Christmas in the hospital room. I promised her I’d be there soon, and she told me not to make a fuss, and I said I’d be there, so get ready.
When I got home later that afternoon, I texted Paige about my grandmother. She was sweet and caring and told me she’d be praying for her, and I knew she would. I wanted to text Addison and Lily but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I wasn’t sure why.
Of course, they’d say the same—they would pray. And I believed they would because that’s who they are . . . but I didn’t text them. I felt so far removed from them.
I wanted to text Ben. I knew he’d be hurt that I even had to think about it, but I did think about it, and I didn’t text him. Because I felt alone and I was alone, and I just needed to hurry up and get to my sick grandmother and see for myself that she was okay. I couldn’t bring myself to make the effort to tell people that were nowhere near me, who couldn’t really help beyond words and thoughts. And who—when it came to Ben—were off on tour, living an exciting life with girls like Rachel de la Rosa.
Instead, I packed, repacked, shopped for Colorado-ish gifts for everyone in my family, and counted the hours until I was home.
And when I stepped off the plane and into the terminal in Minneapolis, I almost ran to the baggage claim. I grabbed my pink suitcase and rolled it outside, where it was snowing, sadly. My brother’s Yukon was sitting in the long line of cars, waiting for pickup. I motioned for him to stay in the car amid the snow. I threw open the backseat door and shoved my suitcase in and then shut the door and hopped into the front seat.
“Brrrr! It’s supposed to be spring already!”
“Don’t even mention it. Carol planted flowers and she’s so upset.” My sister-in-law, Carol, who loved flowers and egg quiche and who hadn’t changed her hairstyle since my brother met her in the ninth grade. Always long. Always one length.
“Thanks for getting me.” I held my hands directly in front of the heater.
“No problem.” Brian’s eyes darted to me before he changed lanes. “You change your hair or something?”
I figured after living with Carol for so long, a change in hair length was at least noteworthy to my brother.
“Yeah. How’re Carol and Jude?” I asked, wondering about my seven-year-old nephew.
“Good. Fine.”
I realized that was going to be the extent of his description. “So is Nana still with Mom and Dad?” I asked.
His pointed jaw moved side to side. “She’s back home. Mom wasn’t sure if you were planning to stay with them or wanted to go out to Nana’s.”
I bit my lip. As much as I wanted—needed—to see my mom and dad . . .
“I figured you’d want to go to Nana’s. So Mom said if that’s what you want, she and Dad will plan to bring food tomorrow and I should just drive you out to the lake now.”
I exhaled. Something came over me, this sense that I was known. Brian and I had never been best-friend close—he was quiet and liked sports and you couldn’t pay him to watch a musical—but we’d always been I’ve-got-your-back-and-you’ve-got-mine close. All through our growing up years. And I felt that way about him in this moment.
“That sounds perfect.”
We chitchatted on the long drive out to Nana’s house, situated about a block from Lake Burston. Old pine trees shaded the houses in the old neighborhood. Brian turned down Beehive Lane, and I saw the faded, worn siding of my grandmother’s house. I was out the door before the car was in park. I knocked even as I tugged on the handle. Cold air chilling me to the bone and whipping my curls. The handle turned easily and I pushed open the door. Brian was right behind me, carrying my luggage.
“Nana,” I called out softly, in case she was asleep.
“Debbie, girl. Get in here.” I heard her voice from the kitchen and I dashed through the house. She was in a blue nightgown, the old-fashioned kind that buttoned down to her knees, and some soft slippers. I had my arms around her in a second, breathing in the smell of her lotion and then crying like someone had died.
“There, there, Debbie,” she said softly, but I heard the worry saturating her voice.
“Deb, what’s wrong?”
I sniffed loudly and turned at the sound of Brian’s voice. I ran my sleeve across my nose and just stood there. “I’m okay,” I said. What else could I say?
No one spoke for a moment. I turned to Nana, studying her. She looked pale, and she’d lost weight, but she still seemed all right. Weak and tired, though. “How are you?” I asked.
She smiled but the worry lines didn’t vanish from her face. “I’m fine. Happy to see you here. I couldn’t believe it when your mama told me you were coming. She brought me home yesterday. And she left a big pot of potato soup in the fridge for us to eat this evening. Brian, do you want to stay and eat?”
Brian was already pulling up a chair. “I’ll have a quick bite. Then Carol will be expecting me.”<
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I steered Nana to the table and pulled out the soup pot myself, then set it on the stove to warm and retrieved bowls while Brian and Nana asked me a million questions about Colorado and my new job. No one mentioned my emotional spill. Once the soup was hot, I ladled it into bowls. And then Brian had to leave and I dragged my suitcase to the guest room. The one with the pink wedding quilt that had been there for ages. I changed into yoga pants and a large sweatshirt and thicker socks, slid my hair back in a headband, and went looking for Nana.
She was flipping through channels, sitting on the sofa. “There’s microwave popcorn, Debbie. Make some, will you? And maybe some decaf coffee.”
I smiled. “You bet.”
Ten minutes later, we had a bowl of kettle corn between us and two cups of decaf sat on the coffee table. “I brought a couple of movies, Nana,” I told her. Her eyes widened with excitement like it was Christmas, so I retrieved them from my bag and let her pick which one we’d watch. I’d ordered a bunch of DVDs online, knowing that Nana didn’t have cable, much less streaming digital options. And I’d brought her a new throw blanket I’d found at Homegoods, soft, thick white fur.
She chose High Society and I tucked the blanket around her. Nana and I loved every minute. She fell asleep toward the end and I knew her energy had run out. I helped her to bed and then cleaned up. I checked the refrigerator for breakfast options the next morning, then settled into the guest room after turning off lights and checking that the doors were locked.
My phone dinged and I grabbed it.
Ben.
After the Rain Page 25