Love to Hate You

by Jo Watson

  Meeting them was one of those strange life events, a fortuitous meeting that was meant to be. I owed them so much, but they did it all willingly. They told me once that they’d always wanted kids, but that was back in the days when the world wasn’t keen on gay couples adopting. They say they have the best of both worlds now, a daughter and a friend.

  I actually teared up at my desk at the thought of their kindness and love—such a stark contrast from my own parents. I reached for a tissue and surreptitiously dabbed my eye just as Ben happened to walk past.

  He stopped and looked down at me and I immediately averted my eyes hoping that he hadn’t seen the small tear. But he had.

  “You sure you’re okay?” He spoke softly and it sounded like genuine concern.

  “Fine. Fine. Just allergies,” I covered quickly and pretended to blow my nose into a tissue, although nothing came out. I then rubbed my eyes as if they were itchy, but all I’d managed to do was smudge my already moist mascara. I could see he wasn’t convinced.

  “I’m sure there’re antihistamines in the first aid box,” he offered.

  “Great idea,” I said, jumping up—perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I excused myself and started speed walking to the kitchen where the first aid box was. I lingered there for a second or two so he would think I’d taken a pill and then walked back to my desk looking sorted and confident and ready to do my work. When I got back, he wasn’t there, which I was grateful for. I pulled out my phone and messaged JJ.

  Sera: Can I pick up a shift tonight?

  JJ: What did he do this time?

  Sera: The usual.

  JJ: Can I kill him?

  Sera: Sure.

  JJ: See you later then. XX

  There was only one more meeting to get through before the end of the day, and then straight off to more work. Even though holding down two jobs was exhausting, I enjoyed working in the restaurant. The atmosphere there was always amazing and I’d gotten to know all the regular patrons there over the years.

  When the meeting was over I ran back to my desk. When I got there I found a large envelope with my name written across it in a now-familiar handwriting. Sudden images of pink underwear flashed through my mind. I looked toward his office. Ben was doing a review with some creatives and not looking in my direction. I slipped my hand into the envelope and pulled out a packet of M&Ms. It had been opened and a small note had been inserted.

  I removed all the blue ones, since they seem detrimental to your health.

  I smiled to myself, and when I looked up, Ben caught my eye and smiled right back.

  My heart actually skipped a beat as I read the note again.

  13. Leaning May Lead To Horizontal Activities …

  I don’t know what it is about me and sugar, but by the time I got to my car, I’d polished off the bag in two large mouthfuls and was already thinking about the next one—if there was a group called Sugar Addicts Anonymous, I’d have to join it. But I was also perturbed. And confused. I just didn’t know what to make of Ben and it was driving me mad. He went from outrageous flirting to seeming sincerity in a matter of minutes. I still remembered how he’d been with Becks that morning—turning on the charm with that flirty, friendly voice of his.

  Perhaps other women had also received snack packs with thoughtful little notes? Maybe it was part of his game plan, his modus operandi: ply all the woman in the office with chocolates, tell them all he loved them, and then get them in the back seat of his car and onto his lap? If his playboy reputation was anything to go by, that was definitely his plan. Well, whatever he was doing, it didn’t matter, since I was never going to date him …

  “Hey!” I turned. He whom I was thinking about was now running towards me, enthusiastically.

  “I see you got through the bag without incident,” he said, pointing to the finished packet in my hand. I felt a sudden stab of embarrassment at the fact he knew I’d just guzzled them down like a little hungry piggy.

  “Yeah. Thanks. You didn’t have to—”

  “I wanted to.”

  I kept silent. He was leaning again, against my car—DANGER: Leaning may lead to horizontal activities.

  “Do you want to go for a drink?” he asked.

  “I don’t drink anymore,” I said, moving away from the dark mysterious man leaning against my dirty car. He was going to get one hell of a shock when he pulled away and realized one half of his suit was now tan.

  “Since when?” His words were smothered in playful naughtiness.

  I blushed. “Since it drives me to make terrible impulsive mistakes.”

  “Like what?” His voice was deep and husky again. He shot me a playful wink, which, despite all my self-control, made my knees weak. I mentally berated myself for being such a weak-willed woman and then stood up straight again, ready to battle this sexual force of nature.

  He was smiling and I could tell he was trying to lure me into some kind of flirtatious game. Well, I wasn’t going to fall for those sotto tones and dreamy, chocolaty bedroom eyes. I folded my arms and shot him a pointed look. “Like ending up in the back seat of a car with a stranger.”

  “Really!” He feigned shock. “And here I thought you were a good girl with those librarian glasses.”

  For some reason, at the mention of my glasses, I fiddled with them, which seemed to make him smile even more.

  “I’ve got to go.” I turned and slipped my keys into the car door—invented before such modern things as battery controlled locking mechanisms—probably batteries too.

  “Coffee then?” he asked. His hand slid over mine and I slapped it away.

  “I’ve already had far too many cups today.” I jiggled my keys around; there was a certain trick to opening the lock—especially since my father tried to pick it one night in a rather lame attempt to steal it.

  “Decaf?”

  I sighed loudly. A long, loud exasperated sigh. “Why? Why do you keep asking me out?”

  He slid his shoulder closer to me, “I told you—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re in love.” I said it sarcastically and mockingly.

  He opened his mouth and was just about to say something when Angie walked past.

  Perhaps it’s important to pause here and take this opportunity to talk about Angie. Before Ben, she was the one everyone drooled over. The one that everyone whispered about. Her creative genius was legendary. Her amazing fashion sense was envied by all. The uber-cool fact that she was also a deejay and played in trendy exclusive clubs at night made her just that much more desirable. In short, she was the kind of girl I imagined Ben with.

  “Bye, Ben, see you tomorrow. Can’t wait to start work on the shoot,” she said as she ran her hand through her ridiculously trendy mint-green hair and pranced across the car park like a ballerina.

  Ben held up his hand and flashed her one of those killer smiles. “Not as much as I’m looking forward to it.”

  I scoffed so loudly that I actually think she heard. I went back to jiggling the key.

  “What?” he asked innocently, as if he didn’t know what he was doing—please!

  “In love with her too?” I asked, as I finally managed to get the door open.

  “No. Just you.”

  I climbed into my car feeling a whole array of emotions I wasn’t sure I understood, or liked. I barely knew this guy, so why the hell was I acting like this? I was just about to close the door when Ben stuck his leg out and stopped it with his foot.

  “Okay, we don’t have to drink any liquids if you would prefer?”

  He was still going on about it, after blatantly flirting with blondie-greenie across the parking lot. After looking at the steering wheel for a moment, I finally looked up at him.

  “You really confuse me. I don’t think I get you—at all.”

  “Well, why don’t you go out with me and I’ll try to explain myself?” He flashed me another secondhand million-dollar smile. There had to be an antidote to counteract the effects of it, if not, I sincerely h
oped that scientists somewhere were working on one.

  “I have to work tonight.”

  “Work?”

  “Yes, I work at JJ and Bruce’s restaurant. I’m going to be late for my shift if I don’t go now.”

  Ben’s demeanor changed somewhat as he looked at me like he was trying to figure something out. “You have two jobs?”

  I hated this part.

  This, right here, was why I didn’t want to get involved with people, because I would soon have to be explaining my sad, poor, pathetic life to them—Yes, I was also embarrassed. Of course I was, we went from living in a modest house in the middle class suburbs, to a rusty, sticky-walled trailer.

  “Yes, I have two jobs, Ben.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  “Don’t worry. It doesn’t affect my work during the day if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  “That’s not why I mentioned it.”

  He put his hand on my door and held it open, looking like he had all the time in the world to have a full-blown conversation with me.

  “I really have to go. My shift starts in half an hour.”

  “Okay,” he said, finally letting go of the car door and closing it. “Some other time then,” I heard him say as he started walking away.

  I quickly reversed out of the parking place and, as I drove off, I looked in the rear view mirror—God, this was bringing back memories of our first night. He waved a tiny wave as he disappeared from sight, and I was struck by a feeling—no, not a feeling, a knowing—this wasn’t going to be the last of him, I wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily.

  14. Wimbledon 1967 …

  The early morning knock on the door sent me flying out of my bed. The first few knocks had somehow incorporated themselves into my dreams, but the fourth and fifth had me jumping. It was freezing, still dark, and I had no idea who the hell was at the door. I was exhausted from my night at the restaurant and JJ and Bruce were probably unconscious. I opened the door and peered out.

  “Morning.” It was Ben. It was a perky, enthusiastic version of him dressed in …

  What the hell was he wearing?

  He was dressed head-to-toe in a sporty purple, polyester Adidas tracksuit—of all things decent in this world. The whole outfit seemed totally incongruous to what I was used to. He was also jogging up and down on the spot looking wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. I wondered if I was still sleeping.

  “What the hell?” I said in a sleepy voice, yawning in between words. I was too tired and shocked to care that he was seeing me in my pajamas with my sleepy, puffy no make-up face on.

  He looked at his watch. “It’s five; aren’t you going jogging this morning?”

  “Huh? Jog—” I knew this was going to come back to bite me. “Oh. Jogging. Um …”

  “Great morning for it!” He sounded fired up and enthusiastic, with his brand new bright orange sneakers and matching headband—who wears a headband? That is so Wimbledon 1967! The sight of him in those clothes was almost more shocking than the fact he was at my house at five in the morning.

  “Ben, seriously, what are you doing here?”

  He feigned a look of shock. “Look, I know you don’t want to go out with me, but there’s no rule against being friends, right? And you jog, and I need to do some exercise. You’d be doing me a favor, actually.”

  “Um …” I was still semi-conscious and had no idea what to say to him. I opened the door further and he came jogging straight in with a spring in his step as if he was some kind of gazelle buck.

  Mister Overly Enthused then started jogging in circles around my living room. All he needed were some pom-poms, blonde pigtails and a cheesy war cry to complete the look. This was a far, far cry from the guy with a cigarette behind his ear and his perfect vintage suits. And then he did something disturbing; he actually gave the air a fist pump.

  “Whoa!” he whooped. “I am fired up!” He continued to jog in circles. Surely he wasn’t serious? It was hard to know what to do. I had to find a way out of this.

  “Look. I lied. I’m not going jogging this morning, or any morning.”

  “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to come with you.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Are you scared I’ll hold you back, keep you from cracking those twenty miles?” He said it with a smile on his face.

  “Ben. I’m not going jogging with you.”

  He suddenly swung himself up and put his arms in the air, moving his hands in large circles—he was clearly making this shit up as he went. “But I went out and bought the whole outfit,” he complained. “I even downloaded a running app and it’s hooked up to this watch. Look.” He stuck his arm out in front of my nose. “It counts steps, calories, miles, everything.”

  I sighed. Ben was just about the most persistent person I’d ever met and he was now bending his knees and doing what I assume was meant to be a hamstring stretch.

  “I’m serious. I lied to you. I don’t jog. Ever.”

  He stopped stretching and looked up at me. “You lied? To me? Your boss?”

  I swallowed hard and felt a little panicked. I wasn’t sure how to read Ben. I wasn’t sure if he was seriously angry or not? “No. Of course I wouldn’t lie to you. My boss.”

  He smiled. “I didn’t think so. An employee such as yourself knows the value of trust in the work place.” And then he winked at me as if he was teasing.

  “Fine. Wait here.” I conceded and walked off to my room. How hard could it be to jog? It was just a fast variation of walking. I opened my cupboard and pulled out an old tracksuit and slipped on an equally old pair of sneakers. I passed the mirror and caught sight of myself. I had serious bed head, so I ran a brush through my hair and scraped it into a messy bun. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to go jogging, with Ben, at five in the morning, in winter. Clearly I’d lost my mind.

  “Okay, let’s go, I guess.” I exited the room and found him mid-stretch. Despite myself, I couldn’t help a small laugh. He looked utterly absurd.

  “What? They say stretching is as important as working out!” he said, standing up again with a rather pleased look on his face.

  “Mmmm.” I nodded.

  We walked downstairs towards the foyer, but when I got there and looked outside, I knew I needed someone to have me committed. It was still dark and it looked freezing.

  “Okay,” I cringed as I pushed the doors open and walked into Antarctica. My nose felt like it had just been flash frozen and I could barely see through the steam of my hot breath. Ben, however …

  “Refreshing,” he said with an unnatural amount of vigor. “Which way?” He was still jogging on the spot, bobbing up and down enthusiastically.

  “Whichever.”

  “Well, don’t you have a route? A twenty-mile one?” Fuck! This was getting way out of hand.

  “Follow me.” I started jogging in a random direction—which sadly happened to be up a steep hill. It didn’t take long until I was doubled-over and completely out of breath.

  “STOP! Oh my God … Crap, shit …” (gasp, gasp, gasp) “Holy … Stop.” I was gasping for air and clutching my knees. My lungs felt like they were on fire, my muscles stung, my lips felt like they were going to be ripped off by the cold wind, and my nose was running far better than I was.

  “Okay, I give up. I lied. I don’t flippin’ jog, okay, I lied to my boss!”

  Ben gasped dramatically. “You didn’t?!”

  “I did. I’m a liar, a lying untrustworthy employee or whatever you want to think, but I …” (pant, pant, pant) “… Oh my God I think I taste blood. Is it supposed to hurt like this? I need to sit down …” (gasp, gasp, gasp)

  I flopped down dramatically onto the cold hard pavement. Ben had stopped jogging too and was now leaning against a low wall.

  “So I guess twenty miles is out of the question then?” he said with a mocking smile plastered across that stupidly good-looking face of his.

  “Shut up,” I
spat back at him. “Is your heart supposed to beat like this?” I clutched my chest tightly in case my heart decided to burst out of it.

  A few seconds later Ben was kneeling next to me and had a hand on my back, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. I was too exhausted to resist and soon the feel of it brought back bad thoughts—me on his lap riding him, him kissing my neck, running his hands over my ba … a … aaa … c …

  Stop!

  I jumped up quickly but something caught my eye. “Aaahhh. Crappin’ hell. What’s that?” A giant rat looked at me before diving back into the drain. “See? It’s not natural for people to be out on the streets at this time.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Ben said, smirking. “So pancakes and coffee at my place then? I make these amazing berry pancakes. I’ve been told they’re unforgettable.”

  “Really?” I flashed him a look even though my face felt like it was going to crack. “By whom?” I imagined all the droves of women that had crawled out of his bed or back seat in the morning being made pancakes as they picked their panties up off the floor—if he didn’t steal them and put them in his pocket first.

  A gust of wind blew and it felt like a million icy pins piercing my entire body.

  “It’s freezing out here, let’s get inside and then we can debate how good my pancakes are.” Ben was off running in the direction of our building. “Last one there’s a rotten egg,” he called over his shoulder. I hadn’t heard that phrase since my sister and I’d played catch in the garden.

  I shook my head. This was disastrous. All my attempts at avoidance weren’t working—pancakes? At his place?

  15. There’s Nothing Sinister About Batter …

  I stood outside his door as if crossing the threshold would be like taking a step into a great, unchartered black abyss. This wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded, because it was an abyss of sorts. If I stepped into his apartment, I would be plunging into something that took our relationship from awkward-boss-with-ex-benefits, to awkward-boss-with-ex-benefits-and-pancakes-together-in-the-morning. There was a very clear difference between the two, eating breakfast together was intimate.

  “I think I’m going to go back to my place,” I eventually said.