I looked up, immediately feeling guilty. “Ben.”
I expected her to jump up and do some kind of victory dance, but she kept her neutral expression. “Is he having a good Christmas?”
“I don’t think his has really started yet. He’s seeing his parents tonight.”
“Gotchya.” She reached for a pillow and hugged it against her chest.
“He wants me to go over there,” I confessed in a rush of words. “He says he has something for me. Did he get you something?”
“Yes, he did.”
“What was it?”
“A scarf that I picked out and sent him the links for.” She smiled shamelessly.
God, I loved my sister.
“Well, I didn’t pick out anything for him to buy me. I can’t imagine what it is.”
“Go find out.”
I chewed undecidedly on my bottom lip. “I didn’t get him anything.” My gaze bounced around the room as I tried to figure out something I could wrap quickly and re-gift.
“I doubt he is expecting anything, Lizbeth.”
“What did you get him?” Curiosity about Emma and Ben’s friendship burned oddly in my stomach. I couldn’t figure out why it bothered me that they were so close. Ben and I were close too. I shouldn’t feel jealous about what they had together.
Jealous?
Did I really feel jealous?
“A wallet,” she told me. “He picked it out and sent me the links.”
I laughed at their silly gift exchange. “Maybe he got me the same scarf. Different color?”
“Maybe,” my sister shrugged. “It’s a very cute scarf. I guess there’s only one way to find out…”
I didn’t move a muscle. My phone screen had darkened so I couldn’t see Ben’s invitation anymore, but I felt it all over my skin and low in my belly.
“Go!” Emma encouraged. “I’ll make sure the house doesn’t burn down.”
“I won’t be gone long,” I promised, jumping up from the couch.
“Don’t worry about it if you are.”
“Okay, but I won’t be.”
“Whatever, just go!”
I tucked my phone into the pocket of my black skinny jeans and slipped on my boots. I had dressed up a little for Christmas in a red, silky shirt-style tunic and gold bangly jewelry. It was the most effort I had made since Thanksgiving. I pulled on my coat as I slipped out the front door.
I hurried from my house to his, making long, dragging footsteps in the snow across our lawns. It was cold outside and I was anxious to see this present.
I raised my hand to knock on his door, but it swung open for me instead. My hand hung there while he took his time raking his eyes from my toes to the top of my head. He nudged the screen door open and I slid by him into his house.
Ben had never invited me over to his house before. He always came over to mine, for obvious reasons.
He had good taste though. The rooms I could see were decorated with rich browns and aged wood accents. I could picture him stretched out on the chunky leather couch, watching something on his massive TV mounted to the wall. There was a small tree set on an end table with a few gifts wrapped professionally beneath. The only thing I could find fault with was that his beautiful house felt a little empty. It was such a big space for only him.
“I like your house better.” His low voice came from behind me. His fingers landed on my shoulders and tugged at my coat. I let him help me out of it.
“Yours is gorgeous,” I told him a little breathlessly. The pads of his fingers trailed down my arms as he removed my coat. I slipped out of my boots quickly to put space between us.
“Mine is lonely,” he said. “Yours is full of life.”
I spun around to face him. I would have never described my house like that. To me, my house felt full of death. Full of ghosts. Full of memories that ate at me day and night.
“Why did you buy such a big house for only you?” Changing the subject seemed like the wisest decision.
He took a step towards me and I took a quick one back. He smiled a little, amused with my jumpy behavior.
I couldn’t help it! This was the first time we had ever been alone, truly alone. The kids weren’t asleep in the other room or running around at our feet. It was just he and I and this great big house.
Nerves skittered over my skin and pooled in my stomach. I didn’t know how to handle all of these feelings and sensations, especially because my reaction seemed so silly.
Ben saw me as a friend, not anything more, but not anything less either.
“Well, I didn’t think I would always be the only one living in it,” he admitted.
“Oh.” I sidestepped his couch and looked into the kitchen. Sure enough, a box of Christmas Pop-Tarts sat on the counter. “Mrs. Tyler and the kids, you mean?”
I turned back to see him shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe when I first bought it, I thought that. But, I’m not sure this is the right place to raise a family anymore.”
“You think you’d move?” I hated the sinking feeling that washed over me, a heavy wave that threatened to drag me under a new surface of sadness.
He watched me carefully, when he said, “I would move for the right woman.”
His words hurt in a way I never expected them to. Talking about Ben finding the woman he wanted to marry was one thing, but facing the reality that I could lose him completely someday had never occurred to me. My heart squeezed with confusion and resistance.
I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted to keep Ben to myself. Selfishly, I didn’t care about his happiness or desire to get married and have kids. I wanted him always, just like we were.
“Liz, I… I want to… I have your gift.” He walked over to the small tree and pulled a perfectly wrapped present from beneath it.
An ivory card sat against the red plaid paper and gold bow. My name was written in his slender scrawl.
“Are you going to tell me what it is?” I looked up at him with shaking hands, almost too afraid to see what he had thought to buy me.
It didn’t feel like a scarf.
“How about I watch you open it instead.”
“I didn’t buy you anything, Ben. I’m so sorry; I barely got the shopping done for my kids-”
“Liz,” he said in a soft voice, cutting off my rambling. His warm hand wrapped around my trembling one. “I never expected one in return. I bought this because it reminded me of you. You’ve become someone that means a lot to me and I wanted to… to show you how much I care for you.”
I stared at the prettily wrapped present in my hands and debated handing it back to him. I didn’t want to know how much he cared for me.
“It’s not going to bite,” he nudged gently.
I looked up into his dark brown eyes and it hit me. I might be afraid of what this present represented on his side, but I would open it up anyway because I cared for him. I couldn’t hurt him by refusing this. I wouldn’t hurt him.
I carefully untied the bow and slid my finger beneath the seam of the paper. He took it from me so I could hold a black box without a label.
My heart jumped to my throat. I could only imagine one kind of gift in a box like this and I didn’t want it. I didn’t want jewelry from Ben. I didn’t know what jewelry from Ben even meant!
I swallowed my fear and opened the box. I gasped at the thoughtfulness behind this surprise. Relief rushed over me and I nearly stumbled from the force of it.
In the box, wrapped in shiny red tissue paper, sat a snowflake ornament made out of wine corks. A shimmery blue ribbon had been fastened to the outer edge and gave it some color.
It was a perfect gift. I loved it.
“I love it,” I told him on a whisper. I picked it up and held it delicately in my hands.
“They’re ours.”
I looked up at him, confused by what he meant. He stared at me intently, watching my reaction. “What do you mean?”
“It was an accident at first. I would put the corks in my pock
et after I opened a bottle at your house and I never seemed to get them in the trash. They piled up on my dresser. Then I saw a little knickknack a coworker had bought, made out of corks. She told me she bought it at a craft fair. I tracked down the person that made them and had her make this for you.”
Awe and pleasant surprise warmed me all over. “You went to a lot of work.”
“I like how it turned out.” He reached for it, running his hands over the corks.
“We drink a lot of wine.”
He grinned at me. “We don’t always finish the bottle in one night.” He took a step closer to me, closing that confusing space that separated us. “These corks represent a lot of good times. It’s hard to believe we’ve only known each other a few months.”
“Are you saying it feels like longer?” I teased.
“I’m saying it seems like it took too long to meet you.” He took another step closer. I could feel the heat of his body and the brush of his gray sweater on my hands.
“Some days I don’t know what I would do without you,” I whispered, surprised at my courage. But these words were true and in the isolation of his quiet house I felt safe enough to speak them.
“Then I’m glad you have me.”
I looked down at the snowflake ornament, too unsettled by his words, only for him to recapture my attention when he said, “Liz, look up.”
“Why?” But I did.
“Mistletoe,” he murmured.
Then he kissed me. His soft lips pressed against mine in a gentle kiss that lasted only a second. I barely had a chance to let my eyes flutter closed before he stepped back again.
I blinked up, but there was nothing there. The only thing that hung from the vaulted ceiling was a ceiling fan.
No mistletoe.
My cheeks burned and my stomach flipped. He’d kissed me. Ben had just kissed me.
How could he? I was still married!
No, that was wrong.
Technically, I was now single, but not the kind of single girl looking to be kissed.
Still, it wasn’t an open-mouthed kiss or even that intimate. A friend could give a kiss like that. Right?
I pressed my lips together, trying to sort out all of the sensations that had erupted inside of me. Nerves tingled beneath my skin and I heated all over.
I wanted to forget that ever happened, but I couldn’t stop replaying the nearness of his body or the smell of his cologne. I still felt his lips against mine and my heart still raced with the thrill of his boldness.
“I should go,” I croaked.
He looked at me affectionately, as if those words were the most adorable thing he’d ever heard, and said, “I figured.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That you have a family that needs you. I figured you had to get back to them.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. I didn’t believe that was what he meant at all.
“Thank you again for the gift.” I settled it back into the box and replaced the lid. “I can’t wait to hang it up on the tree.”
“If you need to get away from your parents, you can always come back.”
The desire to take him up on his offer seared through me without my permission. I wasn’t supposed to want to come back to his house. I shouldn’t want to spend more time with him.
I shouldn’t still be thinking about his kiss.
“I probably won’t see you until after they leave.”
His smile faltered, “I forget not everyone dreads spending time with their parents.”
“You love your parents,” I reminded him.
“They’re growing on me.”
“One day I’d like to meet them.”
His eyes darkened and he spoke in a low rumble, “You should probably let me take you out on a date first.”
“Excuse me?” I practically choked on the words.
But then his eyebrow rose in that cocky way he had and I realized he had been joking. I was the one that read too much into it. “Isn’t that how it usually goes? I was just kidding.”
I cleared my throat and attempted a smile. “Merry Christmas, Ben.”
“Merry Christmas, Liz.”
I stepped into my boots, grabbed my coat and practically bolted from his house. By the time I had shut myself back in my own house I had managed to convince myself that his kiss and his flirting didn’t mean anything. He was a friend. And he thought of me as a friend.
I looked down at the box in my hand, then clutched it against my pounding heart.
He was just a friend, I decided concretely.
And because I willfully came to that conclusion, I didn’t bother to examine my actions when I tucked the ornament inside my bedside table instead of hanging it on the tree where it would be stored away with all of the other Christmas decorations in just a few short days.
Chapter Seventeen
“Ms. Conway will see you now,” the school secretary informed me.
I stood up from a chair lined against the wall and walked toward Ms. Conway’s office. This time I thought ahead and called Emma to babysit the two little kids while I had my meeting with the school counselor.
When she called last Friday to ask me to come in on Monday, she’d made it clear that this was a very serious meeting and that I should be serious about it.
I figured the call was meant to scare me into leaving my gaggle of children at home.
I walked into her office and steeled myself against the immediate chill. I hated being called in here. I hated that she had the ability to reduce me to fear and panic attacks.
Before Grady died, I had been the poster mom for volunteering and school spirit. Now I was the cautionary tale whispered about in carpools and PTA meetings. This is what happens when you have too many kids and lose your mind. You turn into her.
These women had once relied on me. Now they couldn’t meet my eyes because they didn’t know what to say to me.
Maybe it was unfair to cast them all with the same dye, but beyond some initial casseroles after Grady’s funeral, I hadn’t heard from one of them.
“How are you, Liz?” the counselor asked me from behind her desk.
“I’m alright, thank you.”
“Please, have a seat.” I followed orders. “Do you know why I called you in here today?”
I tried not to feel like a ten year old again. “No, the kids haven’t said anything.”
She pressed her thin lips together and looked down at some papers in front of her. “But you know Abby has been having problems in nearly all of her classes? She’s been acting out, disrupting lectures and not turning in her homework?”
“We’ve been working on all of that.” I suppressed the urge to run my hands over my face with frustration. “She’s had some difficulties since Christmas.”
“What happened at Christmas?” Ms. Conway gasped as if waiting for some piece to this unsolvable puzzle that was my second born child.
“We celebrated it without her father for the first time. It’s been hard on all of the kids, but Abby is my only one that reacts disruptively with grief. She isn’t processing this well.”
Ms. Conway let out a short, irritated sigh, as if my daughter’s pain irritated her. “Well, it’s the beginning of February now, Liz. I know that Abby is going through something tough, but she is causing major problems for all of her teachers. If she doesn’t change her behavior soon, we’re going to have to take disciplinary action.”
I shook my head, trying to make her words disappear. “Ms. Conway, I know that she can be a handful, but she’s been through so much. She’s not a bad kid; she’s just a little girl that misses her daddy. We’re working through her pain, but it takes time.”
“I know you think I’m the bad guy here, but I’m just trying to help her. She has to learn that even through rough times, she still has to follow the rules at school and in society.”
“She will learn that,” I promised. “I’m working with her at home and she’s opening up more. I am hoping
she’s processing Grady’s death more maturely now. She just turned seven a few weeks ago. That might be part of the problem and part of the solution.”
“What do you mean?”
I clasped my hands together in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “Abby’s birthday is in January, so between the holiday season and her birthday, she had to face a lot of important, special family events that her dad couldn’t be at. That was very hard on her. On all of us. But she is seven now. She’ll grow up some in the next few months, she’ll mature. This has been a tough year for her, but I know she’s getting better. Just give her a little bit more time.”
“Liz, we’re nearly to the end of the school year.”
“We’re also nearly to the one year anniversary of Grady’s death. That might have something to do with her behavior too.”
“When is that?”
“Middle of March.”
She let out another long sigh. “Alright, I understand. I know this is hard for your family. I get it. I do.”
“Thank you.”
Her cold eyes lifted to meet mine. “But she cannot keep disrupting class and lunch. Yesterday she had all of the kids in the lunchroom chanting, “Yum!” at the top of their lungs.”
My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “Yum?”
Ms. Conway started pounding her fists lightly on her desk in time to illustrate, “Yum! Yum! Yum!”
“I can see why that would cause so many problems.”
“Ms. Carlson, they were extremely loud. The teachers couldn’t get them to settle down.”
“Give her just a little more time to struggle through this. I promise I will have a talk with her and she will get it together for the rest of the school year.”
“We just have a few more months,” she offered sympathetically.
“We’ll make it, Ms. Conway. I will get her through this year and then by next fall you will see a different kid. A healthier kid.”
“Alright, Liz. Alright.”
The bell rang for school to be dismissed and we both stood up. I said goodbye and walked out to meet my kids.
“Abby, we are going to talk when we get home,” I told her.
I wasn’t as irrational as I had been at the beginning of the year, but I knew my daughter needed discipline. I could only blame myself for so much and Grady’s death was a reality we had to learn to live with.
The Five Stages of Falling in Love Page 16