He didn’t say anything for possibly the longest moment of my life. Then I felt his lips on my hair, peppering kisses down my scalp.
“Do you want that too?” I asked him, hoping he knew kisses didn’t qualify as an answer.
“Yeah.” He paused his kissing to tell me, “I want everything with you.”
I snuggled closer into his chest and nodded.
I had never lived my life looking for love. I’d always put the focus on other things: family, friends, school, things that were more important at the time. I hoped I’d be happy even if I were single for the rest of my life, but there was something special about being able to share my family and friends with Ben, sharing my happiness with him, sharing my blank pages with him.
When his breathing evened out, I fell into a peaceful sleep. It was a sweet therapy to hear the screen door shut on my childhood home, to be within walls that had seen me grow, and to be with people who’d loved me through all of my stages.
All too early, the peaceful sleep ended. Sadly, I woke to an empty bed. I was far too used to opening my eyes to Ben snuggling next to me. I stumbled from my room in search of him and coffee. Coffee first. I made my way to the kitchen but stopped short when I heard the male voices. Even in my sleepy state, I knew my dad’s serious voice.
“What are your intentions with my daughter?” he demanded to know. “I see the way she looks at you. She’s devoted, and if you know her at all, you know that means something. She’s not a shallow, superficial person. She feels things on extreme levels. I’m a father, so I worry, and even more so because of who she is, how much she feels, how much heartbreak she would feel. I have to know your intentions.”
“I don’t really know how to explain.” I heard the unease in Ben’s voice. I could almost guarantee he was running his hands through his unruly hair.
“You better think fast because we aren’t leaving this spot until you do.” I knew that tone. That was the voice my dad reserved for courtrooms or punishment. It was laced with intimidation, and I was happy I was hidden behind the wall.
“For the most part, I have my life figured out. I’ve known what I’ve wanted to do for a long time…and then I met her. I’m still going to be an engineer. I have a job lined up, a house, everything planned, but when I met her, when I fell for her, my plan didn’t matter anymore unless she was with me. So, I don’t really know how to answer your question. I’d appreciate this staying between us until I can tell her myself, when she’s ready, but I…” He trailed off, and I desperately wanted to peek around the corner to see his face, but he continued. “She means everything to me. Everything.”
Tears pooled in my eyes as I made a big thing of making noise before I entered the kitchen. Ben looked up at me, but Dad was only staring at him. When Ben turned back to face him, he gave a small nod, and I could see the smile behind Ben’s eyes.
“Morning, birthday girl.” He greeted me with a cup of coffee, casually, as if he hadn’t just cracked my chest open and taken my heart prisoner. It was a life sentence, no chance for parole.
The day passed quickly, as good days always do. After dinner, my mom told me to make a wish as I stared at the wax digits she’d lit on top of my white cake covered in colorful sprinkles.
Twenty-two was a fairly insignificant birthday, not like twenty-one where the promise of purchasing alcohol legally makes it a special occasion or twenty-five when your car insurance rate decreases. Twenty-two was just a normal birthday. I didn’t feel any older, and definitely none the wiser.
I stared at the candles, thinking about the last twenty-one birthday wishes. I was sure as a little girl they had been filled with materialistic things. From ages seven to ten, I wished for a pony every year, my lack of an equine surprise proving that not all wishes come true. My high school wishes were filled with meaningless fluff, and I couldn’t even remember what I’d wished for the previous year. Clearly it hadn’t been important.
We measure our life by birthdays, putting it on a scale of age. Starting my twenty-third year, I’d had over eight thousand sunrises and sunsets. The last six months, though, were the ones that felt whole, complete.
With an exhalation, I blew out the candles, wishing for all my blank pages to be like this.
CHAPTER 30
“YOU’RE EARLY,” I said as I opened the door for Ben, followed closely behind by Miles. He glanced at his watch then looked at me, confused. “Okay, you’re not early, but we’re not ready yet.” Same thing.
I had never been to the Valentine’s formal for Ben’s fraternity. Jules had gone her freshman year, and she’d agreed to be Miles’ date this time. “Just to be with you,” she’d told me. I didn’t know why she fought Miles. He was clearly interested in her. Neither would admit it, and both continued to date casually even though we went on more double dates with the two of them than they did in their actual relationships.
It had taken a long time to find the dress I wanted. After trying on what felt like two hundred, I’d finally decided on one in light blue that hit above my knees. It accentuated all my best features and hid all my worst. Jules and I had spent the last hour breathing through a cloud of hairspray and concealing the blemishes on our faces. I double-checked the mirror one last time after applying a pale pink lipstick. My hair, which I’d tucked and re-tucked into a loose updo, was staying still, at least for now. The finishing touch was a pair of cream wedges that wrapped around my ankles and were only a little uncomfortable.
Ben’s eyes lit up when I returned to the living room. “You look amazing,” he told me as I grabbed him by the lapels of his sport coat, pressing my lips roughly to his. He laughed into my mouth as his arms encircled me, lifting me off the ground a bit.
“Ready?” Jules asked as she rounded the corner into the living room. I heard Miles’ breath catch. She did look good. A short midnight blue dress was wrapped tightly around her, letting the world know just how often she frequented the gym. She was still rummaging in her purse, slipping on her sparkly silver shoes, probably trying to actively ignore Miles, if I had to guess.
“Ready,” he said after he cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t just been drooling over my best friend. The ride across town was short and silent, and thanks to our tardiness, the party was already in full swing. Twinkle lights circled the trees of the old heated barn that had been turned into a reception hall for weddings and parties. White lace tablecloths were laid across old wooden picnic tables, and tree trunks had been cut to provide centerpieces along with mason jars of baby’s-breath. It was somewhere between vintage and old world, and it worked. You could tell the seniors of the sister sorority who’d done the planning and decorating had spent a lot of time on their last formal.
The dancing had already started when we got our drinks and found a table for Miles and Ben to sit at since they insisted they wouldn’t be participating. I could tell Jules was itching for us to join the circles of girls already moving to the beat on the floor, but I needed at least two drinks before I made it out there and two more before I stopped caring what everyone thought. Even without the drinks, I was in a haze—a haze of love and unrealistic expectations. Fancy shoes and well-dressed men will do that to a girl.
Ben looked sexy in charcoal pants and a black shirt. The dark clothes made his eyes pop, and I almost wished I didn’t dance so I could attach myself to his hip and ward off all the female attention he was likely to get at this hormone-infested event. It had to be a flaw in our DNA, or brainwashed into us by Disney—muscles covered by a dark suit were kryptonite.
The other fraternity boys, on the other hand, drank too much and made it abundantly clear that they were in no way moved by the romance of the occasion.
Jules and I ignored embarrassment and danced until we had to remove our shoes, and then we danced barefoot. My eyes sought Ben’s often, and when the DJ played a slow one, I tilted my head, asking him to join me on the dance floor. Miles followed him out, pulling Jules into him with little protest.
I laug
hed a little, but when my eyes found Ben’s again, I thought my heart stopped. I was certain my legs stopped. He covered the ten or fifteen feet between us and met me with force. His strong fingers gripped the back of my head, probably messing up the elaborate twist of hair I had spent a grueling thirty minutes battling. My own hands were rooted to my sides as he molded his mouth to mine. My heart restarted and proceeded to hammer against my chest.
“Wow,” I said when he finally pulled away. I was so good with words.
He smirked, probably knowing he looked like pure torture, before placing the gentlest of kisses on my nose. People were watching us, single girls swooning over Ben, which really was pretty standard everywhere we went.
“I’ve been dying to do that for hours,” he admitted, pulling me in close to his body. He’d loosened his tie and lost his jacket. It was a damn good look. I wondered what it’d be like to greet it every afternoon. In the back of my mind, I tried to remember what engineers wore to work.
The smile I gave him only made his grow. The song played out as Ben held me close, whispering the words of the love song into my ear.
Between the ages of four and eight, I took ballet lessons. At age five, I added in jazz for a year, and when that didn’t suit my tiny little ambition, I took two years of tap. For those four years, my life—and my mother’s—revolved around dance.
Even to this day, there is a box of nostalgia somewhere in the attic packed full of light pink leotards, ballet flats, tulle skirts, shiny black shoes, and video after video of me dancing my little heart out.
It took some time and a lot of stumbling to realize it wasn’t the dancing I loved, but the music, all music. I was completely promiscuous in my music loving. Hits, oldies, classics, rap, country, rock—you name it, I could find some appreciation for it.
When you loved words as much as I did, how could you not love what musicians do with them? They get this beat going, this melody flowing through your blood, and then they add the words, the lyrical masterpiece that holds the ability to define life.
The words hold so much power when you put them to a rhythm and give them some soul. They can heal your heart or break it, build you up or tear you down, make you relive a memory over and over. Every so often, you’re driving down a one-lane back road, windows down, hair flying, music so loud you can’t hear yourself think, and the words begin and they hit you square in the soul, the center of your being, and you feel it. You feel what you’ve never felt before, what you never thought you’d feel. You look around at the one-story farm houses, dogs in the yards, front porch swings swaying in the breeze, and you wonder how life is still going on as if your world wasn’t just tilted on its axis, as if those words didn’t just define your essence.
The lyrics of this song that promised faith and adoration melted my heart as Ben sang them softly where only I could hear. My fingertips clutched him tighter as my lips peppered soft, wet kisses into his neck. This time, when I heard the words that had been put into songs for centuries, I felt them. I understood them.
I needed someone to dance to the music my heart was playing, but the thing was, sometimes it was classical ballet, sometimes salsa, and sometimes it was just headbanging nonsense. But, I couldn’t help that, and I needed someone who saw that as a requirement, not a flaw.
Before Ben, I’d felt like the romantic part of my story would be titled something desperate like I don’t know what I’m doing or Are you flirting with me? Perhaps Table for one, alcohol for two. Since Ben had become a major player in my everyday life, those love songs sounded a lot different, like I actually got what they meant when they said love, like the lyrics weren’t just words that sounded good strung together.
CHAPTER 31
DOODLES COVERED UP the stationary in front of me, little flowers and vines crawling up the right side while polka dots took over the top margin. The center was filled with wasted words that had all been marked out with heavy black ink.
For once, I was ahead of schedule. My next article wasn’t due for two weeks, and I already had a topic. Thanks to my birthday, I’d been thinking more and more about growing up in the nineties.
I couldn’t help but be grateful for our Saturday morning cartoons. Some things get worse with age. Animated programming is one of them.
Wouldn’t it be nice to go back and appreciate what we took for granted? Going back to when you didn’t need caffeine to start your day. Can we cash in all those naps we refused in preschool?
Life was easy. You had Lisa Frank school supplies, played awesome music on a boombox, watched VHS tapes, and read Junie B. Jones and Goosebumps then slept with the light on when you tried to go to bed at eight o’clock because you had a bedtime.
Instead of cell phones, we had imagination and outside. You couldn’t even use the phone while you were on the internet, which took forever to dial up. We didn’t have texting so we had to painstakingly write out what we wanted to say, fold it up into a little triangle, and hand-deliver it.
And talk about about planning for the future. Your entire life could be determined by a solid game of MASH. Forget high school—the nineties really were the best years of anyone’s life.
The hairstyles got better, although I did love those butterfly clips.
“You’ve been tugging all your hair out again,” Jules observed from her comfy spot in the recliner. “Writer’s block?”
It was a valid assumption. I was in my writer’s wardrobe: yoga pants, XL sweatshirt, and a headband to hold the curls off my face. How it differed from my everyday wear, I wasn’t sure.
“Worse—I’m trying to plan my future. Besides, you know I love my messy hair. Controlled hair gives the impression of a controlled life. It’s a lie,” I told her, tightening my ponytail. Thankfully, I didn’t usually stress over the stray curls. Embrace the nest, I always said—at least I did in the morning before I’d consumed a sufficient amount of caffeine to care. I wore my hair in a messy bun more often than not, and not the cute messy bun either. I’d yet to perfect that. I only had two buns: just rolled out of bed or lumberjack.
After spending four hours researching publishing companies and getting distracted watching funny cat videos on YouTube, I started actually searching for a job. It didn’t take long for me to lose all hope. The more my confidence fell, the more I wished I’d chosen a more promising career, like aerospace engineering or accounting, or basically anything that paid more than minimum wage and offered health benefits.
I knew my despair had completely taken over when I started googling the annual salary of a prostitute. Unfortunately, the numbers varied. There were a lot of factors that went into that, apparently.
I took a much needed break after getting sidetracked by downloading music. I finally left the comforts of my bed when I couldn’t ignore the hunger. I fell onto the couch beside Jules with my leftover Chinese takeout, hoping a few hours of mindless TV would distract me from impending unemployment.
She flipped through all the channels at least twice before settling on a reality dating show.
“The douchebaggery is strong with this one. Contrary to what he thinks, he is not God’s gift to women.” I could almost feel her eye roll. Dating shows were on Jules’ short list of dislikes. They were on mine too, but admittedly, my list was a lot longer. Don’t ask me why we still watched them.
“I hope when they kick him off the show, that charisma can lead him to a management position of burger flippers.”
“What I don’t get is how they can say they love each other after a week. Who does that?”
“Hollywood.” She shrugged. “Some people fall in love easier than others, and some people would fall in love easier if they would let themselves.” She gave me a pointed look. Okay, so maybe I hadn’t said those words to Ben. He hadn’t said them either. The little square box of denial I kept in my chest was growing smaller and smaller. Maybe if I kept ignoring it, I wouldn’t hyperventilate.
Why did it scare me so much? It hadn’t started out as love. We’d
grown toward this. We’d taken some compatibility and built a strong base. We were constructing a future, but I was too afraid to call it love.
It’s safe to say I didn’t fall for Ben at first sight, not in love, anyway. Maybe I did fall in lust, like every other girl who saw him smile, or saw him shirtless. That can be chalked up to hormones, though. This? What I felt now ran way deeper than hormones. I knew I was on my way to loving him, but I’d been under the impression that I could stop it if I really wanted to, could turn back and forget, chalk the failed relationship up to bad timing and ‘irreconcilable differences’, per every celebrity divorce I’d ever seen commented on in magazines.
The more I told myself not to think about it, the more I thought about it. I couldn’t shut my brain off. Why hadn’t he said he loved me? The only logical answer I could come up with involved a whole lot of insecurities. Who would love an unemployed, messy girl with no plan for the future? This was Ben we were talking about—Ben who balanced his checkbook and planned for retirement, who could have any girl he wanted.
Insecurity was an ugly, ugly thing. Everything made me feel terrible. Every time I encountered a problem, it only highlighted my insecurities more. I felt sure Ben wanted a girl who made her bed and didn’t spill coffee on her shirt. I just knew Ben wouldn’t dare like a girl who couldn’t parallel park.
Eventually I changed into my pajamas, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and settled into my unmade bed. A deep exhalation left my body. I’d been waiting for this moment all day.
CHAPTER 32
SWEAT WAS DRIPPING from my hairline as my feet pounded on the treadmill. I’d been regretting getting out of bed ever since Jules dragged me to the gym first thing in the morning. We’d already been here for an hour, and I’d never stayed at the gym that long. I was dying a slow painful death in the form of cardio.
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