But just as my mother had predicted I would, I knew. I knew, I'd known for longer than I cared to admit, and I was ready to take the next step. But first, I had a date with my garden.
It was hot today, just as the tail-end of summer was meant to be. Hot, hazy, humid. Unpleasant, uncomfortable air, the kind that swaddled your skin and brought sweat to the strangest of places. Behind the ears, the backs of the knees, the crease of the elbow.
Rather than taking refuge from this heat, I pulled on my gloves. Gronk was sprawled on the floor, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He didn't react when I opened the back door.
"Are you coming?" I called to him. He lifted his head, stared at me for a moment, and returned to his sprawl. "Don't you dare scratch on this door to come out in five minutes. And don't think about barking at me from the bedroom window. I'm not having it."
He replied with a single tail wag and a lengthy snore-sigh.
I stepped out into the morning sun and assessed the condition of the yard. It was a strange parcel of land, jagged and asymmetrical, the kind deeded in the time of farmlands and horse-drawn carriages. It was a rarity in this area. An old rock ledge marked the property lines on either side and a pocket-sized forest formed the back boundary. The neighborhood surrounding my aunt's land was nothing like this, each plot carved up into orderly rectangular boxes, symbols of postwar prosperity and order.
My aunt's aesthetic veered toward flowering wild and it showed. When she'd purchased this home forty-odd years ago, the yard had been a failed experiment in English rose gardening. She'd hacked it all back and replaced the roses with every colorful bloom she could find. But after a few years of careful tending, the roses pushed past the new plantings, edging themselves back into prominence.
Now, the garden lived on like an old memory book. English roses from a time before any Santillian women lived here. Lilacs, irises, gladiolus, zinnias, dahlias, hydrangeas from my aunt. Ferns and creeping rosemary from me. There was a magnolia tree out front, one planted the year I was born. There was an ash and linden too but the pink flowering magnolia was Aunt Francesca's favorite.
It took me all of my thirty-four years to figure it out but now I knew I'd always been wanted. My parents, my brothers, my friends, my aunt—they'd circled around me right from the start. It wasn't the same as wanting to be loved and desired but I'd learned being the object of desire wasn't the great accomplishment of my life.
Sharing love with someone who'd earned a spot in my life, that was an accomplishment. That was worth working for. Being desired was the first step in a miles-long hike.
I attacked the weeds first. With this heat and frequent summer showers, it was no surprise they were taking over the yard. I was waist-deep in unwelcome shoots and vines. Invasive species adored these conditions. I plunged my fingers into the earth over and over, tracing the line of the root all the way down and tearing it out. I was too focused on ousting the weeds to notice anything but the next obstacle in my path.
I definitely didn't notice Ben until he shouted, "Take a break, would you? I'm tired just watching you."
From my hands and knees position, I lifted my head to find Ben near the back door, his fists balled on his waist. "And how long have you been watching?"
"About ten minutes." He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugged. "Maybe more. Maybe less. Figured you'd see me eventually but it looks like you have the crazy eyes going."
I pushed to my feet and dusted the dirt off my knees and gloved hands. "I did not have crazy eyes."
"Uh, yeah, you did," he argued. "If I was in there"—he pointed at the section I'd cleared—"you would've yanked me up too."
"Likely story," I muttered as I picked my way through the garden toward him. "To what do I owe this surprise visit?"
He stared at me through his dark sunglasses, silent while I pulled off my cap and mopped the sweat from my brow. "Where's your guard dog? Shouldn't he be out here, warning off trespassers?"
I waved my hat toward the house. "Too hot for him. He requires a temperate climate."
Ben whistled. "That pup has the life." He shook his head, smiling at me. "Let's go inside. Your shoulders are getting red."
I glanced at my bare arms and found he was right, I was heading toward a sunburn. "The sun's more intense than I thought."
"Yeah," he replied, dragging the word out. "Or maybe you shouldn't be doing yard work during a heat wave."
"If I waited for good gardening days, I'd get seven or eight a year." Ben followed me into the house, stopping to pet Gronk while I washed my hands at the kitchen sink.
"Hey, buddy," he said, crouching down to meet the dog at his level. "Having a snoozer? Good day for it."
"Want a drink?" I looped my fingers around the refrigerator door handle, watching while Ben loved all over my dog. Giving affection came easily to him. The rest of his emotions were less clear. "I have beer."
"I'll pass on the beer." He scooped Gronk up, cradling him in his arms, and settled at the kitchen table. "Water, please."
Carrying two glasses of water, I joined Ben at the table. His attention belonged to Gronk as he scratched the dog's head, patted his flanks, and carried on a hushed conversation as if he'd get a response any minute now.
I was guilty of all the same things but it was curious to see Ben focused only on Gronk. "If you wanted a playdate with my dog, you could've asked." The remark was mostly sarcastic. Mostly.
He glanced up at me, his expression rigid. "I need to talk to you."
Even the most stable, secure people in the world wobbled against those words. "Okay."
He returned his attention to Gronk, stroking the space between his ears. "I need to talk and I need you to not say anything."
"So," I started, lifting my glass, "you want me to sit here? Without responding?"
"Yeah, pretty much." He shrugged as if this was a common request. "I would've texted you but that seemed like a chickenshit choice and I'm tired of making the chickenshit choice."
Another wobble. Even if it didn't make sense. That fear of rejection, it never went all the way away. Not even when I wanted the rejection. When the rejection saved me from delivering the same blow. "Oh," I murmured. "Oh. That kind of conversation. Okay."
"Nothing bad. Not for you."
He kept his gaze trained on Gronk. He didn't even want to look at me. Didn't want to or couldn't? Was there a difference? Did it even matter?
Ben continued, "I've been thinking this week. I've been thinking a lot."
My eyebrows arched up. "That's not like you."
He slapped his palm on the table, grinning at me for the first time today. "What did I tell you about keeping quiet?"
"All right. I'll be quiet. As much as I can."
He shared an eyeroll with Gronk that suggested I couldn't be trusted. "Like I said, I've been thinking a lot. And like you said, that's uncommon for me." He forced a brittle laugh. I didn't reciprocate. "I've been thinking and I want to say a couple of things to you. First, I want you to know you're one of the best people I've ever met. You yelled at me and you wouldn't let me fuck up and you did the exact opposite of everyone else in my life and I—I appreciate that. I appreciate everything you've done and everything you've put up with because I've been a whole fucking lot to put up with recently."
"Are you firing me? As your home improvement mentor? Because that's what this sounds like." I pressed my fingertips to my lips. "Oh. Sorry. I'm not supposed to say anything."
Ben held Gronk up to meet his eyes. "What is wrong with her? I don't know how you put up with this, buddy. I really don't." He looked up at me. "I'm not firing you. For fuck's sake, Gigi."
"You're not paying me either so I suppose it's a moot point."
"You're making me think twice about doing this in person," he grumbled.
My belly flopped once, then again. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand before pulling back. "Just tell me, Ben. Whatever it is, just tell me."
He traced the str
ipe of white running down Gronk's head. "When all of this started, with you and me and Rob, I justified it to myself. I told myself we wouldn't have had a connection if Rob was right for you. If you really wanted to be with him."
"Yeah, but I hadn't even met Rob in person back then. Technically, I met you first and—"
Ben held up a hand, his eyelids snapping shut. "Things have changed. That's obvious to everyone. We had different connections for different reasons and that's—that's okay. But things have changed." He ran his hands down Gronk's back, prompting the dog to stretch in his lap. "You showed up in my house in the middle of the night and you saved me. I know you wouldn't tell it that way—"
"Not unless we're talking about saving you from unpermitted construction fines," I added under my breath.
"—but you helped me through the hardest time of my life. Just by being there and kicking my ass and forcing me to do things the right way. I didn't know it was going to be this difficult, and I didn't know I was going to need help but you showed me the way from one point to another. I appreciate that."
"You're welcome." I glanced down at the table and trailed my index finger through the condensation ringing my glass. "What is it you need to say, Ben?"
I watched as a storm cloud drifted over him, quick like summer thunder. It was over just as fast as it rolled in. "I like you. So much. So fuckin' much. You don't take my shit and you know the right thing to say at the worst moments and you're a cool lady when you're not preaching about building codes."
"But?" I prompted.
Here I was, walking straight into rejection. The fear was there, irrational as it was. The anxiety too. But I was ready for this. I welcomed it.
He looked up at me, Gronk cuddled against his chest like a wiggly, squishy shield. "But I'm not for you and you're not for me."
"I know." I nodded, offering a small smile. I prayed my expression wasn't painted with relief. Ben didn't want to see that. "I know."
He pressed his fingers to his temples. "You could've mentioned this before I ripped my guts out and dropped them on the floor in front of you."
"And miss out on this fun? No. Never." I folded my arms over my chest. "Aside from the fun, I didn't want to hurt you. I know how much you're going through and I didn't want to add to that. I didn't want to make things worse for you."
"Oh, right," Ben drawled. "Allowing me to slow-walk myself to that conclusion with the help of a cutthroat teacher was much better. Thanks for that, Gigi. Really, I appreciate it. Thanks."
I leaned forward, clasped my fingers around my glass. "Tell me about this teacher."
Ben ran his hand through his hair, over his scruffy chin. He huffed out a wry chuckle as the inklings of a smile softened his face. It started in his eyes, gradually reaching his lips and pulling them up into a craggy grin. "Is this how it's gonna be with us now? I'm supposed to tell you about my feelings and shit? And I don't even get the benefit of naked showers?"
"Come on, Ben. All showers should be naked," I replied. "But yeah, let's do this. Let's be disgustingly mature and cleave our relationship into two separate and distinct segments."
He gestured toward me. "The shower segment and the not-showering segment?"
I tapped a finger on my chest. "I'm still showering."
"But not with me," he replied.
"It seems like I'm spending a lot of time explaining when and how to wash," I said. "Perhaps you could find a YouTube tutorial for that and leave me out of it."
"I'm just saying, I wouldn't mind a shower with you."
"Here's a small suggestion." I tipped my head toward him. "This person, the cutthroat teacher? I'm confident she won't enjoy these references to bathing with me."
He bobbed his head in solemn agreement. That was, I interpreted it as solemn agreement. The goings-on of Ben's mind still eluded me.
"I can see that," he said eventually.
"About this woman," I said. "I need more details, Brock. Who is she, when did you meet her, how much of your shit does she tolerate?" I ticked off each question on my fingers. "You know, the important details."
"Her name is Grace, and I met her last weekend. She was helping out at that house, the one your friends moved into." He blew out a breath and pressed his palms to his eyes. "I don't know how to explain it," he continued, "but the woman is a villain and I am obsessed with her."
I leaned back, considering this. There were several things I'd expected from a conversation with Ben Brock that terminated our romantic relationship. I'd anticipated his trademark bluster and some request for a sex-on-the-side arrangement. Not that I'd wanted it but I'd also expected him to fight for me, insist I couldn't possibly choose Rob.
None of that involved him announcing he'd met another woman. Not only met another woman but already possessed big, confusing, obsessive feelings for that woman.
And I was ecstatic. There wasn't even a twinge of betrayal.
"What kind of villain?" I asked.
He dropped his hands and stared at me wide-eyed. "The best kind. The best kind," he repeated. "I've talked to her every day this week and I am—"
"Smitten?" I interrupted. I couldn't help but beam at Ben. I'd never seen him twisted quite like this. It was fabulous. "Because you're smitten."
He jerked a shoulder up, shrugging off my response. "You said something recently. Something about getting tired of your bullshit. This woman, Grace, she was tired of my bullshit before she met me and she has no problem telling me that."
"I'm a fan," I replied, both hands up in praise. "When are you seeing her again?"
Ben stroked Gronk's coat for a moment, silent. Then, "I don't know. I had to do this first. I had to do right by you before I could do anything with her. Hell, I don't know if she's interested. She ignores my texts for eleven hours and then tells me to unfuck myself and I don't know what to do about any of it. I just want—I don't know—I want her attention." He shot an apprehensive glimpse in my direction. "That's about as lame as it sounds, isn't it?"
I felt a rush of warm affection for Ben. It wasn't romantic or sexual, not at all. It was the kind of affection reserved for the special people who came into your life and changed the course for the better. He'd changed my course and I'd needed him to do that. I'd needed him to push me, to hem me in and force me to take charge of our complex relationship. But more than that, he'd forced me to make choices.
I couldn't sit back and wait for love to find me. I couldn't expect it to come in the exact dimensions I required. I couldn't cross my fingers and hope to find someone better than my shabby roster of exes. I had to orchestrate that magic for myself.
And now it seemed Ben had to orchestrate his own magic.
"Assuming she wants to see you again, I'd love to meet her," I said. "I want good things for you, Ben. You're not getting rid of me. I'll be checking in on you and asking about this scary villain teacher and making sure you're doing well even if we don't share showers anymore." I pointed over his shoulder, in the direction of his house. "And I'm not letting you screw up those renovations."
"Yeah?" he remarked. "What's Rob have to say about that?"
Another rush of affection hit me, this one tighter, more urgent than the first. I loved Rob. I could say that now and I could believe it. I could keep it without worrying after it leaving me.
I loved him and he loved me.
He loved me when love was the last thing he wanted.
He loved me when I couldn't choose him, when I wouldn't.
He loved me exactly as I was, requiring no more, no less.
He loved me and I loved him, and now, we both knew it. We could say it, we could live it.
I sucked in a breath to keep myself from crying because goddamn, this shit was hell on my emotions. "I'll mention it to him tomorrow. We have a couple hours in the car to talk through it.”
Ben gave Gronk a vigorous head scratch and set him down on the floor. The dog turned, perched his paws on Ben's leg. "Where are you going tomorrow?"
I beame
d, incapable of hiding the nervous excitement inside me. "I'm taking him home for Sunday dinner with my family."
Epilogue
The next year.
Early spring.
"I'm telling you, dude. This year is going to be the rebuilding year. They can't keep it going," I said, tipping my beer bottle toward my companion. "I was wrong about this past season. I'll give you that much—"
"You'll give me that much," Ben scoffed. "You're such an asshole."
"Calling it like I see it," I replied. "Even the best players age out of the game. The smart ones get out early and invest wisely. I know a guy who manages investments for several former NFL players and—"
"Oh my god, nobody cares," he said, groaning.
I grinned at him from across the table. Ben Brock was one surly son of a bitch. I wasn't certain but it seemed as though he was made entirely of salt. Salt that, at one point, might've loved my fiancée. And here I was, bullshitting about ball games with him while we knocked back a round of beers.
The world was fucking weird.
"All right," I murmured, gesturing to the waiter for our check. "Are we doing this or what?"
He lifted his beer bottle, shooting me a narrowed glance across the table. "What's the rush, Russo? Are you trying to hustle me off the market?"
"Man, you're already off the market," I said with a laugh. "Don't try to deny it."
He shook his head, sipped. "Too right," he said, mostly to himself. He glanced at his phone. "A little more than three months until you walk down the aisle. Not taking any chances between now and then, are you?"
I stared at him, a stiff smile pulling at my lips. I trusted Magnolia. Through and through. I trusted Ben—about as far as I could throw him. Our shared history aside, I knew he didn't want Magnolia. I knew he belonged to another woman. I knew this, and I knew he wasn't pulling any shit at our wedding. However, no one was talking me out of caution.
The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating Page 23
