"I'm sorry," my mother said softly. "What I said about you and married men, I—I'm sorry. I thought we'd laugh about it but now I see it wasn't very funny." From the corner of my eye, I saw her gesturing toward me. "You're strong, Magnolia. You're stronger than the boys. Always have been. I think that's why we give you a hard time. We think you can handle it. You can but that doesn't mean you should have to."
I glanced toward her. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," she shot back. "We've been teasing you about these hiccups of yours and I missed the fact it was hurting you so much you started keeping important things from us. From me."
"I didn't know what to say," I admitted. "I didn't think you'd approve of this situation and I couldn't deal with hearing that. It's stressful enough to find myself with feelings for two people. I needed time to sort it out by myself before getting hit with everyone's opinions."
She leaned forward, peered at the polish on her toes for a moment. "It's a mother's right to have opinions about everything her babies do. Even when they're not babies anymore," she said. "You'll do the same thing. Someday you'll call me up when your baby insists on wearing a party dress and rain boots to the grocery store and I'll tell you the best is yet to come."
I laughed, a bit less hysterical this time. "That seems like an incredibly distant and unlikely future."
My mother seemed poised to offer a cheeky reply but stopped herself. She glanced at my toes, remarking to the technician, "That color is going on too light. She needs another coat." Then, softly, "I can keep my opinions to myself for a couple of minutes. Longer if a new episode of the Property Brothers comes on." She speared me with a silly grin. "Tell me about them."
"I'm gonna need a minute." I reached for my bag, digging inside that black hole for my water bottle. I guzzled it down as I checked my phone. Four messages.
* * *
Andy: Any chance you're free for lunch on Thursday? I want to talk to you about a few projects I'm scheduling for Q4.
Andy: I can swing Friday but I'll have Patrick with me. He's wonderful but he's no help when it comes to decoding text messages from boys and I love decoding text messages with you.
* * *
Rob: What do I have to do to see you tonight? I'm tied up until 8 but I want to see you tonight.
* * *
Ben: Hypothetical question: if someone spilled paint on concrete, how should they clean that up?
* * *
All of those questions could wait. I tucked my phone away and turned back to Mom. "I don't know where to start."
She tipped her head to the side, hummed. "Which one came first?"
I snorted at that. "Rob. Rob was first," I said. "He's an investment banker. He lives in the South End. He's really—he's thoughtful. That's what he is. Thoughtful. It seems like such a small, simple thing but I've never been with a thoughtful man before. And he's generous. He makes time for me when he doesn't have it and opens himself up even when it's difficult for him. We're a lot alike, me and Rob. We've been through bad relationships and don't know how to trust people and—and we're afraid of getting hurt again." I dragged my palms up and down my thighs, needing some outlet for the heat that sparked inside me every time I thought about Rob. Every time I thought about where we started and where we were right now. "I can tell him exactly what I'm thinking. I can disagree with him and I can tell him he's wrong and…he likes it. He's never once made me feel small or that my ideas aren't important." I gulped down a swell of emotion. "He's never made me feel like I'm not important and that—that's new for me."
My mother continued peering at her toes, her lips pursed. I couldn't read her expression.
Eventually, she said, "And the second?"
"Oh, right," I murmured. "Ben is a firefighter. He's the one fixing up the old Cape across the street from me. He bought it for his grandmother but she passed away before he could finish work on the house. That loss hit him hard. He's hurting and he's so angry at the world for taking his grandmother. I don't know if she went sooner than expected or he's just that devastated from the loss but he's in bad shape. I just want to swaddle him up and hold him tight and fix things for him."
"Mmhmm." She waved her hand. "Come on. Let's have it. I can't keep my opinions to myself if you don't give me the whole story."
I frowned. What more did she want? "If you think I'm giving you any naked details, you're wrong."
She looked me over the same way she did when I came home after curfew and she was figuring out whether I'd been drinking and fooling around with boys. But instead of asking me a dozen questions meant to trip me up, she only nodded and said, "Good for you."
"That's it?" I yelped. "You're not going to ask about their families or when you can meet them or generally pick apart everything I've said?"
"I promised I'd keep my opinions to myself," she replied with a nod toward the wall-mounted televisions streaming Property Brothers. "Now it's your turn to make me a promise."
"Oh, Jesus," I muttered.
"When the time is right, promise me you'll bring him to dinner," she said.
"Which one?"
She turned an indulgent smile on me. "You already told me which one, Magnolia."
Chapter Twenty-Six
My date was in a bad mood. A terrible, no-good, throwing bags of cement mix like they were softballs mood.
I pushed my safety glasses up, dropped my hands to my hips. "What's the deal?" I asked, nodding toward the haphazard pile of cement mix. "What did they ever do to you?"
But Ben didn't answer. He stalked off, going around the side of his house and coming back with another bag over his shoulder. He threw that one on the pile with more force than the last few.
"Seriously. What's the deal, Ben?" I yelled. "If you're still mad about me not allowing you near saws of any kind then that's too fucking bad but—I mean, just tell me what's going on."
He stomped toward the side yard again but stopped, pivoted. "It's nothing," he called, the length of the backyard between us. "I'm just not feeling very friendly today."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "What? Why?"
He looked up, his gaze arcing from the bright summer sky and trees to the roof. We'd made good progress on this place but it was slow going. Any renovation that received only a day or two of attention each week would be.
"I'm sorry, Magnolia," he replied, his tone thick and syrupy. "I forgot the part where I'm supposed to spend every minute fawning over you."
I peered at him. "You're not."
"Really? Are you sure about that?" he asked. "Because last I checked, the only objective here is kneeling at your feet and shooting sunbeams up your ass and reminding you that you have all the power here."
I yanked my gloves off, shoved them in my back pocket. "Yeah? Where are you checking? Because that seems fucking ridiculous to me."
He advanced on me in long strides, quickly closing the gap between us. "Does it? Or are you too busy enjoying all the kneeling and sunbeams to realize this whole thing is fucking ridiculous?"
I stared at him, not sure I understood which "whole thing" we were discussing. It could've been the work on this house. With just the two of us doing this on the weekends, it was tedious. I wanted to call in a crew to assist but Ben was dead set on doing this himself. He was proving some kind of point but I wasn't clear who was on the receiving end of that point.
It could've been the house but it was most likely us. Me and Ben…and Rob. With each passing day, the rope around us seemed to tighten, cinch us in closer. Make it harder to imagine walking away from one of them.
And yeah, I did have the power here. For once in my life, I wasn't being jerked around by a fuckboy or dealing with an asshole guy who set the shady terms. I held the cards; I was in control.
But unlike those jerks and those assholes who'd never cared a bit for me, Ben and Rob mattered to me.
"I know," I conceded, holding my hand out to him. He stayed rooted where he was, didn't reach for me in return. "It will be
over soon."
"Yeah?" he snapped. "Is that supposed to be comforting? Or is it a threat? Like, I better get my shit together because judgment day is on the horizon? If I don't keep quiet, I'm gonna get cut. Is that it?"
I moved closer to him, curled my hand around his forearm. "No, not like that," I replied. "It's just—"
"I don't want to hear it," he said, looking away from me. "Not today."
I stared at him as he stared at the trees behind the house. His jaw was locked, his feet planted, his arms crossed. He was angry but that anger served as the shell. Inside, where he was tender and vulnerable, he wasn't angry. He was aching.
But I couldn't take full responsibility for that pain. Part of it, yes, but his grandmother owned the rest. He didn't say it but I knew he was struggling through that loss. I saw it every time he swept a bitter gaze over the house and mumbled to himself, "What was I thinking?" or "What a fucking disaster I've made out of this."
And he was allowed to struggle. There was no timeframe for grief. It took up residence in the dusky corners of our hearts, it grew, it swelled, and it stayed.
Then it occurred to me that he knew I was going to the engagement party with Rob tonight. I wasn't sure how—hell, I could've mentioned it—but he knew, and he wasn't happy about that.
And that was the tough reality of dating two men. Two men who didn't play well with others. Two men who limited their sharing to cookies and beer. Two men who wanted to love me more than I knew how to accept.
I squeezed his arm one more time. "I'm going to go. If it's sunny tomorrow afternoon, we'll work on pouring the patio cement before I head down to New Bedford for dinner with my family."
I paused, debated whether I should say anything else. It wasn't the right move but I wanted to invite Ben to my parents' house. That urge wasn't a product of wanting to do a meet-the-parents dance but of wanting to give him a family. He needed that. It would complicate the shit out of my life but he needed some extra-strength mothering.
"Fuck the patio," he replied. "I hate this fucking project. It's nowhere near finished, it's costing a fucking fortune, and it's a shitty way to spend a summer. No offense, but this is fucking horrible."
I hummed to myself, nodding as I folded those comments into his overall mood. He wasn't insulting me or any of the free labor I'd offered. He was working out some issues. I was sticking with that story—and withholding the dinner invite. Maybe next weekend. "My mom dropped off a ton of food while I was at work on Thursday. Truly, a ton. There's a big dish of chicken salad in my fridge if you're hungry. I have lunch meetings all week so I know it will go to waste."
"I do like her chicken salad," he muttered, still staring at those damn trees. Why wouldn't he look at me? Why wouldn't he just tell me what was at the heart of this?
"Then come get it," I said. "I hate wasting food and I don't have time to drop any of this off at the Walsh Associates offices so you should take some of it."
He jerked a shoulder up. "Maybe."
"Okay. I'm going now." I pushed up on my toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "The back door is open if you want to grab that salad."
I stepped back, expecting a colorful comment about back doors and grabbing and…I didn't know, salad? But he continued staring at the trees. He didn't take the opening I'd offered.
My chest ached as I walked across the street to my house. It was a real, true pain, one I'd experienced before but never in this way. Men had left me hurting plenty of times but I didn't think I'd ever been the one to leave someone raw and fragile and angry.
I tried to put it out of my mind as I stepped into the shower and washed off the day's work. I had several hours before the engagement party but I required extra time to sort out my hair and cram myself into Spanx and—
The shower curtain clattered against the rod and Ben was standing there, the fabric bunched in his fist, a scowl on his lips, his body as bare as the day he was born. "Scoot over," he ordered as he stepped under the spray and yanked the curtain back into place.
"All right," I murmured, mostly to myself.
A minute passed without a word from Ben. Not a grunt or growl. Then another minute. He didn't touch me either. But I felt him. Frustration—and hurt? I wasn't sure—radiated off him in waves. He couldn't hide any of it. We stood there, two separate souls sharing a shower while a fuckton of emotions choked the air between us.
Finally, I started, "Ben—"
"No." He shook his head, drove his fingers into my damp hair. Droplets streaked down his cheeks, over his chin. They weren't from the water. "No."
"Ben. Listen. I want—"
"No," he repeated, bringing his hands to my waist and backing me up against the wall. Goose bumps spread over my skin. The tile was cold despite the steam rising around us. "No."
He pressed his forehead against mine, closed his eyes while tears poured out. He stayed there, his thumbs on my pelvis and his fingertips digging into my ass cheeks, his breath on my cheek and his cock hot and hard on my belly.
He needed to hold me. He also needed to hate me.
"Ben, I want—"
He stole my words with a kiss, a thrust, a sob. He reached for my thigh, brought it to his waist. I was open to him now, in every way I could be. And he knew it because he looked me in the eye for the first time since I'd called out his moody cement tossing. He looked me in the eye while he pushed two fingers inside me, while I curled my hand around his cock. He stared at me, watching while I rocked and writhed against him, while I stroked him, while I begged for more, while we reached the edge and fell over together.
And then, when I was dizzy and warm and boneless, he pressed his lips to my neck and whispered, "Don't go. Please, Magnolia. Don't go tonight."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
My date was exceedingly stubborn.
I dragged a wide-toothed comb through my wet hair and caught a glimpse of Ben in my bedroom mirror. He had the balls to stand there with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark pink towel wrapped low on his waist, scowling. Scowling. At me. As if I was the one being unreasonable here.
"I'm just saying, you don't have to go."
And he just kept saying it. This had to be the third or fourth utterance. Thankfully, he wasn't busy thrumming my clit this time. That made it much harder to say anything but "Yesssssss."
"As I've told you, I do. I have to go," I replied, sparing him a glance in the mirror.
"As I've told you, that's not accurate," he argued. "You can get out of it. You can stay here." He ran his hand through his wet hair. "You can stay with me."
I pointed the comb at him. "This isn't fair. You aren't playing fair, Ben."
"None of this is fair, Magnolia. It hasn't been fair since the start." He untangled his arms to set his hands on his hips. I looked away. "Don't do that. Don't hide from me."
He needed me right now. Needed to hate me and punish me and then turn his grief on me. Needed me to gather up his broken pieces and put him back together.
He needed me to save him, to fix him.
And why wouldn't he want that from me? It was all I'd ever given him.
"I'm not hiding anything from you." I waved a hand at the inside-out robe I'd pulled on after dashing out of the shower as proof. Being inside-out, the ties were lost to me and it hung open. But remedying that would've required a lengthy process of taking it off, putting it to rights, and then donning it again.
"You're hiding," Ben said. "You don't want to do this. No more than anyone else. But you're hiding because you don't want to decide. You don't want to do anything because you're afraid."
I shook my head, stabbed my comb at him. "I'm not afraid of anything, thank you very much."
He made a sound, some sort of snarl-groan-sigh, and I heard the hardwood floor creak under his feet. I didn't dare glimpse in the mirror. I didn't want to watch him approaching me. I didn't want to spend any time with the sharp realization Ben expected me to heal him more than he needed anything else from me. More than he needed me
.
But then his hands were on my waist and his body warm at my back and his words in my ear when he said, "Go ahead, sweetheart. Lie to me."
"I'm not lying. I have nothing to lie about. I've been completely forthcoming with you," I argued.
I felt him nod, his chin brushing the crown of my head. "Yeah, you have," he agreed. "With everyone but yourself."
I tossed the comb down, flattened my hands on the bureau in front of me. "Seriously, Ben. We're going to need to reschedule the soul-searching. Okay?"
He squeezed my waist. "How about tonight? About five minutes after you cut the suit loose."
There was absolutely no way any of that was happening. Aside from the fact I was planning on spending the night at Rob's apartment, I wasn't ready to end things with him. I didn't want to end things with him. But I wasn't prepared for the conversation Ben was intent on starting. And I wasn't ready to contend with the possibility that he was right about any of this. Not in the way he thought he was right, but those shades of difference didn't matter to him.
More than that, I wasn't interested in working through his weighty issues right now. I wanted the bad handyman, the tattooed firefighter, the guy who gave as good as he got. The sweet, sad boy who'd bought a house for his grandmother to live out her final days and invited himself into my shower to cry on my shoulder and confess his need for major emotional repair wasn't it for me. Not today.
That wasn't some new-found nihilism on my part but the reality I couldn't change or fix or save anyone else. I'd tried. I'd tried so damn hard. I'd poured all the energy in the world into others. Giving and giving and giving until I'd hacked myself straight to the stump. And I'd never once succeeded at changing or fixing or saving anyone else. But through all that failing, I'd learned how to save myself.
The Magnolia Chronicles Page 18
