The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2)

by AC Netzel

“She means well. It’s fine,” he says.

  Ben continues shaking hands and thanking those who came, occasionally introducing me. I smile and play the dutiful girlfriend, all the while watching him in amazement. It’s astounding how well he’s dealing with all this. Maybe, like he said, he really is okay.

  My mother comes from out of nowhere, grabs my arm and hands me a sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil.

  “Make sure he eats this,” she says.

  “Okay. He’s doing so well for such a difficult day… don’t you think?”

  “Juju, listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you. This is the easy part. What comes next is the hard part.”

  “Oh, there’s no burial.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s the going on from here that’s hard. Appearances can be deceiving. That eulogy shows how close he was to his grandmother. Right now, he’s stunned. I doubt her death has fully registered yet. After this funeral business is done, and life quiets down, reality will set in, and he’ll have to learn to live without her.”

  “But he…”

  She stops me mid-sentence. “It’s going to get hard before it gets easy. Just be prepared. Ben will be okay. He has a good head on his shoulders. He loves you, after all. He’ll just need some time. Time to process, accept, and grieve. You be strong for him. Just be there when all this catches up with him.”

  I nod. “I will. Thanks, Mom.” I give her a quick hug and rejoin Ben at his side.

  My mother may be a petty thief, but she’s also an exceptionally wise woman.

  ~o0o~

  My family, friends, and the last of the remaining visitors have left.

  “I do hope to see you again under better circumstances,” Beverly says to me. That was actually a nice thing to say. Is she finally warming up to me?

  “I’d like that,” I say… and I almost mean it.

  “Let’s go, Beverly. I have work to catch up on,” Dick says, impatiently looking down at his Rolex. “Ben, we’ll continue our conversation tomorrow. Julia, have a good evening.”

  “Thank you. And once again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” he says.

  Ben shakes his hand and kisses his mother’s cheek then turns to the Bitch Twins and Stuart.

  “Are you staying in Manhattan tonight?” he asks.

  “No, we’re going back to Connecticut,” Elizabitch answers.

  “I’m staying in Manhattan,” Cam-eel says, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.

  No shit… you live in Manhattan… Along with a million and a half other residents.

  Ben nods, hugging his sister and shaking Stuart’s hand.

  Camille wraps her arms around him. “Take care of yourself, Ben. Do you need anything? I can come to your place if you want to talk… or anything else you might… want,” she purrs suggestively.

  The Duchess of Delusion is alive, well, and offering herself to my boyfriend in front of me, his sister, his brother-in-law, and his dead grandmother.

  Where’s that magician Allie was talking about? I have someone I’d like him to make disappear.

  Ben glares at Cam-eel incredulously, opens his mouth, and shuts it again. He exhales a short breath. “My girlfriend will be with me tonight,” he says in a sharp tone. He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me close to his side.

  He’s annoyed by her inappropriate invitation. I didn’t miss it and judging by Cam-eel’s slumped shoulders and red face, she didn’t miss it either.

  A victorious feeling of satisfaction fills me.

  Cam-asshole and Elizabitch politely say goodbye to me and Ben. Stuart shakes my hand with a secret smile. He loves that she was finally put in her place, and he’s having a hard time hiding it. I return his secret smile and nod subtly.

  Once they’re gone, it’s just me, Ben, and the distant voices of the funeral director and his assistant.

  “Would you like to be alone with her?” I ask.

  “For a minute,” he says quietly.

  “Okay, take all the time you need.” I kiss his cheek, walk out of the room with my mom’s sandwich and Emma’s card in hand. I sit on a couch in the lobby, far away from the doors to the visitation room. This is the last time he will physically see her. He deserves privacy.

  After about ten minutes, he walks out of the room. I stand from the couch and walk over to him.

  “Are you alright?” I ask.

  He nods, saying nothing.

  “Okay. Let’s go home.” I hook my arm around his, and we leave.

  Chapter 15

  “Hi,” he says, waving me into his apartment. He’s barefoot and unshaven in a pair of sweats and a worn-out Columbia University T-shirt. His good looks are effortless, even like that. He is a beautiful, beautiful man. If it weren’t for the dark circles under his eyes, you’d think he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “I brought in a special dinner for my guy.” I hold up a large paper bag and kiss his cheek.

  “Emilio’s Café. You didn’t have to stop.”

  “We haven’t been there in a while. I thought you’d enjoy some tapas from your favorite place,” I say as Ben takes the bag from my hand.

  “Our favorite place,” he corrects. “Thanks for picking up dinner.”

  “It was no problem… although the waitstaff looked disappointed when I showed up without you.”

  “Why would they care?”

  “Come on, Ben. You had to notice your fan club gawking at you in the corner of the room every time we eat there. I’m completely invisible to the waitstaff when you’re with me.”

  “You’re imagining things,” he dismisses.

  “If you say so.” I roll my eyes and follow Ben into the kitchen. “Oh, and the hostess, Kimberly, told me to tell you… Wait, I want to do it exactly the way she did.” I stop and turn to him. He looks at me, his brow furrowed, but I think he’s amused. Summoning up my best Marilyn Monroe impersonation, I exaggerate my eyelash batting, twirl a few strands of hair around my finger and stick out my chest. “Hi, Mr. Martin,” I breathe.

  He shakes his head, and a tiny smile twitches up from the side of his mouth. That’s the first hint of a smile I’ve seen on Ben in days. And although it’s barely noticeable, I’ll take it. I’ve missed his smile.

  “I’ll take care of dinner. Why don’t you relax?” I ask.

  “You can stop coddling me.” His lips press together. I think I’m annoying him.

  “I’m not coddling you. I’m getting dinner for you,” I insist. I remove five small containers out of the bag and put them on the counter.

  He places his hand on top of mine. I look up at him.

  “I’m okay, Julia.”

  “I know,” I lie. He’s not okay. Far from it. He’s distant and quiet. Really quiet. “Coffee table or dining room?” I ask.

  “Dining room.”

  “Alright.” My heart sinks. The small, intimate things that I used to take for granted, like eating dinner on the floor just to be close to each other, have practically vanished. We’re more formal, politely strained. It doesn’t feel like us. Not lately.

  I haven’t said anything about it, expressed my concern, or complained. I’m hoping in time things will go back to normal—our normal.

  I know he’s internalizing his feelings, his grief, the pressures he’s under, and he needs to work things out, but I hurt watching him hurt. He’s changing before my eyes.

  I expected his pain to roar. But it doesn’t. It simmers and whispers, but I still hear it. I wish I could steal it from him when he’s not looking, put it in a box, and bury it.

  He’s lost his anchor, and now he’s drifting. I’m afraid he’s going to drown. I’d throw him a rope and pull him in if I knew what rope to use… or where exactly to throw it.

  I’m scared for him. I’m scared for us.

  I bring two plates and utensils to the dining room table. There are a few messy piles of computer print-outs spread out. I gather them up, peeking at what’
s written on them. It looks like a list of classes and brokerage testing.

  Ben walks in and sees me holding the papers with a puzzled look on my face.

  “My father thought it would be a good idea to keep my brokerage license active. There are seminars and continuing education courses I’m required to take.”

  “Since when do you listen to your father?”

  “When it’s good advice,” he snaps.

  Apparently, I hit a nerve. Ben has told me time and time again that he has no interest working at his father’s firm or brokering at all. He hated it. I back off the topic and move the papers to the side of the table.

  I walk back to the kitchen and grab a platter from the cabinet. Arranging the tapas so the dish looks pretty… well, prettier than the Chinese food we ate out of cartons yesterday. I place it on the dining room table then take a seat.

  “Thanks again for dinner,” he says, piling a few tapas on his plate. Normally, Ben would have teased me about finally working up the courage to order from the menu. He usually does the ordering at Emilio’s. I have too hard of a time deciding what to order, there are too many choices.

  Except for the sangria—I learned to order that before my ass hit the chair.

  Ben sits across from me, lost in his thoughts. I plate my dinner and try for some small talk.

  “So, have you done any writing today?” I ask.

  “No. I stared at a blank document for hours. It gave me a fucking headache.”

  Great. There’s another deadline coming up. Vivian is going to ask me about the progress of his book, she is the taskmaster after all. And I’m going to have to tell her that he’s nowhere near where he’s supposed to be.

  The girlfriend part of me wants to tell him not to worry about it, get to it when he gets to it. I know he’s going through a difficult time, and the creative process is dependant on your mood and where your head is at.

  The editor in me, who has her own boss to answer to, wants to smack him upside the head and tell him to get his act together. The world doesn’t stop and work doesn’t halt even if he has personal issues to deal with.

  I’m in the shittiest of shitty positions.

  I opt for the girlfriend position. That’s where my heart is. I’ve learned when it comes to Ben—I’ll always follow my heart.

  “If you want, I could talk to Vivian about getting an extension,” I offer.

  ”No, I don’t want an extension,” he snaps, glaring at me.

  I’m dropping the subject. This is clearly a touchy topic.

  “I’m sure it’ll come to you. Eventually.”

  He nods stuffing a broken-off piece of bread in his mouth.

  The remainder of our dinner conversation is nonexistent. I hate the silence—the long, uncomfortable silence. It’s not us. Ben could say the most mundane things, but somehow he spins it until it’s charming. Well, at least to me it is. I miss it. I miss our verbal sparring, our teasing, laughing together, dirty talk, and the romantic ways he tells me he loves me.

  I miss us.

  Even when we’re quiet, there was always a charge between us. This feels like a blackout. I adored when he looked at me with love in his eyes—and I loved when he looked at me like I was his plaything. I don’t know what he thinks when he looks at me anymore. He’s completely unreadable.

  I sneak a quick peek at him. His grief stole the light right out of his eyes. I know he’s broken. And I don’t have a clue how to fix him. The barriers are up. The more he surrenders to his pain, the less he shows it. The less he shows anything. Pain, anger… even love.

  He’s picking at his plate and just staring off at nothing. I can’t make out anything he’s focusing on, maybe the wall or the light fixture behind me. He’s certainly not focusing on me.

  After our silent dinner, we clear off the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Normally when we’re this close in the kitchen, Ben makes some lusciously inappropriate sexually charged move on me. It usually ends with countertop sex unless he carries me off to the bedroom.

  But sex has been off the table. I’ve hinted enough, but he seems disinterested. I don’t think he’s just disinterested in sex… he’s lost his interest in everything.

  I just hope I’m not included in “everything.”

  “Relax. I’ll finish up in here,” I tell him, grabbing an empty plastic container from a cabinet.

  He nods and walks out of the kitchen while I transfer our leftovers to the container and put them in the refrigerator.

  Ben is standing near the couch when I walk out of the kitchen.

  “Have you seen Dr. Larkin lately?” He hasn’t mentioned seeing his therapist, but since he doesn’t want to talk things out with me, Dr. Larkin may help.

  “No.”

  “Not since your grandmother…”

  He cuts me off. “I said no.”

  “Maybe you should… you know, to work out some stuff.”

  “I’m fine,” he insists.

  “You may feel better…”

  “I said I’m fine,” he says abruptly.

  He’s not fine. He’s not even close to fine. And I’m too exhausted to argue. I drop the subject.

  “Do you want to watch something? There’s probably a ballgame on,” I ask.

  “I’m a little tired. I’m sorry; I know you came all the way out here with dinner. And I appreciate it. Would you mind if we called it a night?”

  “I… I could stay with you if you want,” I offer, hopeful. All I want is to be with him. I don’t care in what capacity it is. Sex. Sleep. Anything. I just want to be with him… any way I can get him.

  “I’m not much company. Another night, okay?” he asks, rubbing one hand behind his neck.

  “Sure,” I whisper. My heart sinks.

  “Come. I’ll walk you out.”

  We walk to the front door of his apartment. He hands my handbag to me and looks at me with a sad, lost expression.

  Ignoring the hollow ache in my chest and the nauseous feeling in my stomach, I ask the one thing I need to know.

  “Are we okay?”

  He nods, his expression softens, and for a quick second he lets down his mask and I see his vulnerability. “We’re okay,” he whispers, running a knuckle down my cheek. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “I love you, Ben,” I whisper.

  He presses his forehead against mine, closing his eyes as if he were in pain. He inhales a deep breath then blows it out slowly.

  “I love you too,” he whispers back, gazing back up at me.

  Fighting back my tears, I glide my fingers gently down his cheek, my fingertips lightly brush across his lips and I force a brave smile.

  “Until tomorrow,” he says, taking a step back.

  “Tomorrow,” I repeat. I turn and leave the apartment.

  I walk down the hall toward the elevator knowing Ben is watching me from his doorway. I purposely don’t look back. I know if I do, I’ll crumble and curl into a ball on the floor.

  I press the call button, nervously swaying from side to side, staring straight at the shiny silver doors in front of me, and wait for the elevator to arrive. I know he’s still there, I feel him. Why do I always have to feel him?

  Finally, the elevator arrives, and the doors slide open. I walk in and close my eyes as the doors close.

  Once I feel the elevator move, the tears I’ve been holding back steadily stream down my cheeks as the heartache I’ve been holding in, finally finds its release.

  Chapter 16

  The unbearable sound of my alarm clock goes off. I roll to my side and hit the snooze button then grab my cell phone off my nightstand. Sliding the lock on my cell, I check for messages from Ben and my heart sinks. I haven’t received a “Good Morning” text from Ben since Kitty passed away. Today is no different.

  It was the only part of the morning that made me smile. I certainly can
’t say anything to him. My mother was right… the after is the hard part. It sucks.

  Ben and I haven’t had any sleepovers since Kitty’s wake over two weeks ago. We’ve had a few dinners together. Quiet dinners… practically silent. Our sex life is nonexistent. I miss it. I miss holding him, the feel of his hands on my body, his stubble rubbing against my skin, his soft lips—the intimacy we share. I miss him. I miss that connection. Our bodies were always in sync, instinctively knowing what the other needed.

  He’s apologetic. He claims he’s just tired. And I know he is. I see it in his eyes. I almost feel guilty for dropping by when I do. But I’m worried about him, and if I’m honest, I’m a little worried about us. At least he indulges me by having dinner with me at his place so I can see he’s still alive and well.

  If “well” is a sullen, overwhelmed, and gloomy version of Ben.

  On top of everything else, there are still deadlines to meet. They don’t go away. And I’m associated with them by default. In his eyes, I’m the messenger and enforcer. When I offered to talk to Vivian, to get an extension, he snapped at me… I think he was angry at my suggestion. I haven’t pushed it since.

  So he continues to add to the pressure.

  Despite my personal woes, it’s back to the grind for me. At least it’s Friday, and I can try to convince Ben that having me stay with him over the weekend might help improve his mood.

  After a quick shower and blow-dry, I get dressed and head out to the kitchen for some morning java to wake me up.

  “Good Morning, Sunshine,” Allie chirps, sipping a cup of coffee.

  “Morning. Vince still asleep?”

  “Vince isn’t here.”

  “Really? Ever since you two admitted you are in loooove,” I tease. “You’ve been joined at the hip.”

  She laughs. “If you want to talk about the parts of our body that are joined, it wouldn’t be the hip.”

  “God, Allie. You’re such a perv.”

  “I know. No shame in that.” She raises her coffee mug to me with a cheeky grin.

  “So where’s Vince anyway?”

  “His place. I wanted to spend the morning with my best friend.”

  “Missed me?”

  “Yes. I do. And I know you’ve been coming home alone every night for a while. Is everything okay?”