What a major embarrassment.
A book signing is no place for an attorney. I’m sure this is just as exciting for him as mediation would be for me, but when I look at his face later in the evening during the Q&A part, I can see this huge smile on his face that tells me he is happy to be there for his little sister.
We all have a great time at dinner, until my mother mentions Ben. Silly me, I thought I almost dodged the bullet. Truth of the matter is, I never told my mom we broke up. I talk to her once a week and I just didn’t want to get into that. When she had asked me about him, I kept saying everything was great.
I haven’t even told Matt the whole story. He asked me once about Ben, and I just said we had been dating when we met him in Central Park, and later we broke up. He saw me get a little uncomfortable and he didn’t ask any more questions on the subject.
“Honey, did something happen with Ben?” my mother asks when she sees I try to avoid the subject.
“No, no. Well, yes. Something did happen. We broke up,” I say dismissively. As if. Get ready for the third degree, Prudence.
“Oh, no! When?”
“Um . . . three months ago,” I say, glancing to Matt. This has to be as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. I’m hoping my mom sees me making faces and stops talking.
“Three months! And you’re only telling us now?” she asks, shocked.
“Excuse me, I need to make a phone call,” says Matt, discreetly leaving the table, giving me a look to make me understand that everything is cool. Oh well, I’m not getting out of it now. Might as well tell them everything.
I have to say, my family has disappointed me. I was expecting support, and instead, when I’m done telling them everything, I’m surrounded by disapproving looks. My mother goes so far as to say that maybe I had been too harsh on Ben. Then she goes on saying how wonderful he was with everybody when we visited and how she thought I was making a mistake. Apparently, everyone else but me knew what the right thing to do was.
“Are you okay?” Matt asks during the car ride back to the hotel.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding absent-mindedly.
I try to bring myself back to reality, but I replay in my head the last few things my mother told me. She said I’m making a mistake, adding that a man doesn’t go out of his way to visit his girlfriend’s family if he doesn’t truly love her. To her, everything else is just secondary.
“Being in love is not just always roses and butterflies. It’s compromise, understanding, and forgiveness, too. I just hope you’re not throwing everything away because of your stubbornness,” she had said, admonishing me before giving me a hug to say goodbye.
“Hello, Earth to Prudence?” Matt says, waving a hand in front of me.
“Sorry, Matt. I’m just tired I guess.”
“Uh-huh,” he replies.
“I’m just ready to go back to New York. Aren’t you?”
“Ready to go home? Yeah, I guess. But I like traveling, and this is really giving me an opportunity to perform for more people, get my name out there. Your readers are extremely supportive. I feel lucky. This job pays great; it’s definitely better than my old one. The company isn’t too bad either,” he says, glancing at me, “when she’s not too busy commiserating with herself.”
Chapter 32
WE HAVE one more signing in Charlotte before we go home. I get a call from Anya a couple of hours before the event while I’m in my hotel room Skyping with Becca. She and her family are supposed to come visit over Thanksgiving weekend, and she asked me weeks ago to make plans to do something together. I made some reservations at a couple of restaurants and I’m just confirming what days we’ll be spending together. Matt is in the room next to mine taking a nap.
“Anya! Hi! I’m just Skyping with our girl!” I yell when I answer the phone.
“Tell Becca hi. Prudence, can you hang up? I need to tell you something important.”
“Hmm, okay. Becca, can I call you back later? Apparently Anya has something really serious to discuss. Bye!” I wave at her and turn off the Skype conversation.
“So what’s up, Anya? If you are calling me to tell me you have a bun in the oven, you are too late! Your friend Becca stole your thunder. To be fair, she said she checked with you and you told her it was okay.”
She is on the other end of the phone and throughout my rambling keeps saying, “Prudence, Prudence listen . . .”
“Congratulations to you and Jeremy! If that’s not the important thing you called about, what is it?” I ask, curious.
“Mr. Hunter died a couple days ago, Prudence. I only just heard now. The funeral is tomorrow in New York. They sent out some email a few hours ago. You might not have had the chance to see it. I thought you should know.”
Good Lord. Ben. “How?” I ask, as I roll back on the bed.
“The email says he was battling prostate cancer. Apparently he had it for years, but recently his body wasn’t responding to treatments anymore,” she says sadly.
“Have you talked to him?”
“I sent him a message, but didn’t get a reply yet. I’m sure he is quite busy. I wanted to give him some space . . . but, you know, I think he would probably like to hear from you. Do you think you’ll go to the funeral?”
“I’ll try to call him. There’s no way I’m making it to the funeral in time . . . I’m in Charlotte and I have my last signing in a couple hours. I need to get ready . . .”
“Shoot, I forgot you’re still out of town. You need to call him, though. Prudence, don’t make me get mad at you . . . call him, now.”
“Geez, Mom! I’ll call him okay? I’ll call him as soon as I get off the phone!”
“Good girl,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
Okay, don’t freak out, I tell myself. You can do this. It’s just a phone call. You need to do it anyway. It would be really awful of you if you didn’t call. You know how important his grandfather was to him. I can’t help feeling bad for Ben. Mr. Hunter had finally recognized him officially. They had merely four months together. I had seen interviews of the man, you could tell he was proud and happy to call Ben his grandson. He seemed excited for the future of the company, and he knew Benjamin Hallstrom would do great things at Biblio.
I keep telling myself I’m sad because of the circumstances and not because of my feelings for him. Nice try.
Okay, here I go. Press the button. Calling . . .
It goes straight to voicemail. Great. Should I leave a voicemail? The beep startles me before I can even make up my mind.
“Ben, it’s me . . . Prudence. I have . . . I heard about your grandfather. I’m so sorry. I’m not back in New York yet, but give me a call when you can, okay? Bye.”
I look through my emails for the one from Biblio. It’s written by Ben. It’s a short but poignant goodbye. I read it and it brings tears to my eyes. It ends with “I plan to honor my grandfather’s life by doing what’s best for the company he founded and loved so much and living every day of my life as if it were my last.”
I reread the same sentence over and over.
Something snaps in me and I suddenly feel so stupid for pushing him away. That’s the thing about death. It really lays it all out for you and puts everything in perspective: how many days do you have left? How are you going to spend them? Away from the person you love just because you can’t get over your pride? I let my head make the decision when I broke up with him, thinking it was the right thing to do, despite what my heart wanted. But nothing has changed; I still think about him constantly and I feel him everywhere around me. The presence of his love has never left me.
Give it up, Prudence.
It’s time to let my heart take the lead.
We leave Charlotte the next morning. There is no way I’m making it for the funeral, but maybe I can swing by and be there towards the end? Matt looks at me like I’m a complete weirdo high on some kind of drug when I briefly explain to him what happened, but I guess he doesn't get why I can
't just be chill about it. Well, I just can't. By the time we are about to land at LaGuardia, my leg is bouncing up and down and I keep constantly checking the time on my phone. Unfortunately, when we land, the whole city is a total traffic cluster-fuck. When I finally get to the church, everyone is gone.
He never called me back, but I didn’t expect him to.
I get back to Brooklyn and debate if I should go by his apartment. He might not even be there yet. I’m sure he has all kinds of stuff to take care of.
A few hours later, I try calling him again.
Voicemail full.
Maybe it’s better this way; maybe I am not ready to talk to him. I haven’t even thought about what I want to say. What will I say to him? All I know is that the last few months have been pure torture. It’s a good thing I had so much going on, because there’s no telling how much worse it would have been. Four months later, the pit I get in my stomach when I think of him is still there. I still love him. I wanted to be stronger and forget him. I thought staying away from him would help, but it didn’t. I’ll go find him, tomorrow.
I drop on the couch, exhausted, and Lupin jumps on my legs.
I call his office the next day, but his secretary tells me he’s not there. I wonder if she is telling the truth though, so I call Lauren to check, just in case. I go by his apartment, but he isn’t there either. He might be busy with something regarding his grandfather’s estate. I’m debating if I should give up the search or not. Maybe I should just wait for him to call me back. What if he doesn’t want to talk to me? Well . . . I guess I would rather find that out by myself than have to wait and see. I don’t have his mother’s phone number, but I find the number of the store. I ask her if she has seen him.
“Not since the funeral yesterday,” she says somberly.
“Will you tell him I have been trying to get in touch with him?” I ask her in a pleading tone that I hope doesn’t sound as desperate as I think.
“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll tell him to call you. He should be here tomorrow. I think his phone was ringing off the hook, so he just decided to turn it off.”
“Oh. Okay.” He might not have listened to my message after all. “How is he?”
“Not well. He tried to put on a brave face yesterday, but I know my son. He didn’t take it well. He didn’t know Ezra was sick until recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is somewhere out here in the Hamptons doing something stupid,” she says huffing.
Doing something stupid? Like what? She can’t mean what I think she means . . .
“Iris, what exactly do you mean by doing something stupid?”
“He is probably surfing, sweetheart!” she says with a chuckle.
“In November? But it’s thirty degrees outside! I’m sure it’s even colder on the coast!”
“He’s done it before . . . I wouldn’t be surprised.” I hear her exhale.
“I thought after his accident he promised you he wouldn’t be doing stupid stuff anymore . . .”
“Yeah, and I guess overall he has kept that promise. He’s had a few slips . . . I guess this is one of those times . . .” she sounds so calm.
And here I am, freaking out. What if something happens to him? Isn’t a storm front supposed to hit us later today? Should he really be out there?
“I’m going to go find him, Iris, I need to see him. I might drop by later today.”
Chapter 33
I HAVE to call four different car rental places before I can find one that has anything available. I thought everyone would be traveling to New York for the parade tomorrow, but it seems I was wrong. An absurd amount of people are driving out to the Hamptons, so as a result, I have been stuck on 495 for a freaking hour. I should have just taken the train, but I didn’t know how I would get around down there.
It’s a cloudy, wet day, and the rain on the windshield looks like melted snow. The roads are getting a little slippery, and people are driving like morons.
I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die. Please let me get there soon.
I don’t know why I start saying this over and over, like a prayer. It might be because I don’t trust myself behind the wheel. I let out a huge sigh of relief once I get off the highway.
As I approach my destination, I look out of the passenger’s window, trying to make sure this is the place. The waves are humongous, the tallest I have ever seen, and what do you know, I see a figure out in them. I park the car on the side of the road, where there is no actual place to park.
I watch the scene playing out in front of me and I keep thinking of Ponyo, Miyazaki’s animated movie; particularly the scene when Ponyo sets herself free and surfs the waves in the middle of a storm caused by her own transformation. The only difference is, the figure I see in the waves is dressed in black from head to toe. You can’t even see his head. It’s all wrapped into some kind of headgear.
I get back in the car and try to find the spot where I have been with him before. It has parking and access to the beach. I find it ten minutes later.
His car is here. There are no other vehicles parked near it. I get out of the car and step out on to the beach. The sand acts like an anchor on my boots, weighing me down and making it hard to walk.
Now that I’m closer and I can see him a little better, I notice he is wearing gloves, and the something on his head I couldn’t make out earlier looks like a ski mask. On second thought, he looks more like the Rubber Man from American Horror Story than anything else. But that’s not the creepy Rubber Man; that’s my man. I hope he still is my man, at least, I hope he still wants to be.
I recognize his moves, his seamless dance on the waves.
I left the house wearing the warmest clothes I had. Coming back from a tour in the south, I was hardly prepared to face the weather up here. I stand on the beach wearing several layers of clothing, and yet I am completely immobilized by the cold. The wind keeps knocking me off balance, so much so that I don’t even understand how he can be out there right now and not be swept away or suffer from hypothermia afterwards.
I look around for his belongings. He has a large backpack stashed under a bush by the stairs that connect the beach to the parking lot. I’m tempted to go back and wait in the car, but I need him to see me.
I walk to the water as close as I can without getting my feet wet. I keep my eyes on him, but he doesn’t look my way. I realize I might be hard to recognize from far away, since I’m all bundled up. I follow his every move, but he doesn’t see me. After a few minutes he surfs a little closer to the shore; I think he finally notices me and I start waving at him. He turns his head around again, to take a better look, and the distraction causes him to lose his balance and get knocked off the board.
Shit! I gasp when I see him completely swallowed by the waves, and I don't see him emerge for maybe twenty seconds, during which I am freaking out, telling myself to calm down and figure out what's the best plan of action in case he doesn't come up. When I see him finally grab hold of his board and climb on it, I sigh a huge breath of relief.
He starts paddling along towards the shore. When he walks out of the water, I step back one or two steps on the dryer sand. Only his eyes peek out of the facemask he is wearing, but I can tell he's smiling, briefly.
I smile back nervously. When he approaches me, he drops his board to the side and removes his face mask. It’s when I see his heart-stopping smile that I realize how much I really missed him. I feel the butterflies in my stomach and at the same time I feel like I could drop to my knees and break down in tears.
“How did you get here?” is the first thing he asks, but I can't quite tell from the tone in his voice if he is happy to see me or not.
“I rented a car,” I say, shrugging.
“But you hate driving,” he says matter-of-factly, looking wary.
I can barely hold his gaze.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.
I look away for a moment, but then I bring my eyes back to his.
“
Well,” I say, hesitant. “I have been trying to reach you for two days, and I had to see you. I was on my way back to New York when I heard. I’m sorry about your grandfather.”
He nods and lowers his head. He starts fumbling with his gloves. I quickly take off mine and help him take off his. I can feel his eyes on me, trying to understand why I’m here.
I hold his hand in mine.
“Your hands are ice cold,” I say softly, trying to rub some warmth into his skin.
“I c-can't even feel them right now,” he says, his teeth chattering.
“You're crazy to do this! Do you want to die of hypothermia?”
“I have done it before . . . and anyway, it's the only way I know how to . . .” he doesn't finish the sentence, but I think I know what he wants to say.
It's the only way I know how to cope.
I look up at him, his eyes darker than usual, almost gray. I want to say something. I need to say something. This is my chance to say what I came here to say, but then I remember he is soaking wet and shivering.
“You need to take off that wetsuit.”
He seems startled by my words, and then a lopsided grin appears on his face.
“Yes, ma'am.” He grabs his board and we walk back to the bush where he stashed his backpack.
He takes a beach towel out of the backpack and starts unzipping his wetsuit. He takes it off, right there on the beach, in the freezing cold. I divert my eyes from his chest . . . and other body parts that become exposed. He rubs the towel quickly over his body. I’m not really looking, yet I can see his beautiful body from the corner of my eye. Okay, maybe I’m looking, just a little, but at the same time, I’m a little uncomfortable.
I must look flustered, because he chuckles and tells me, “It's nothing you haven't seen before, Prudence.”
He kneels down and grabs a change of clothes out of his backpack.
Kneels down. Naked. At my feet. During any other season, I would call this a little slice of heaven, but right now it's hell. A fucking freezing hell.
Prude Page 22
