Friendzoned (The Busy Bean)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her expression anguished, she glared at me. “Even when I bared my soul, when I shared all of my darkest moments with you. Did you think I wouldn’t be happy for you?”

  As her gaze bore into me, I desperately wanted to go back in time and handle this all differently. So very, very differently.

  “Wait,” she shrieked, nearly choking. “Did you think I would want something from you? That I would use you? Is that how little you think of me and where I come from?”

  “No. No, none of that. I believe you’re a good person, Murph. When it comes to this, I don’t really tell anyone. I feel like they’ll only like me because I’ve got cash to burn, or maybe not like me at all since I don’t fit in. The thing is . . . the app thing, it’s sort of an ongoing side gig for me. I use the money it brings in to help my parents and Branson, and to build a nest egg. And I make investments for later too.” I closed my eyes for a second, wishing I could stop my rambling.

  “What are you? A cross between Doogie Howser and Richie Rich?” Her tone had an edge of anger, but her face scrunched in pain as she tried to school her emotions. “It’s great, really,” she said, and if I didn’t know her so well, I would have missed the faint quiver in her voice.

  “Murphy, that’s not fair. I wanted you to love—I mean like—me for me. Just for me. You didn’t think enough of me back at Pressman to be friends openly with me, and that hurt. I wanted to make sure this thing we have isn’t because I’ve got all this . . . money and stuff now.”

  I couldn’t believe my bad fucking luck at having to reveal my secrets and feelings at Scott’s house. What kind of man was I? My heart raced as Murphy dropped her head to sob against my chest.

  “I can’t breathe,” she murmured, taking in deep breaths. “Why? Why would you think that? Did you carry this grudge all these years? Why would you punish me for my parents pushing me so hard? They controlled me, and it didn’t go so well. Now I’m trying to spread my wings. Maybe a little late, but still . . . why would you think of me like that now? I thought you believed in me. I’m changing, Ben. Getting better.”

  “I do believe in you. I just had to know you believed in me.”

  “That’s not fair,” she choked out, rolling over to face the other way.

  “Murph, look—”

  “Don’t look me. I’m exhausted from the day and the cider. Let’s not talk anymore. Let’s just go to sleep and get through tonight, and then go home in the morning.”

  “But, Murph . . .”

  “No.”

  Her voice was hoarse with tears, and I was too much of a nice guy to push further. I didn’t think I was wrong to protect myself, but Murphy obviously disagreed.

  26

  Murphy

  The morning after Ben and I had sex at Scott’s was more awkward than the morning after prom.

  We didn’t talk as I’d promised we would. Instead, I’d dressed as fast as I could in the clothes I’d worked in the day before, smoothing out the wrinkles and hoping I didn’t reek.

  I’d looked more like a tired hag than someone doing the walk of shame while saying good-bye to Scott and thanking him for his hospitality. He made me promise to buy some of Griff’s cider. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I couldn’t possibly ever drink it again after the night I had.

  Branson had been quiet for the majority of the ride home, probably dreading seeing his mom. I’d made up some excuse as to why I needed Ben to drop me off first—laundry day—and jumped out of the Jeep as soon as he pulled to a stop in front of my place. I did tell Branson it was nice meeting him and gave him a warm smile, but he just responded like a teenager with an apathetic chin lift.

  Now, a week later, I was still avoiding seeing Ben.

  It’s not like he tried very hard, texting me his partner had to travel out of town to care for an ailing parent and he was working overtime. He sent apologies and heartfelt expressions of his feelings, not to mention updates on Branson and helping him find some better activities, but Ben didn’t push to see me. Granted, I’d only texted back with Okay. No worries.

  “The book club was so much fun,” Hunnie said as I sat on her couch, my head only half in the conversation. “Hey, what’s got you in knots? I know it can’t be working for me, because I love everything you do. Is Gigi giving you a hard time?” She leaned over and poked me in the shoulder. “I’m talking to you, babe. Where the heck are ya?”

  “No, it’s not you. You feed me sweet, sticky goodness, so it could never, ever be you.” I brought a spoonful of honey to my mouth.

  “Hey. That right there is top secret. I’m upping my game when it comes to the cinnamon honey. That little bite of nutmeg and clover really makes it pop, though, am I right? I’m warning you, though, don’t mention it to Gigi. She and Holden . . . they’re enough to handle without all the honey innuendo.”

  “I think that’s you, Hunnie, with all the innuendo. Not Gigi.”

  “Whatever. To-may-to, to-mah-to. One woman’s honey is another woman’s aphrodisiac.”

  Laughing, I choked out, “Now, there’s a caption for a picture.”

  “Maybe we could make stickers with that saying on it. Here’s your aphrodisiac . . . I mean honey. I could send them out with orders.”

  “I was kidding, Hunnie.”

  Sitting up straighter, I pushed all thoughts of Ben out of my head. “In all seriousness, we should pour it over oatmeal. Add some fresh apple chunks, sprinkle some cinnamon on top. It’s the perfect fall combination and will make a fab photo, and we’ll think of something a little more PG to say.”

  “Yes.”

  At the sound of the kettle whistling, Hunnie popped out of her chair. She poured two mugs of tea and put them on a tray with bottles of various honey infusions, then was back in a hurry. Once I had my tea in hand, she stared me down.

  “Now tell me what the hell is irking you. The book club was a success. Gigi is gushing something ridiculous over the navy-blue-colored cupcakes . . . people are coming in and requesting them. The women want color-coordinated icing for their kids’ parties and sports teams and their own damn parties. Zara said at least five have already come in and asked when the next meeting is, and you gotta remember, this is Colebury. Five people means a hundred. Gossamer said they’re selling navy lingerie to go with the book. You’ve turned Colebury topsy-turvy, and you’re moping around.”

  I shook my head at Hunnie. “Are you ever going to be quiet so I can answer?”

  “I’ll shut up now,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “Ben and I had an argument.”

  “Over what? I’m sure it was something silly. The guy’s a sticky puddle of goo when it comes to you. Did you ask Gigi about when I told her to lather Holden’s . . . you get my drift, right? I’m your boss, so I’m trying to be professional, but all she had to do was lick it off, and he was all Weekend at Bernie’s for a few hours. Catatonic, if you get my drift. Have you tried that?”

  Before I could answer, someone knocked on Hunnie’s door, which never happened.

  “Are you expecting someone?” I asked her. “Shoot, it’s Saturday night. Do you have a date?” Here I was feeling sorry for myself, not realizing maybe Hunnie had plans.

  Not bothering to answer me, Hunnie got up and looked out the side window before opening the door. “Ben,” she said with surprise, like it was the Pope himself.

  “Hunnie. Sorry to barge in, but I was heading over to my parents’, and Zara told me Murphy was coming here. I need to talk with her.”

  “I’ll bet you do. Got yourself in a sticky mess,” Hunnie said through a cough.

  With my feelings clogging my throat and my heart barely beating, I pushed to my feet. “Ben.”

  “Let’s go outside,” he said to me, then looked at Hunnie. “I’m sure you’re busy in here, Hunnie.” He gave her a look, letting me know her cough didn’t hide any of what she’d said.

  My feet walked toward the door while my head nodded, but my heart stayed on the fl
oor of the she-shed.

  “Thanks, Hunnie,” Ben said, pulling me out of my mental fog.

  “Is this okay?” I asked her.

  Hunnie waved us off. “Go. We’ll talk later. Want some honey?” she added with a wink, and I had to stifle a groan.

  When we walked outside, Ben simply said, “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I was out of line. You were trying to be honest, and I disregarded it.”

  “Listen,” he said, pulling me close and kissing the top of my head.

  It felt heavenly to sink into his soft T-shirt, smelling all woodsy like Ben, and feel his lips pressed to my hair.

  His words came out on a whisper. “You know I’ve never been very good with the social stuff. Maybe that’s why I didn’t argue about keeping us behind closed doors at Pressman. I didn’t feel comfortable really being out there. Then college was hard too. I still wasn’t the cool guy, part of the ‘in’ crowd, someone who was interesting because they traveled or was a foodie or whatever. I was the smart kid. The introvert.”

  “That’s okay,” I mumbled into his chest. The sun was starting to set, and I wanted to look up at Ben, but he held my head close to his chest for his confession.

  “Then, when I moved back here and finally got what I wanted, I was the outsider. The kid who had seen the world—ha, as if—because I’d been to a fancy school and Boston and become a doctor. I’d see people and say hi, occasionally go for a beer, but I never was fully back, you know?”

  I nodded against his chest.

  “If I spread it around about the apps, I’d be even more of an outsider. Don’t get me wrong—everyone is nice to me, and I’m nice back, but seeing Scott reminded me how some people stayed and made something of themselves right here. They furthered their family’s business or whatever, made a good life for themselves by staying in Vermont.”

  Pulling back, I tilted my head to look up at him. “Ben, you’re a doctor. You help people, fix people, save lives. Right here in Vermont.”

  He laughed a little, staring down at me. “I’m an orthopedic surgeon, Murph. I work on ski accidents and people who get hurt riding four-thousand-dollar bikes.”

  “Stop. Seriously, you help little kids who get hurt, and old people who fall. Ben, I think you’re confusing acceptance with reverence. I’m pretty sure everyone here is impressed with you.” I lightly tapped my fist against his chest. “Your heart is bigger than anyone’s I know, and you put your whole self into helping the people who grew up all around you.”

  Ben shook his head. “Let’s just agree to disagree. I’m not the local kid anymore, and sometimes it hurts. When you showed back up, I didn’t want to be poor Ben to you anymore. I wanted to be someone who could take care of you, cherish you, spoil you like you deserved. I wanted to be someone you liked for himself. As a doctor, I could be all of that. You know, I’d always dreamed of being someone who could give you the life you had while growing up, but that’s impossible. I left that dream back at Harvard. Then you showed up here, and I didn’t know what to make of it. You were different, and I didn’t want to be the solution to your problems. I wanted to be your partner. But I couldn’t do that while telling you everything in the beginning.”

  I pressed my cheek to his chest again. “That’s harsh. I get it, but it’s harsh, nonetheless. I don’t want the life I had growing up, and I don’t want secrets between us. My parents ruined my entire childhood with secrets and empty promises.”

  Hugging me tight, it felt like Ben might never let me go, but we had to resolve this. I had to speak my feelings.

  “I get it now,” he said softly. “That’s why I avoided you all week. I needed to think. Having my partner away was good. Being by myself, I had to work so hard that I realized I don’t want work to be the main focus of my life. I want you, and more time with you. For all these years, I’ve been a loner, focusing all my affection on Branson and Brenna and my parents. Now, I’ve fallen for you, and I want to give it all to you. Please forgive me?”

  He stepped back, holding my arms as he looked at me, waiting.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said. “I wanted to call and tell you about the book club. Share a crappy pie or breakfast for dinner.”

  “Let’s not fight again.”

  Ben pulled me in tight and kissed me in front of Hunnie’s she-shed, even though she was probably peeking through the window. We stayed like that a long while until the wind picked up.

  “I’d better get going,” I said, looking at the sky.

  “One more thing.” Ben raised an eyebrow. “My mom wants you to come to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Yes. Now, let me drive out of here before I change my mind.”

  “Can I follow you home?” he asked. “Make sure you get there safely?”

  As I gave him a quick nod, I wondered if we were going to make up properly. I’d never had make-up sex before, probably because I’d never cared enough about someone to make up.

  27

  Ben

  My mouth skimmed Murphy’s cheek, winding its way to her collarbone and down to her breast. She was naked before me in her bed. We’d ripped our clothes off as soon as we got inside her door.

  I’d wanted to fall to my knees right there, back her up against the door and do what I’d done before, only better. But Murphy wouldn’t have it. She yanked me up with surprising strength and bit my ear before telling me to take her quickly. I couldn’t argue when I slipped my hand down to her core and found how ready for me she was.

  Afterward, we’d cleaned up and climbed in her bed naked. I was kissing my way down her body when I decided it was time to make good on another promise.

  Leaving a tiny love bite on her chest, I said, “Don’t move.”

  I jumped up and ran into the kitchen where I’d seen Murphy had stashed the bottle of my family’s maple syrup. She smirked when I walked back into the bedroom carrying the glass jug.

  “Did Hunnie give you that idea?”

  Stopping in my tracks, I stammered, “Um, pretty sure I don’t rely on Hunnie for bedroom advice.”

  Murphy laughed. “It’s just she mentioned telling Gigi once about some honey and Holden’s—”

  “Ugh, enough,” I said, holding my free hand in the air. “Like I told you, I may not have an exciting social life, but I don’t need to hear this stuff.”

  Murphy gave me the side-eye.

  “Look, I know Holden keeps to himself, but I have seen him in my office, so I can’t say anything more because of doctor-patient confidentiality. Either way, Holden’s a good guy, and I don’t want to hear about his . . . well, anything other than his knee or ankle.”

  “You mean his dick?” Murphy blurted with a sly grin.

  “I meant cock, babe, but I was stumbling over using that word in the presence of a lady. A society lady, no less.” I lay down next to her, running my palm over her smooth skin.

  “What’s the syrup for then? I don’t think a society lady would be into getting all sticky and dirty,” she teased, her voice husky.

  “You know what? You’re here now, which means you’re not a society lady anymore. So I’m going to forget about any other man’s cock and defile you with this syrup.”

  When she simply said, “Please,” I started drizzling a path of Vermont’s finest maple syrup over her torso, her core, and down the inside of her thigh.

  Next came the best part. I got to lick it all off her . . . and then she did the same for me.

  I couldn’t get the taste of syrup combined with Murphy out of my mind or my mouth when I asked my mom to relax about Murphy coming for dinner. Mom had good intentions, but she could try the patience of a saint. I was smart enough to call her in advance and warn her off her usual heavy-handed antics.

  I knew Brenna would be there—even needing to swap a shift at work wouldn’t stop her from missing this dinner. Of course, Branson had filled her in about me seeing Murphy, and then I might have mentioned things were strained. I wouldn’t put it past my sister to give Murphy the
third degree, but I knew better than to call her first.

  Trying to calm my nerves, I went for classical music on my way to pick up Murphy. As I pulled up in front of her run-down place, I was listening to Vivaldi and thinking about how we needed to stay at my house more often.

  Murphy stepped outside, her face glowing as she walked toward the Jeep holding a huge bakery box, and I felt a tug at my heart again. But I couldn’t stay distracted for long because she was opening the back door and sliding the box in the back seat before I could put the Jeep in park.

  “I should’ve driven myself,” she said while getting her stuff organized in the back. “You had to come to Colebury just to drive back in the other direction.”

  “I was halfway already. Had a quick patient to see in the medical office, over by the Wayside. No big deal.” Once she was settled into the passenger seat, I said, “Smells good. By the way, you didn’t have to bring anything.”

  She turned to look at me. “First of all, there are a few things my mom drilled into me. You know, when I was a society lady? A few of them were worthwhile. One is you never go to someone’s home for a meal emptyhanded.”

  Not wanting to argue after the mind-blowing sex we’d had last night, I switched gears. “What is it?”

  “Oh, the best thing you’ll ever eat. Gigi made them just for me. I called in a favor this morning on my way to the Bean, and since I have her booked for every book club, she owes me.”

  “So, spill. What’s in the box?”

  “Gigi calls them Vermont-y Cupcakes. Doesn’t seem that original when you first hear it, but they have this apple glaze, almost like a fondant, over a maple frosting on top of a vanilla cupcake with flecks of cinnamon in it, and it’s absolutely decadent. So sweet, yet not. I can’t explain it. They’re delicious, and may even be better than the Arnie Palmer. Wait—no, nothing is better than that one. But I thought this was perfect to bring tonight.”