Friendzoned (The Busy Bean)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “Why? You have syrup on your mind?” I asked, unable to resist referring to the night before. When she side-eyed me, I raised a brow. “You didn’t like it?”

  Murphy gave me a mock stern look. “Don’t make me break society-lady code and talk dirty when we’re not in bed.”

  I loved this easiness in our teasing and joking. It was similar to what we had at Pressman, but now more R-rated. “I guess I’ll just have to get you back in bed and do it all over again.”

  “Promises, promises,” Murphy said with a smirk.

  I made a mental note to snag a bottle of syrup or two from my parents’ place tonight.

  “You look amazing,” I said, changing the subject again as I took a quick peek at Murphy in tight jeans and an untucked long-sleeve button-down white shirt. The buttons were open at the top and the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. “I see you have your boots on.”

  “Quite perceptive, Doc,” she said, grinning. “You look pretty good yourself.”

  “I had to run in and x-ray one of the kids from down the road today. Poor guy took a topple on his two-wheeler and banged up his ankle. Luckily, it was just a sprain, so I wrapped it and set him up with crutches.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d slept with the kid’s single mom a few times and she was a nice woman. In fact, she’d pawed all over me when I told her it was only a sprain, and I had to run home and take a quick shower. It was probably my imagination that I had her smell all over me, but I didn’t like the way any of it felt.

  Murphy shifted in her seat. “Neighbors must love having you on the street. Their own personal doc in a box.”

  Like I said, she was better off not knowing. Ryan’s mom didn’t mean much of anything to me. For a while, we’d just had a mutually good time.

  “It has its perks, and I don’t mind.”

  “Zara said you were amazing with Nicole. Dave said you have big-city training and a small-town bedside manner.”

  I burst out laughing. “Okay, enough. I just do my job.”

  “So, Vivaldi?” Murphy asked, glancing at the stereo.

  “Yes, Four Seasons. Probably something no one around here listens to very much, but it calms my soul.”

  “I love the jumpiness of it. That’s probably not the right word to describe it. It’s just so peppy in parts that I can’t help but feel good. But, why do you need calming?”

  As I pushed my hand through my hair, I stole a quick look at Murphy, her bright red hair blowing in the wind, her cheeks and lips lifted in a smile. “You. Because of you. Sitting next to you, being intimate with you, chatting with you there in the seat next to me. All of it. I need to calm myself from letting my mind get carried away with what could be.”

  “Will you stop already?” She brushed off my admission with a wave of her hand, and I worried I shouldn’t have been so transparent.

  “Only when we get to my parents’ house and you see how crazy my mom goes for you, and then you’ll need calming too,” I said, joking back as we turned onto my parents’ long driveway.

  “Murphy, come in,” my mom practically shrieked as she opened the door and pulled Murphy in for a hug. Obviously, my earlier message had gone in one ear and out the other.

  When I saw Mom had Murphy’s face smushed into the shoulder of her flannel shirt, I started to panic. “Mom, let Murphy breathe, okay?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry, dear. I got so carried away.” Mom loosened her grip on Murphy but still held on, observing her at arm’s length. “We’ve heard so much about you over the years, and then Branson here . . .”

  She finally let go of Murphy and moved toward Branson, pulling him to her side. Quickly deducing Mom needed to have something to do with her hands, I put my arm around Murphy, saving her from another bout of my mom’s affection.

  “Branson said he met you already,” Mom said, “and you all spent the night at Scott’s? You know he’s always had a thing for Brenna.”

  “Nana, please.” Branson wriggled out of her embrace.

  Dad joined us, and I gave him a desperate look, silently pleading with him to take control of this already high-speed runaway train.

  “Nice to meet you, Murphy.” My dad extended a hand to Murphy, and of course, my society girl knew what to do with that.

  “Nice to meet you too,” she said, politely shaking my father’s hand. “Oh, I brought dessert. We left it in the car.”

  Turning, Murphy looked toward me. I was trying to figure out if she meant for me to go get it, or was silently begging me not to leave her, when my mom spoke.

  “You didn’t have to bring a thing, sweetie.” My mom clasped her hands delightedly in front of her like an evil gangster planning his next move, except that move was probably my wedding.

  Deciding to escape, I said, “I’ll go get it. Branson, where’s your mom? Maybe she can get Murphy something to drink while I run out to the car.”

  Just then, the front door banged open, and a frazzled Brenna hurried in.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Barely out of her coat, Brenna looked up and got the same half-crazed, far-off, dreamy look as my mom. “So, you’re Murphy?”

  Oh no. I could practically see her wheels turning as she took up where Mom left off, planning my wedding in her mind.

  Although Murphy was used to nonstop cocktail parties and blue-blood fundraisers, now she looked like she’d swallowed a fly when faced with my overbearing family.

  Deciding we’d gotten the introductions out of the way, I took charge. “I’ll be right back. Bren, can you take Murphy to the kitchen and get her something to drink?”

  As I made a beeline for the door, I heard my sister saying to Murphy, “Oh, sure. Do you like wine?”

  When the fresh air hit my face, I wasn’t so certain I should even go back inside.

  28

  Murphy

  Ben found me after delivering the cupcakes in the kitchen amongst a rainfall of hushed whispers.

  Glass of wine in hand, I tried to look comfortable perusing the photos lining the wall of the staircase. Little Ben climbing a tree, medium-sized Ben eating a stack of pancakes drizzled with syrup, Brenna with her arm around Ben in his Pee Wee football uniform, and a distinguished Ben at his Harvard graduation.

  “I see you found the wall of memories.” Ben came up behind me, pulling back my hair to place his lips on my neck, sending chills down to my toes.

  “And I see you were always a fan of breakfast food,” I said, pointing at a framed photo of him eating pancakes.

  “Always, but especially now that you had your first breakfast for dinner with me.”

  Silence fell between us as we took in the photos on the wall, snapshots of Ben’s life before and after Pressman.

  “There’s none of you while you were at Pressman,” I said.

  Ben shook his head, pressing it closer to mine. “My parents never came up to visit.”

  “Why? That seems . . . out of character.” I turned to look into Ben’s blue eyes. “You know, now that I remember, they never did come up for any games or parents’ weekends.”

  Ben swallowed, a lump of something undetermined passing by his Adam’s apple. “I asked them not to. I barely fit in as it was, and my mom . . . Well, she’s just my mom and was never interested in being something she’s not. They didn’t have the right clothes or anything.”

  “I’m sure they would have loved to see it.” I ran my palm down Ben’s arm and wove my fingers through his.

  “They did from their car when they dropped me off. Just picturing me there was enough for my dad, and he cautioned my mom, making sure I paved my own way there.”

  “And Brenna?”

  “She got pregnant my freshman year, and then she wasn’t exactly in a position to visit.”

  “I’ll bet she regrets that. You can tell she loves you.”

  “Yeah, when she’s not trying to run my life. I swear if she had a man, she’d be less concerned with me.”

  That made me laugh. “Somehow I think she’d find r
oom in her life to boss both of you around. By the way, what’s the deal with her and Scott? Your mom seemed to think there was something more.”

  “Who knows. They dated in high school. Brenna’s a long way from there now, raising a kid by herself and trying to make ends meet. Who knows what my mom is angling at.” Changing the subject, he said, “Since you saw the wall of shame, want to see my room?”

  “Of course. Are we allowed to go upstairs?” I teased.

  Ben tossed me over his shoulder and ran up the stairs to his room. The floorboards creaked under us and I punched his back, hoping he’d put me down. This was hardly how I wanted to get to know his parents, slung over his shoulder caveman-style.

  Inside his room, he set me down, and I spun around taking it all in—blue plaid wallpaper, bunkbeds, and a huge lineup of trophies on the bureau. “I see it’s pretty much untouched.”

  “Branson used to think it was fun to sleep in here, in Uncle Ben’s room, so my mom left it. Now she can change it, if she wants, considering how Branson thinks I’m the enemy most of the time these days.”

  Moving closer to Ben, I ran my fingers through his hair and placed a quick kiss on his lips.

  “What was that for?” he asked before kissing me again, making it impossible for me to answer.

  We stayed like that for a while until we needed to catch our breath.

  I rested my head on Ben’s chest. “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself about Branson. He’s just a confused teen who’s lucky to have a great family to support him.”

  Ben brushed his lips over the top of my head before tipping my chin up so he could meet my eyes. “Thanks.”

  After spending a few more minutes exploring, picking up trinkets and taking it all in, I looked out the window from his bedroom. “Can we walk around the property?”

  “The tasting house is still open for tourists. Marley is doing my parents a favor and helping out with the stragglers. Let’s go later? It’s beautiful at night.”

  “Sure.”

  Truthfully, I was itchy to get out of the house. This was nothing like my experience growing up, or like any of the families we had Sunday dinner with. There were always butlers and formalities and not a single bit of this type of down-home feel. This was all too real for me.

  “Hey,” Ben said softly. “Stay here with me.”

  He tipped my chin up again to bring my gaze back to his, and I felt a moment’s respite from the anxiety. I was falling for Ben and he was falling back, but this house—a paragon of normalcy—was starting to feel like a foreign country to me.

  “I am. I’m trying.”

  “See all those trees?” Ben distracted me by nodding toward the window and pulling me in front of him.

  With my back to his front and his arms holding me firmly against him, I could feel his breath on my neck. “They’re beautiful. How long have they been here?”

  “You can’t tap a tree until it’s forty years old, so a long time. Soon, my dad will start walking the rows of them and marking the ones to be tapped. When it dips below freezing, the sap starts to run during the day,” he said, and I swore I could feel him smiling against the back of my head.

  “Those trees are like extended family. I can tell.”

  “They are. Many of them came with the property when my parents bought it. A few years before Brenna was born, they planted a lot more. It was an expensive process, and they’re now only starting to realize any profits on them. That’s why they were always so strapped for cash back then.”

  Ben pulled my hair aside and kissed my neck.

  “Hey,” I mumbled. “We don’t want to get caught making out in your bedroom.”

  He rumbled out a laugh. “My mom would be thrilled, I’m sure. Let’s go eat, and then we’ll take a walk around the trees. In the meantime, I promise to protect you from my family. They’re a bit much,” he said while squeezing my hand as we headed back downstairs.

  I wasn’t sure whether I should be happy or nervous when Brenna plopped down next to me at dinner. With Ben seated across from me, I felt like I’d surrendered my security blanket. Branson sat across from his mom, eyeing me, and Mr. and Mrs. Rooney were at either end of the table.

  Although I’d never been nervous in social situations, I wasn’t prepared for this one. I was surrounded.

  Taking a deep breath, I pulled on past lessons in social graces from my mom and glued a smile to my face. Complimenting the house got me some extra credit, and then there was a small lull in the inquisition when Brenna poured me a second glass of wine and then went to help her mom bring in the rest of the food.

  Now, I wasn’t so sure about Ben’s promise to protect me as his mom told stories about his childhood. Soon, she’d ask about mine.

  How could I compete with the time Ben helped deliver a calf when he was ten years old, or when he was the MVP of his eighth-grade Pee Wee football league? I’d have to tell a tale of nannies and housekeepers caring for me, combing the tangles out of my hair and making sure I was quiet.

  “And Brenna used to dress him like a little girl and make him act in her shows,” Mrs. Rooney was saying when Brenna finally said, “Okay, Mom.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably enough walking down memory lane for one night,” Ben’s dad said kindly.

  “Branson said you came from New York,” Brenna said to me. “He said he ran into you at the farmers’ market.”

  “Yes. I remembered how good the syrup was from our time at Pressman. Ben would bring it back to school when he went home, and honestly, I think I dipped everything into it for weeks. The market was one of my first stops when I got here.”

  “Do you like the area?” Ben’s dad asked. He seemed genuinely curious, probably trying to gauge why I was really here.

  I felt confident Ben hadn’t mentioned my recent sordid history to his parents, and I didn’t take them for the googling type.

  “You know, at first I wasn’t sure,” I said carefully. “It’s growing on me, though. I love the people I work with at the Bean, and I’m doing some marketing on the side.”

  I took a much-needed break from talking and ate a bite of my lasagna, chewing it slowly, then followed it up with a sip of red wine to put off any more talking.

  Brenna gave me a curious look. “Marketing?”

  “Oh,” Mr. Murphy said. “She’s helping Hunnie with her potions and goats—”

  “It’s social media,” Ben said quickly. “Tell Brenna about the book club too.” He looked at me while he spoke, all smiles.

  “I’m also helping Gigi a bit with her cupcakes,” I said, “although she doesn’t need very much help. Anyway, I combined all my passions and set up a book club at the Bean. We color-coordinate cupcakes and nail polish to the book cover. I know . . . it sounds ridiculous, but it’s a lot of fun and makes for an exciting GNO.”

  “GNO?” Mrs. Murphy asked.

  “Girls’ night out.”

  “Oh, that’s so whimsical. I’m sure everyone loves it,” Brenna said with a wistful look in her eyes. “Who doesn’t need something fun and light like that?”

  “You should come,” I told her.

  “It’s when?” Ben asked. “Next Friday?”

  “Girls only,” I said with a teasing warning look.

  “Really? Me?” Brenna asked, sounding surprised.

  “Of course, you. But fair warning, we really dive deep into the books. Mostly romance.”

  Ben glanced at his nephew before nodding at Brenna. “I was going to say Brans and I could hang Friday night, so you should go.”

  “Really? That would be so much fun,” Brenna said to me. “But I need to know which book.”

  Ben’s parents’ heads swung between Brenna and me, and I could see their mental wheels turning. They were probably thinking I’d settle here in Vermont, run book clubs and maybe peddle syrup, and be besties with Brenna after marrying Ben. What they didn’t know was this was a step in my plan. I was establishing myself as an out-of-the-box marketer.

  �
�How does this help Zara?” Brenna asked. “I’m not looking to steal secrets. I have a job with benefits, which is exactly what I needed, and thanks to Ben—”

  “Don’t,” Ben said firmly.

  “Okay, fine. Forget the part about me. Strike that from the conversation,” she said to me. “Now, about Zara, I’m curious.”

  Brenna looked older than I knew her to be. Tired, but tried to cover it up with concealer and lip gloss. Her white T-shirt was loose and askew, revealing her nude bra strap slipping off her bony shoulder. I wished she had a different life, one with a partner so she could achieve her dreams in front of Branson’s eyes. I could tell she was holding a lot back—especially her own wishes. After all, I knew the type.

  “Well,” I said, “I’ve been combining the marketing of several small businesses to increase revenue at all of them. If not revenue then awareness, word of mouth, new interest . . . which all lead to revenue if the marketing is done correctly.”

  “Murph went to Columbia,” Ben said, unabashedly bragging.

  “You went to Harvard, and you’re happy here, right?” his mom asked, silently letting me know I’d better not have any more big-city ambition.

  But I did.

  “You should go grab one of those cupcakes,” Ben said, rescuing me. “They’re a new recipe of Gigi’s, and part of this whole thing Murph has going on.”

  Brenna went into the kitchen and came back with a platter of the cupcakes. “Do you eat these at book club? If so, I’m in. I love Gigi’s place. It’s such a special treat.”

  As I thought back on my New York days when a stop into Magnolia Bakery was nothing, Brenna’s words gave new meaning to special treat. This was a woman who worked hard as hell to support her son and herself. Stopping at a bakery for a two-dollar cupcake was an extravagance for her.

  “We do, and Gigi sells them for a dollar that night. Coffees are also a dollar, specialty drinks two. And I just heard from Colleen over at Cosette’s salon they’ll be doing half-price mini-manicures for book club attendees.”

  “I didn’t even know they did manicures,” Mrs. Rooney said.