While avoiding conflict is clearly the right decision for us—and ethically necessary, as well—I find myself becoming resentful. Resentful that our relationship isn’t normal and easy like Tessa and Luke’s, resentful of the circumstances that have forced us into our respective corners, resentful of the things I don’t know—can’t know—about him. It’s as though there’s a velvet-roped VIP area of his life I’ll never gain access to, a private place inside him housing his professional ambitions that I’ll never know intimately. In my darker moments, I wonder how we’ll ever move forward if we can’t share our highs and lows, expose the deepest parts of ourselves without fear or favor.
It’s a delicate balance, one that fills me with hope and anxiety in equal amounts. Case in point: One night we’re making dinner in his kitchen when Ben’s phone starts blowing up. I don’t mean to snoop, but since it’s sitting right there on the counter, I can’t help but see the texts stacking up on his screen like Tetris blocks.
Marcus: Did you see that email?
Marcus: Shit, you may actually have pulled this off.
Bill: Are you free? I just got off the phone with Hank.
Corinne: Wow, man of the hour! When can you meet up tomorrow?
The last one turns my stomach. Corinne knows more about my boyfriend than I do. Before I can ask him what’s going on, his phone rings.
“Hey, Bill,” he answers, then slides his eyes to me. “Uh, yeah, I can talk. Hang on.”
He squeezes my hip as he passes behind me, then disappears into his room and shuts the door.
And I can’t even ask him why.
As I stare at the closed door, I reflect on how many times a day I wish I could tell him something—celebrate an achievement, commiserate over a setback, or even just speak freely, without restraint—and the painful realization each time I remember I can’t.
When he finally emerges, he looks deep in thought.
“That sounded important,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Did something happen?”
Here’s your opening, Ben. Share your success with me.
“Just some work stuff.” He crosses behind me and opens the refrigerator, burying his head inside. As if something will have magically appeared since the last time he checked.
And once again, I get nothing. “Hiding in your room isn’t suspicious at all,” I say pointedly, trying to mask my hurt with a joke.
He comes up behind me, caging me against the counter with his arms and nuzzling my neck—and I soften, just like I always do. “Sounds like someone missed me.”
And that’s another thing. When he doesn’t want to answer a question, he’s evasive to the point of frustration, redirecting the conversation by making a joke or distracting me. He’ll barely debate me on any issue, even those that have nothing to do with our jobs. He used to dish it out with no hesitation, no remorse, and no holds barred. Now he might lob a couple of easy volleys my way, then change the subject before I get too ramped up. This, of course, just makes me more determined to provoke him.
It comes to a head one night while we’re curled up on my couch. I’m flipping channels mindlessly while he’s reading some thick economics book that looks like my idea of personal hell. When I land on CNN, a panel of talking heads are discussing the tax bill—or perhaps more accurately, slamming and dismantling it point by point. I casually set the remote on the arm of the couch and train my eyes on the TV, like I’m riveted by the onscreen discussion. I know he won’t be able to help himself.
I’m so right.
“Do you mind?”
I feign innocence. “I’m sorry, is this bothering you?”
He lowers his book. “I can read at home, you know.”
“It’s not like they’re saying anything that isn’t true. The tax breaks do disproportionately favor the wealthy.”
I swallow down a fit of nervous giggles. I basically just lobbed a smoking grenade. My arms itch to duck and cover.
“You’re too smart to regurgitate superficial talking points like that. Educate yourself before trying to poke me.”
“I have educated myself. I’m dating you, aren’t I?”
He tilts me a look. “These tax breaks benefit everyone. There’ll be more money in people’s paychecks, which means more disposable income, which just rallies the economy further.” He pulls my legs onto his lap and starts massaging my thigh. “Maybe you should read this book when I’m finished.”
I refuse to be sidetracked. “If that were true, shouldn’t those living under the median income get much larger breaks? And why make individual tax cuts temporary while the ones for corporations are permanent?”
He sighs and picks his book back up. “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask Marcus? Maybe you’ll listen to him.”
“I don’t want to ask Marcus! I want to hear what you have to say. Since when are you afraid to argue with me?”
“Afraid? Please,” he scoffs.
“You’re avoiding any disagreement. Deny it.”
He pauses. “I prefer to leave work at work.”
“Says the person reading the work book.”
“It’s pleasure reading.”
“So, what, you’re just never going to debate me again? That’s not how a real relationship would work between us and you know it.”
“Newsflash, we’re in a real relationship,” he says calmly, turning a page.
I kick my heel against the couch. “You know what I mean! You can’t walk on eggshells around me. You can’t be afraid to rock the boat.”
“When I’m confident we’re seaworthy, I’ll rock your boat all night long, darlin’. Now, why don’t you turn on one of your shows and scratch my neck?” he says, guiding my hand to the nape of his neck.
“Scratch your own neck,” I say irritably, yanking my hand back.
“So I have to be asleep, then?”
I blink at him, momentarily confused, until my brain connects the dots and I let out a strangled gasp. “No.”
He mimics me with a theatrical intake of breath. “Yes.”
“You were awake that whole time?” I grab a throw pillow and start beating him with it.
Laughter gusts out of him as he ducks my blows. “You think I could sleep with you rubbing up on me all night long?”
“I can’t believe you let me embarrass myself like that!”
“What should I have done, popped my eyes open and said, ‘Gotcha’? I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t want to embarrass you. I had to let it run its course.” He wrestles away the pillow and chucks it across the room. “Frankly, I’m shocked it took you that long to succumb to my raw sexual magnetism.”
I groan. “I can’t even look you in the eye. I’m changing my name and moving to another state.” He chuckles. “And don’t think I didn’t just see what you did there.”
He raises his eyebrows innocently.
“Distracted me from our argument. It won’t work.”
He flashes a rakish grin. “If I wanted to distract you, I’d just do this . . .”
He tosses his book on the coffee table and climbs over me, silencing any further arguments with his lips.
Well, alrighty, then.
* * *
The day it all comes crashing down starts out like any other.
We walk to work and ride up in the elevator together, something we’ve avoided doing too much of so as not to raise eyebrows among our colleagues. It’s a testament to how comfortable I’ve gotten with the idea of us that lately, I can’t be bothered to check who might be watching. I’m too busy looking at him.
Since we’re the only two in the elevator, Ben leans over and gives me a goodbye kiss before the doors slide open. When he tells me to have a good day, I can almost imagine it could be like this every day, if I could calm down enough to let it. He’s become as integral to my mornin
g routine as my coffee: a tall vanilla latte with a shot of Ben’s delicious lips and a hit of whipped cream.
Around lunchtime there’s a short rap on my door, and before I get a chance to respond Stephen barges in.
“I just got a call from someone at Senator Hammond’s office wanting to set up a meeting between him and Carol.”
“What’s it about?”
“They wouldn’t say. I wonder if it involves the illicit fraternization of their staffers.” His eyebrows shoot sky-high.
“Stephen! Don’t even joke about that,” I hiss as I hurry to shut the door behind him. “They have way more important things to worry about than us.” Don’t they?
“I thought you’d want to know.”
The concerned look on his face is freaking me out. “Do you think I need to say something to Carol?”
Before he can answer there’s another knock on the door and I jump about a foot in the air. I’m suddenly terrified it’ll be Ben, here to blow our cover.
It’s not.
“John! This is a surprise.”
I plaster on a smile, trying to hide how deflated I feel. Of course, now I wish it had been Ben. I’ve officially lost it.
John beams back at me, totally misreading the vibe in the room. “Are you busy? Mind some company for lunch?” He holds up a plastic bag and my stomach sinks further.
“Uh, no, I’m not too busy. Come on in.”
Stephen makes a face behind John’s back and leaves. I motion to a chair and when my gaze sweeps over the window, I pause. If Ben’s in his office, he’ll see John in here—and judging by their previous interaction, I don’t have to wonder how he’ll feel about it.
Then I scold myself. John’s a work colleague, nothing more. If Ben has an issue with that, he’ll have to get over it. Besides, it’s not like he’s avoiding contact with certain icy, leggy brunettes I don’t particularly care for. The fact that I started cracking my knuckles when I saw them walking together the other day is neither here nor there.
John and I chat about several of our shared projects as we eat, and before long he’s filling me in on some behind-the-scenes drama I’m thrilled not to be a part of. I’m only half listening when he says something that makes my ears prick up.
“I assume you heard the latest tax drama?”
“Tax drama?”
“You won’t believe it. They’re doing away with the two-hundred-fifty-dollar deduction teachers can claim for school supplies. Or trying to, anyway.”
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“Where did I not hear it, you mean? It’s all over the news.”
“It is?”
I grab my phone to search for it and quickly scan the first article that pops up. I’m dumbstruck. How could Ben support something like this? His own mother is a schoolteacher!
“Whoever came up with this bright idea should be named and shamed,” John sniffs. “But then again, they all go along with it like the power-hungry pricks they are. I mean, how dumb are these people? They’d have to know this would result in horrible press. It’s like they want to give us ammunition.”
A protective instinct roars to life inside me like a lion. I could leap across this desk and tear John’s eyes out.
“There has to be more to the story,” I insist. “Maybe they’re replacing the deduction with something else? The tax cuts are supposed to help the middle class.” Or so Ben claims.
“Yeah, right. The cuts only benefit large corporations and the one percent. Who cares if the little guy gets screwed as long as rich guys get their loopholes? That’s their MO and it’ll never change.”
I clench my jaw shut before the words superficial talking points can spill out.
“Anyway.” John uncrosses and recrosses his legs, his polished leather shoes catching the light. They probably cost more than mine. “I actually had an ulterior motive for stopping by. Besides your charming company, of course.”
“Oh yeah?” I say, playing dumb. I pray what’s coming isn’t what I think it is.
“Are you going to the event next Saturday at the Willard?”
The event he’s referring to is the White House Correspondents’ Dinner, or what’s commonly referred to in DC as Nerd Prom. Every April, celebrities descend on the city for a night of presidential roasting and pretend politics while our bosses gleefully rub elbows with Hollywood’s elite. Post-dinner, the deep pockets behind a conglomeration of cable news networks are throwing an after-party at the Willard InterContinental Hotel. Senator Warner and her entire staff were invited, as well as every other senator and political bigwig in Washington.
“I’ll be there. Our whole office will, I think.”
He beams. “I was hoping so. I’d love to take you.”
Son of a biscuit.
“Oh, John—thanks, that’s so sweet of you, it’s just that I’m going to be working, Carol’s given me a list of people to talk to that’s as long as my arm—”
He holds up a hand. “That’s all right, I get it. I’ll have a ton of schmoozing to do too, so it’s probably not the best setting for a first date. I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” He smiles, eyes bright and hopeful, like he hasn’t just been rejected.
As soon as I hear the words first date, my stomach constricts. Tell him you’re seeing someone. Now’s your chance. Do right by Ben. My conscience begs me.
Instead I say, “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you there.”
In my silence, I feel like I’ve betrayed Ben. I’m Judas. No, I’m Peter, and I’ve just denied Jesus three times. I can practically hear the cock’s crows.
“For sure. Save me a dance,” he says, then winks.
I summon up my fake smile so I don’t have to answer.
He gathers up his trash, giving me a little wave as he departs. The first thing I do once he’s gone is look across the atrium.
Ben’s blinds are closed.
Chapter 27
On our walk home that night, Ben is silent.
“Everything okay?” If he’s pissed about John, he’s going to have to come out and say it.
“Bad day.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“No.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Oh-kay. Bad Mood Ben. This is a new one.
We continue our solitary march for a few blocks. He hasn’t taken my hand like he usually does and it’s crazy how much that’s killing me.
“Any thoughts on dinner? Do I need to break out the big guns and make queso?”
He grunts in response.
“Wow, no reaction to the gun pun or the queso?”
We stop at a crosswalk and I watch him as we wait for the light to turn. When he finally makes eye contact, I get a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day.”
He nods, still saying nothing.
“I’d like to help.”
“You can’t help,” he snaps. “I can’t talk to you about it and you know that, so quit asking.”
Whoa. I blink and take a step back.
“Actually, I didn’t know that. I wasn’t even sure the reason you’re upset was work related.”
“What else would it be?”
He stares me down, eyes glittering. I’m a long way past being intimidated by him, but I haven’t seen this look on his face since I called him a caveman. It’s not a memory I’m eager to relive.
“I thought it might have to do with the reason you closed your blinds today.” There. Gauntlet thrown.
“I closed my blinds so I wouldn’t have to watch my girlfriend eat a cozy lunch with a guy who wants to get into her pants.” My face must do something funny because he bites out, “I’m sorry, I meant my secret girlfriend.”
I’m so taken aback
by his vitriol, it takes me a moment to work up a response.
“Wow. So as a reminder, John is my colleague, nothing more, and I work with him a lot, so you better make your peace with it now.” I flush as I recall his date invitation and my subsequent sin of omission. Definitely not sharing that tidbit just now. “And I guess you’re the only one who’s allowed to feel jealous? Because you don’t see me interrogating you about the time you spend with Corinne, the woman who heavily implied you two were dating. But I’m just expected to ignore all that, right?”
He opens his mouth to respond but I cut him off.
“You know what, don’t answer that. I don’t think this has anything to do with John. This has to do with your bill imploding. Or maybe you feel guilty about stealing money out of schoolteachers’ pockets. As you should, by the way. I’d love to know what your mother thinks about this.” The light finally changes to WALK and I take off, forcing him to jog to catch up with me.
“Is this the help you were offering me a minute ago?” he calls as I rush ahead. “Please, pile on. Tell me more about what a shitty job I’m doing and what a heartless monster I am. I didn’t get enough of that today.”
I take a deep breath before answering. “Look, I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you don’t get to take your bad day out on me. I’m not your punching bag.”
“Ha! That’s funny. You’ve never given me the benefit of the doubt.”
“I did give you the benefit of the doubt today. I even went so far as to make excuses for you. Though I have no idea why.”
I barrel down the sidewalk, weaving my way through slow walkers and phone talkers. Ben’s keeping up, though it’s not quite as easy for someone his size. He’s knocking people over like bowling pins.
“Did you really defend me?” he asks, muscling past a tourist who’s staring at his map app in muddled confusion.
Meet You in the Middle Page 26
