Page 11 of The Best You've Ever Had

Before we even enter, I can hear the muffled sound of Ben’s dad, Dante, playing a generic Christmas song on the out-of-tune piano. Without even seeing them, I already know that Mick will be right next to him, singing—badly—with all the holiday season happiness possible. That’s where they’ve always been during the Christmas get-togethers. Dante plays, while Mick sings beside him, a spiked eggnog and sugar cookie in hand.

Mom, Paul, and I walk straight into the house, not even bothering to knock since our families are so close. Dante shouts his hello’s from over his shoulder at the piano. But Mick isn’t by his side, which immediately has me glancing around the room for him.

As I power walk to the kitchen to set down the expensive bottles of wine I insisted on purchasing along the way, I spot him. He’s stationed on the couch in the family room. Brandy dotes over her father, tucking a warm blue blanket around his legs, and fluffing his pillow.

It surprises me, because even though I know he’s eighty and sick with a terminal illness, I failed to picture himlookingsick. But why would he not? I haven’t seen him in years. His body looks withered and pale. His movements have slowed and appear strained, as if he’s moving underwater against the force of pressure. My heart stops in my chest at the sight of watching him slip away from this world right before our eyes.

Suddenly, I get it. Ben’s spiral makes so much more sense now. When you can physically see how an awful illness has affected your favorite person, you realize this is happening whether you want it to or not. You become hyper-aware that this saint of a man will only be in our lives for a painfully small amount of time. It hits you full force with the realization that life is short and there will never be enough time.

Ben is on the couch beside them, telling a story about one of his fire training sessions gone awry. They all spot me at the sametime, stopping their conversation as I walk over. I lean down and hug Mick, gentle so as not to hurt him, but longer than I’ve ever hugged him before. Over his shoulder, Ben and I make eye contact. His eyes reflect what I’m feeling too. The quiet sadness of reality.

“Mick, how are you?” I ask.

He’s weary as he attempts a smile, his good nature oozing out of his every pore. “Like shit. But a little better now that I get to see my second favorite family.” His voice is wobbly and frail. But he’s trying hard to put on a tough face, which only makes my heart break more.

“Well, you look good,” I lie.

He waves me off. “We both know that’s not true. I look like shit and you know it.”

I smile, absolutely caught in a lie, and not afraid to admit it. “I can’t just go around telling people they look terrible, now can I?”

This makes him roar in laughter for a few short-lived seconds, before his body finally gives out in exhaustion from the energy spent. “Oh boy. Christmas is going to be good with you here.”

As I hug Brandy next, she murmurs against my shoulder, “Oh, it feels so good to see you in the flesh and hug you again.” She pulls me back at arms length and inspects me head-to-toe. “And wow. How is it fair to be smartandgorgeous? Look at her, Ben. Isn’t she the prettiest woman you’ve ever seen?”

Ben looks at me, really looks at me, and it makes my stomach flip. Not breaking eye contact, he says, “She’s beautiful.”

In an attempt to shake the hazy pride of him calling me beautiful, I crack a joke. “Don’t think I know what you’re up to, Brandy. How much did you have to pay him to say that?”

She throws her head back with a boisterous laugh, while he cracks an amused smile at us both.

“Don’t worry that dream sailed ages ago. As much as your mom and I tried to weasel you both into an arranged marriage so we could selfishly live out our lifelong dream of being sisters, we knew it wasn’t going to happen as soon as you two could talk and immediately began arguing instead.” She stares off into space with a small smile on her lips, reminiscing while simultaneously imagining the possibility of it all. As if she can picture her son and I walking down the aisle, our families a blubbery, happy mess. Little black hair, blue eyed babies running amuck through their backyard.

It’s remarkably strange how life offers such an abundance of choices, each capable of steering us down vastly different paths. But my path is more akin to a deserted road. Purposely destined to be alone.

In an attempt to change the subject, I ask, “Can I get anyone a glass of wine? Brandy? Mom?”

They both enthusiastically accept, while Ben declines—perhaps because of the massive case ofdon’t you dare, you practically just sobered upside eye I give him. Turning on my heel to head toward the partitioned kitchen, I hear Mick call out my name. “Layla, glass of wine for this old man too, if you don’t mind.”

I stop short, hesitating. “Is it okay if you drink?”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Doctors advised against it due to possible drug interactions. But what’s it going to do…kill me? News flash, that’s already happening.”

“So in other words, we’re going to be booze buddies tonight?”

“Booze buddies.” He chuckles at the phrase, finding it amusing. “Pour me one glass for now, please. A very tall glass.”

Ben follows me into the kitchen, which is decorated with an eclectic collection of holiday-themed gnomes. He stands close behind me as I pour four glasses of wine, filling them so generously that they nearly spill over.

Leaning over to inspect the amount, he whispers, “You’re not really going to let him drink all that, are you?”

I go to elbow the know-it-all attitude out of his body, but my arm meets a solid wall of muscle instead. As he stands so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, it takes every ounce of willpower not to press my ass against his pelvis.

“Back up, or else that elbow will be in your nose next time.” My flirting could use some practice, but for him, it works.

“You’re tiny. I’d like to see you try to eventouchmy nose.”

“Fine. Challenge accepted.” With that, I jump onto him. He stumbles back a few steps, caught off guard by my random pounce. But even with my element of surprise, he holds me up, a hand on my backside, as if I’m weightless.

---