Page 4 of The Best You've Ever Had

He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Because it’s too fucking much.”

“That’s understandable. Of course, this is a lot. But as far as I know, you’re not the one dying. So be there for your grandpa, like he’s been there for you.”

He leans down, his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He starts to cry and I have no idea what to do. I’m the worst possible type of person to handle big emotions in difficult situations like this. As a lawyer, I pass my client a box of tissues, give them a moment, and then carry on. But with him, the man I’ve known since diapers, that feels too cold. It feels like I should be doing more, yet I have no idea how to.

I walk over, and place a stiff hand on his back. “I’m sorry you and your family are going through this. I really am. But you need to be there for him. As hard as it is for you, it’s even harder for him. He’s going to need support from the people he loves the most.”

“I know,” he replies, as he takes a shuddery inhale.

With a flat hand, I pat him on the back a few times, awkward and mechanical like a robot, as I stare down at his unfairly thick head of hair. His tears turn into a watery laugh, leaving me evenmore confused. “Um, are you okay? I can’t tell if you’re laughing or crying.”

He looks up at me from the chair, a drunk boyish grin on his tan face. “You’re really bad at this aren’t you? Consoling people?”

I crack a smile. “Literally the worst.”

With both hands, he pushes his hair out of his face and leans back with a groan. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good. And then we’re cleaning your house. As much as we both don’t want me to be here, I can’t leave in good conscience knowing you’re living in a hazmat zone.”

“It’s notthatbad.”

“I think I saw something take a peek out of that old pizza box. We’re cleaning.”

With no response to my last comment, he stands up and grabs his phone that’s charging on the quartz kitchen counter.

For a brief moment, his thumb hesitates before finally taking the plunge and selecting his mom’s number and putting it on speaker phone. He probably knew I’d double check that he wasn’t calling for more shitty pizza.

She instantly answers, “Honey?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh thank goodness. I was worried about you. Did Layla come over there and lay down the law?”

He glances up at me. All dark eyes and sharp jawline. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I knew she’d be the one to whip you into shape. Don’t make me worry again like that, okay? You don’t have to be strong for Grandpa, but at least bethere.”

I can see the emotion well up in him as he nods, and heads down the hall with his phone in hand to talk to his mom in private. As the two of them speak, I have no shame in being nosey. I inspect everything in his house while I waitand begin the process of cleaning. I look inside the cupboards. Start throwing bottles in the small recycle bin that I discovered under the sink cabinet. Flip through a photo album lying inside the entertainment stand. Open closet doors as I fold and put away clean towels. Within twenty-five minutes, I have the place looking completely different. It feels therapeutic being able to transform and remedy a situation so easily. It’s not months of planning and preparation, appointments and court dates, and the relentless stress of legal battles. It’s much simpler, and results in a quick transformation.

He walks out and stops short in the hall when he sees my handy work. “How…”

“I’m quick, right?” I reply, spreading my arms out and motioning to the clean space. “Your conversation went well?”

“Yeah, it did.” He grabs at his neck with one hand, his bicep flexing with the action. “I feel like a dick for not doing it sooner.”

“If anyone understands, it’s them.” I plop down on his couch and cross my arms, secretly distracted by the horridly addicting pawn shop TV show. “Now go take a shower so you don’t smell like a Budweiser dumpster.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. I can sense him behind me, still and staring. My skin tingles under his assessing gaze, but I act like I’m not affected in the slightest. We are entirely too comfortable in each other’s presence. If countless hours spent together as kids and teens did one thing, it made us keenly aware of how the other person ticks.

Finally, I hear his footsteps pad down the hall and the sound of the shower rushing through the walls like soothing white noise. I spread out on the L-shaped section of the gray couch, cross my arms, and settle in to watch a hilariously absurd negotiation over an antique stripper pole on the television. My eyes grow heavy, and I fight sleep like it’s an inconvenientintruder. But my internal clock, used to being in bed an hour ago, wins the battle as I drift off.

At some point, even with my eyes closed, I sense him standing nearby, watching me. I want to tell him to move along and to stop staring like a little creep, but I am the one who fell asleep inhishome.

In the past, he would have dipped my hand in a cup of warm water to see if I’d pee in my sleep. But present-day Ben lays a cashmere-soft blanket over me, turns off the television and lights, and lets me sleep in peace. And a couple minutes later, in a half-sleep daze, I hear him on the phone, whispering in a hushed voice. “Hey Gina, I didn’t want to have you worrying, but Layla is here and accidentally fell asleep.”

And that’s how I realize maybe he isn’t a half-bad guy.

Yet, I still want nothing to do with him.

---