Page 32 of One on One
The show is about to start, so Cassie takes the bowl to the kitchen to refill it. I beg her for a chore to do, but she waves me off.
There’s only one place to go now. I perch on the end of the couch, ready to jump up if somebody needs help opening a bottle or making guacamole or scrubbing a toilet. I glance at Ben but he’s looking at his phone. Back to the cold shoulder, then?
He’s wearing fitted sweatpants with a thin, worn-in gray T-shirt that stretches over his biceps. Next to his socked feet sits a pair of pristine sneakers that have a name I can’t remember and a stock price on those niche websites for die-hards. Of course. He probably gets a new pair every timethey get scuffed. Minutes pass and his face is still in his phone, his fingers tapping away at the screen.
I look at the dog longingly, wishing I could give her a belly rub. Maybe get some more hand nuzzles. I haven’t had substantial physical contact with any living creature since before I moved. How long will I have to sit here in silence before Ben will initiate a conversation? Maybe I’ll try waiting it out.
I last eight seconds. “I didn’t know people were allowed to wear those shoes. I thought they were for decoration.”
His head snaps up, and he slides his phone into his pocket. “They’re shoes. They’re for feet.” He gestures at the TV. “I didn’t know you watchedThe Beach House.”
“This is my first time. Big fan?”
He lets his head loll back against the couch and narrows his eyes. “Eric and I started the fantasy league together. I don’t care if you make fun of us for it.”
“Sure,” I say. “Because people who don’t care always make a point to tell you they don’t care. Isn’t making fun of the show the point, anyway?”
He tilts his head back and forth. “It is and it isn’t. Wait and see.” He hesitates, and then adds, “Please don’t ruin this for me.”
He doesn’t say it in a nasty way. He says it like he understands I might not be able to help it, and it would be a big favor to him if I resisted the impulse. This pleases and confuses me.
“You really like it?”
“It’s my favorite thing.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious. It’s the messy hair. It’s throwing me off completely. All of his usual expressions look differentwith that hair. How am I supposed to—it’s sodistracting,it’s like—and why can’t I stoplookingat it?
He’s looking at me too. At the necklace dangling over my clavicle. I graze it with my fingertips self-consciously, my face growing inexplicably warm. It’s nothing unusual-looking, just a thin gold bar with a tiny diamond, my birthstone.
He turns his head away quickly, toward the TV. People are starting to squeeze onto the couch and pull over the counter stools and sprawl out on the floor. Time for the show.
TEN
By the end of theepisode I think I get it, and that Ben was being sincere about it being his favorite thing. They do make fun of it. Everyone laughs during the argument about the stolen guacamole during the nacho tower challenge. The hottest commodity on the beach appears to be a guy named Logan, an “entrepreneur.” He grew up in New Jersey, which garners a whoop from Eric. Somebody points out that his signature move is stroking the knuckles of each woman when he’s sitting alone with them. One of the other contestants, Cole, likes to talk about how long his parents have been married, and he repeats it enough times that the whole party starts saying “thirty-seven” in a chorus as he winds up to do it again.
They don’t only make fun of it, though. There is a sincere and heated debate about which contestants are the best matches for each other, like they can’t help but go along with the premise. I even find myself taking sides and making amental note of a few people I want to choose for next week’s bracket. Later I point out that the margarita in Felicia’s glass rises and falls to different levels every other shot, and everyoneoohs. “The editing,” Talia says. “First what she did in the diving contest, and now this? She’s going to be the villain.”
I learn it doesn’t matter if we stop paying attention to talk about something else for five minutes. This happens frequently. All the important parts are recapped before and after each commercial break anyway. And even the important parts are not that important.
What I get about this whole thing by the end of the episode is that the show is a necessary part of it, for the commenting and opining, but the real point is that it gives everyone a reason to get together for two hours on Monday nights in the dead of winter.
Cassie’s friends leave as soon as the show is over, because the billable hour tires them out too. The athletic department guys are getting their coats. Cassie gathers dishes and hands them to Eric, who loads the dishwasher. Ben puts the empty beer bottles in a paper grocery bag for the recycling.
I begin dragging the stools back to the counter. “Do you watch it for the love stories? Like, do you believe any of these couples will stay together?”
Cassie picks up empty gumbo bowls from the coffee table and passes them to Eric. She shrugs. “I’m optimistic. I always like to see it work out.”
Eric pulls her into his chest and kisses the top of her head. “My wife is a sucker. How many of the couples are still together? One?”
“One,” Ben confirms. “Three final couples per season—it has about a seven percent success rate.”
Cassie blinks at Eric, and a placid smile appears on her face. Placid like a lake full of alligators.
Eric and Cassie balance each other. He shows his love by giving people a hard time; she is sweet and sincere. He is all boundless energy and hyper extroversion, and she is still and steady. Most of the time. But every so often…
“Ben, how many years has this show been on? Five?” Cassie asks.
“Something like that.”
