Page 22 of The Legend Next Door
“How are you feeling about going to the game?” I ask when it occurs to me I’ve been quiet for ages and it’s my turn to talk. The Blackeyes are playing the Vipers in the playoffs next week, and the game is here in Seattle. Ben and Luca have tickets to see it.
“I’m feeling pretty good. I’m ready, I think. It’s time, and Luca is really looking forward to it.”
It’s strange. Ben’s words and the space around him don’t sync when he speaks. He doesn’t usually do this. At least he hasn’t done it to me before—say things that aren’t true because he thinks they’re what he should say. A dark, heavy cloud sails over the moon and opens a void. I sit with Ben in the darkness, still and quiet, not making a sound until the void spits us both out.
“Talking about hockey,” says Ben, “did I tell you I found a club I like for Luca? They have a really good mites program and I’ve enrolled him in a couple of day camps over the summer. It’s going to be neat, right, bud?”
“It’s going to beawesome. Wanna come watch me play, Jelly?”
“Of course he does,” answers Ben for me, eyes glinting with humor. “He’s ahugehockey fan.”
Hmm, funny, cocky, and kind? A killer combination if I’ve ever seen one.
I need to be careful around this man.
“So basically,” I say, “the plan is that I’ll phase myself out of his life gradually. I don’t want to hurt his feelings because he’s like the nicest guy I’ve ever met. And I sure as hell don’t want to have to explain why I’m not going over anymore or anything like that because what can I really say except ‘You’re so goddamn hot and lovely I can’t possibly be around you without humiliating myself, best case, or having my heart irrevocably broken, worst case.’” I take a sip of water to hydrate, but also to give Ness time to digest all that. “So, I’m going to sign up to teach three morning yoga classes per week. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and I’ll keep going to Ben’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays for a while to keep things normal. Then, when school starts for Luca, I’ll start booking massage clients on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and voilà. Before you know it, I won’t be going over there. My little crush won’t develop into a serious problem, and all will be well.”
“Seems foolproof,” says Ness.
It’s meant to be reassuring, but it isn’t because we both know damn well I’ve been an incredible fool in the past, and there’s absolutely nothing stopping me from being one in the future.
15
Ben Stirling
“CanItellyoua sad thing, Daddy?”
I’m at Luca’s bedroom door, and I’ve already turned out the light. I wassoclose to making it downstairs for a little me-time. I know this voice all too well though. It’s the one that needs my full attention. The one that breaks my heart.
I cross the room and sit on his bed near his pillow. “Of course you can, sweetheart. You can tell me anything.”
“I was really happy about the surprise flowers. I loved planting them, and I was happy about them all day until I started brushing my teeth. And, and”—there’s a quiet sniff in the dark—“and then I realized I was happy because I thought Mommy would like them, and”—a quiet sniff turns into a wet, painful sob—“and then I remembered she won’t see them.”
“Oh, buddy.” I lie down and turn on my side, scooting my arm under his head and pulling him as close as I can get him. “That makes me sad too.” I stroke his hair and hold him as he cries. When his little chest stops heaving, I say, “You’re right though. Mommy would’ve loved that we planted flowers. She loved flowers. Remember how she always used to take a long time deciding which ones to buy when she went to Whole Foods? She’d stand there and look at all of them and walk all the way around the floral area before she chose a bunch, remember?” He nods against my arm. “That was because she loved them so much.”
“I miss her.”
“I miss her too. Every day. You know what though? I know she would have been so proud of the way you watered the flowers this morning. You did such a good job. Those seeds were lucky you were there. Jelly might not have watered them as well as you did.”
“Can we go over to water them again tomorrow?”
“We’ll ask Jelly if he needs help.”
“He’ll definitely need help. He won’t know how to do it like I do.”
“Okay, buddy, try to close your eyes now. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”
I drifted off while lying with Luca, so when I wake, I have a bad taste in my mouth and a lump in my throat. I don’t bother going downstairs to start the dishwasher. I head straight to my room instead. The doors downstairs are locked, the TV is switched off, and I put the leftovers in a container in the fridge before I put Luca to bed. It’s good enough.
I’ve done all I can for the day.
Some days are like that. It took me a while to accept that idea, but when you’re grieving, good enough is good enough. I had no idea about that before. I thought you had to be your best, or as close as you could get to it, every day.
Not true.
As always, after Luca’s been sad, I feel ravaged. Beaten. Broken. My heart and lungs feel shaky. Too big and too small and too tight in my chest. I close my bedroom door and lean against it. I’m faced with a too-big, echoey room, new bedroom furniture meant to make me feel better but doesn’t, and an endless barrage of curtains to draw.
Fuck.
