Page 72 of Bittersweet

“What am I avoiding?” I’ll never know why I always play into this hand, why when she sets it up for me, I always take a swing. I can hear the smile in her voice, knowing I fell into her trap.

“Home.” I roll my eyes at the obvious answer. “Your father.”

“I’m not avoiding Dad. You guys were just down here for Memorial Day.”

“No, you’re not outright ignoring him, but you are avoiding any situation where the two of you would actually have to talk about what happened with you two and Coleman and Sons.” She sighs, and I know if she were here, I’d see that crease between her eyebrows that she’s convinced Tanner and I gave her. “The two of you. So damn stubborn. Avoiding tough subjects.” I don’t say anything, instead sipping once more. “He’s proud of you, you know. Of what you’ve built.” There’s more silence. “It’s not what he expected, and he had to mourn that, and I’ll tell you—we fought tooth and nail about the way he mourned that. But Benjamin, he loves you. And he’s proud of you. He just is too fucking manly to tell you.” I grunt. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I’ve never pretended I was too manly for anything, Ma.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe you should drop the manly act and go ask that neighbor of yours out,” she says with a laugh. “Alright, well, I hear your dad’s truck pulling up. We’re headed out to dinner. Please, consider coming home for the party.”

“You know about that?”

“Jordan’s got a big mouth.” I smile, knowing that there was a time when my brother’s girlfriend had to keep secrets for a living and loving that that’s so far behind her now. “Please, Ben. Think about it. Maybe bring your neighbor.”

“Goodbye, Mom,” I say.

“Bye, my darling boy. Remember that sometimes people need the push!”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say before swiping to end the call.

I sit there for a few minutes before making a decision.

I stand, pour myself a drink, and then sip it as I start to make that push.

Twenty-Three

-Lola-

I’ve successfully avoidedBen for two weeks.

Two weeks of timing my arrivals and departures around his schedule like some kind of reverse stalker. Two weeks of staying at the bakery late to make doughs and batters and bake, so I don’t have to be up early and risk waking him up.

Two weeks of doing everything in my power not to give Ben any reason to have to come over to my side of the building.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t been nearly as considerate.

More than once, I’ve slammed the door when I caught him leaving his apartment unexpectedly, waiting long minutes until he left to sneak out of my place.

More than a few times, he’s played his music loud late at night, after close.

A part of me can’t help but wonder if it’s a test.

A test to see if I’ll react, if I’ll break.

Like this isn’t me avoiding him and waiting for the awkward to pass, waiting for the fun of me to wear off so I can move on with my life without having Benjamin Coleman bugging me. But instead, it’s a waiting game for how long I can endure his prodding until I snap.

That part of me thinks this is true because it’s never loud when he has someone over. It’s never the shop having some kind of event, never guests in his apartment.

It’s just Ben, our two cars the only ones parked in the lot.

And it stops at eleven on the dot.

I need to sleep by eleven.

My words ricochet in my mind every night when the noise dies out each time.

---