Page 86 of The Fear of Falling
“You haven’t known my boy very long,” Mrs. West says gently, “but I can tell you I’ve never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you. You hold the moon and stars in his world.”
“He’s not going to change just for me.” I sniffle and laugh at how ridiculous this conversation is. I just met this woman. “AndI can’t ask him to change for me. That’s not how people work. Benson isn’t going to put down roots anytime soon.”
“He has never been one for attachments,” she agrees, which doesn’t make me feel any better. She’s looking around the room again, a sadness in her eyes. “I haven’t changed a thing in this room since the day he left for college. Sometimes I come in here and wonder if he even lived here.”
“Why is he like this?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Kimball and McKay, they have always stayed close to home. Sometimes more than they should. But Benson? Even as a child, he was restless, and he never could stick with one thing for longer than a few weeks.”
My stomach twists as I think about the fact thatI’veknown Benson for a few weeks. Are we at the point where he’ll realize I’m not as exciting as he thought and move on to something—someone—new? My heart aches thinking about it, but can I really expect anything more?
He told me in the beginning what he is. It’s on me if I let myself get heartbroken over him.
“Well.” Mrs. West says, awkwardly patting my shoulder as she stands and heads for the door. “Who knows? Maybe you’ve given him a reason to change. I’ll see about finding you some pajamas.”
A reason to change. I don’t want to let myself hope, but my feelings for Benson refuse to let go of those words as I sit on the bed in the empty room. Could she be right? I don’t know all of his reasons for staying away from me, but some of them we could solve. Eric? Not a real barrier. His family? Maybe this weekend will help Benson realize that his perspective might be wrong when his mom clearly wants him around. Whatever else there is holding him back, we can figure it out together.
The voices downstairs rise, and though I try to ignore them, the sound carries remarkably well now that I’m not talking to Mrs. West. The first thing I hear makes my heart race.
“So you’re going to stick around for once?” It’s one of Benson’s brothers who asks that, and I hold my breath. Waiting. Hoping.
Benson’s response hits me hard, like a kick to the chest. “I can’t.”
“Won’t,” someone says.
The silence that stretches between that word and Benson’s response nearly kills me.
“Can’t,” Benson says again. He thinks that, but his reasons aren’t as solid as he thinks they are, and we can— “I’m heading to Australia next week to work with a client who’s going to push my business to the next level and help me bring on clients from all over the world.”
Something in me shatters. Australia?Next week?But he hasn’t said any…
They keep talking about how much Benson works—too much—but I can barely concentrate. He’s leaving? I thought his next client was in Alabama, and that job wasn’t supposed to start for another couple of weeks. And he said he lost the Australian client. We had a whole conversation about it. So is he just making stuff up to try to sound good in front of his family?
I know Benson better than that. He’s not the kind of guy who lies.
Australia. Next week…
“Here you are, dear,” Mrs. West says, making me jump as she appears at the door with a bundle of clothes. She pauses, studying me for a moment as her brow furrows. “Is everything okay?”
No. I’m as far from okay as a person can get, but I can’t tell her that. “Fine,” I whisper. The conversation downstairs has eitherstopped or gotten too quiet to hear, but I heard enough. “I’m just tired.”
She smiles warmly and comes to my side, handing me some silk pajamas and an unopened toothbrush. “If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I need to know if Benson was serious about leaving next week, but that’s not a question she can answer. “Thank you,” I say weakly. “You’re so sweet to let me stay on such short notice.”
“It’s nothing. You’re welcome any time.”
“Hey.” Benson appears in the doorway, looking like he’s never been as exhausted as he is now. And he’s planning on taking on even more work? That can’t be good for him. Sparing only a glance at his mom, he watches me for a long moment and frowns, reminding me how good he is at reading me. “Mom, can you give us a minute?”
“Oh! Yes. Of course.” She pats my arm again and heads for the door, pausing for a moment when she reaches Benson, like she wants to say something to him. But she stays quiet, shaking her head before she steps into the hall and disappears.
Though a part of me wants to pretend everything is fine and I didn’t hear any of the conversation downstairs, I’m tired too. I’ll never sleep if I don’t know the truth.
Benson takes a breath, forcing a smile. “Do you need—”
“When were you going to tell me about Australia?”
Paling, he gapes at me for a long few seconds before his eyes drop to the floor. “It’s not what it—”
