Page 47 of Every Good Thing
Eleven
BEN
“You were engaged?”
Lena’s voice trembles, sorrow seeping through her surprising calm. She sits at the base of her mom’s tree—so much of our history has happened here. It’s where I opened up about my injuries and the IED—something I hadn’t done with anyone except my therapist and Becca. Her parents’ ashes were spread here. It’s where I asked her to marry me, where she told me she was pregnant, and where we had the ceremony a few months later.
It’s too sacred a place for this discussion.
But, as Dot bluntly ordered after she and the others stared me down, I must “meet her where she is and beg her forgiveness.”
“I’m sorry, Lena. Yes.”
“How long were you with her?”
My hand drags over my mouth, unable to form the words. Lena’s tear-streaked face kills me. Lauren fucking Riley—I wish I’d never taken her call, but how can I dismiss any opportunity knowing how limited my options will be when my hearing loss becomes profound? Sure, the department would find a place for me. So would many other fine institutions. But I already know those are jobs I don’t want. Clerical. Behind a desk and a screen. Away from people.
A common misconception is that I dislike people. That’s not true. Quietness does not mean disinterest. Often, it simply means I’m listening.
Now, I need to talk. Holding Lena last night, I promised myself I would. But everything’s working against me. Lauren dropping our engagement as casually as a remark on the weather has upended my planned conversation with Lena, the one I’ve been prepping all morning in my head. Now, I’m forced to play defense. Lena’s already hurt. Already pissed. And she has every reason to be. Her tears and disappointment make this much harder.
My mouth goes dry, but I force the answer free. “Ten years.”
“Ten fucking years? That’s more than a few, Ben.”
“I was deployed for most of it.”
“How come you never told me?”
“It felt unnecessary to discuss.”
Her vivid eye-roll rivals those of busted teenagers, angry at me for calling their parents. Only with Lena it makes an impact. I sit on the ground beside her and absentmindedly drape my hand over her thigh. She shoves my hand away and tries standing, but her soreness prevents her. I assist her gently, though she quickly pulls her good hand free from mine once she’s on her feet.
Now, standing under the same branches that have shaded so many fond memories, she glares at me with hurt eyes. My deception, my very presence, has heightened her anxiety. She radiates it like she’s sourcing the humidity in the air.
It’s hard to breathe.
“It should’ve been necessary last night when I specifically asked you if there was anything significant I needed to know. Why couldn’t you tell me then?”
“I didn’t want complications.”
“Complications? The truth isn’t complicated, Ben. I don’t understand.”
“We were both with other people before us—the wrong people. I don’t understand why it matters.”
“You matter. This is about you. You can’t leave shit out because you don’t want to talk about it—”
“Fine.” I run a hand through my hair, handling my frustration like it’s a door I’m holding shut. “Lauren and I were once engaged. We thought we loved each other, but shit happened, and we realized we didn’t. End of story. I never told you because it didn’t matter—I love you, and we’re a good fit.”
She scoffs. “A good fit? Like I’m a comfortable, old shoe.”
“No. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You’ve lied to me. Twice. You’re making it impossible to believe there’s nothing more to this than a job.”
Heat rises inside me with her accusation. “Last night wasn’t the right time to discuss it.”
“Fuck that—I asked; you should’ve answered,” she says, trying to sign the words as well.
