Page 76 of Every Good Thing
For once, what bothers me is Ben. He returned home from his working interview more sullen than ever. He eventually revealed that it was a positive experience, and he leaned toward taking the position. Despite my best efforts, he didn’t go into detail.
Instead, he discussed Matt Kirby and the invasion of our privacy by the movie studio. Over the last week, he’s taken extra shifts at work, and when he is home, he thwarts my efforts to spend time with him. Instead, he’s overrun by the smallest frustrations.
Me getting Ruthie to preschool ten minutes late…
Me talking with Matt Kirby (we’ve had a few light conversations in passing)…
Me “letting” the movie people block the driveway once…
Me “letting” the movie people spook the horses…
Lately, Ben seems hellbent on finding fault with me. I don’t understand why.
Dot thinks Ben’s on a perpetual period—“man-menses,” she calls it.
Cherry suggests he’s having a mid-life crisis—the first stage toward utter destruction.
I believe he’s finding excuses to push me away. Whether away from him or the things he needs to say or both—I don’t know. But I don’t deserve it.
So, today, I feel the pressure. I’m finally spending time with my husband, and hopefully, being a gold-star wife will break him from his awful mood. I’m running out of viable ideas, even after reading every article from Cherry’s influencers and sporting Avery’s sexy lingerie.
We stand at the outskirts of the party, taking it all in.
Ruthie gushes at the attractions. “That first. No, the bouncy castle. No, wait! I wanna ride the ponies.”
“We’ll do it all. Don’t worry.” I turn to Ben, my good hand slipping automatically into his. “This looks fun. And this place is amazing—not like a bank at all. It’d be a cool place to work.”
“A definite upgrade from a patrol car.” With an almost imperceptible smirk, his eyes meet mine. “I want to show you around.”
“I’d love that.” My words get drowned out by his name sounding across the lawn.
My head turns toward the noise, and Ben’s eyes follow—I wonder if he heard it. A small horde moves through the crowd toward us, reminding me of the slow-mo scenes in Twilight. Ah, the cool vampires have arrived.
Ben drops my hand.
An elegant blond woman in her sixties leads the pack. She wears a flowing silk kaftan in Bermuda blues and a sweet smile identical to Lauren’s.
She ignores my extended hand and goes directly for a hug. She smells like roses and expensive spa treatments. Cherry, Dot, and I had a spa day once—nothing is funnier than watching Dot get a pedicure.
“You must be Lena,” she says, pressing her softness against me. “I’m Jillian Riley, and I adore you already. If you won Ben’s heart, you’ve won mine.”
“Oh, thanks.” If? “It’s a pleasure, and that’s a beautiful dress.”
“Ah, bless you, dear,” she returns, sounding almost humble. She pulls back, keeping my one good hand in hers. She holds it out and takes a long look at me. “You’re so sweet, and what a pretty, um…”
She looks a little baffled at my outfit.
“It’s a romper. Walmart couture.” My attempt at humor falls flat, though I guess it’s not funny—my romper is from Walmart. We both glance at my sage green one-piece. I try to stay confident—I got it approved. Jaye helped me through my closet crisis and said its spaghetti straps and scooped neckline showed just enough skin without seeming desperate to impress. She shared a pic with Dot and Cherry. Both gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
But now, under this scrutiny, my confidence dips, especially when Lauren edges in beside her. Her silky blue top and scalloped tan shorts give off a sexy girl-next-door vibe. I feel like Luigi standing beside Beachtime Barbie.
“It suits you.” Jillian’s eyes fall to Ruthie, and she beams. Her French manicure rises to her mouth, and tears speck in her eyes in joyful wonder, like love at first sight.
My daughter is adorable but what the fuck?
“Oh, Ben… She’s perfect,” she coos as if Ruthie’s the prized granddaughter she never had. “Ah, she has your eyes. Oh, and that serious look of yours. How lovely.”
Her hand goes to her heart as if she’s holding it in.
