Page 82 of Every Good Thing
“Aunt Barb.”
“Huh, your grandma used to say that, too.” Over the river of my anxiety issues and through the woods of my terrible first marriage, Mom must’ve said that to me a million times. Hearing Ruthie say it makes me want to cry over how much I miss her.
I imagine her now, serving up her best Ben-advice between asking me questions about Matt Kirby. What would she tell me to do? Buck up? Stand up? Give up? I let so many things slide with Mark just to keep our peace. Toward the end, I hung on to our pseudo-marriage by frayed threads tied to my finger, libel to break any second. And they did, of course. Putting up with his shit only delayed the inevitable and made me feel like a human doormat. I can’t let that happen with Ben.
“Mom, cotton candy. Remember?” She climbs the step stool to wash her hands. “I’ll have a hot dog first, if that makes you happy.”
“Um, it would. Yes.” I push off the subway tiles, straighten my back, and switch into mom mode. This isn’t the time for Mom memories or Ben-worries.
But.
Emerging from the bathroom, I look for Ben. He’s easy to spot in a crowd, and I’m desperate to apologize for conversationally overstepping him.
“Where’s Dad?” Ruthie asks.
I scan the red-carpet area and don’t find him. “I don’t know.”
I spot John and Jillian—he pulls his wife closer by the waist, and she leans her head on his shoulder. They’re looking toward the stage, where the band plays a soft pop ballad, and just below, I spot my husband.
He’s dancing with Lauren.
Twenty-Three
BEN
Lena carries Ruthie awkwardly to the bathroom. I’m compelled to follow and lend a hand.
I’ve never spoken to her like that and regret it immediately, but my harsh reaction felt necessary in the moment. I don’t need her to talk or hear for me—not yet. At Saddletree, she intercedes on my behalf frequently, and I’ve never objected. It’s a noisy environment there, and her help prevents me from making apologies and asking people to repeat themselves.
It’s surprising how often that irritates people.
The only difference is that she did it here, around people I want to impress, a distinction that’s unfair to her.
Guilt settles on my shoulders the further they get from me. I turn, determined to follow.
Lauren’s hand slips around my bicep like a hook, stopping my forward motion.
“You okay?” she asks. “Mom said—”
“Everything’s fine. They might need help.”
“Are you kidding? Lena’s got this. She’s handled this a million times—that’s expert-level momming.”
I groan, not needing Lauren to tell me what a good mom Lena is. I know firsthand. But since she’s operating one-handed, I want to help and deliver my apology. I turn toward the lawn and no longer see them through the dense crowd.
Lauren’s head tilts toward me—part pained, part curious. “Did you really watch those awful movies for me?”
“Yes.” I scan the area, wondering if they’re inside the restroom yet. I could wait for them outside if I knew which bathroom they entered.
“Gosh, Ben. I wish you would’ve said.” Lauren’s voice is like a fly buzzing around my ear. “I didn’t like them either.”
“What?” I demand, my eyes landing on hers. “You wanted to watch them.”
She shakes her head before I get the words out. “No… I mean, yes, I suppose it’s my fault. But Uncle Rob told me if I wanted to get close to you… watch a scary movie.”
That fits. Rob’s good at two things—gross doctor stories and making moves. It sounds like his bad advice.
Still, this new information amuses me. “So, we watched movies neither of us wanted to see?”
