Page 133 of Hell Bent
“So you’re just going to count on that?”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to keep counting on myself. But I’m also going to try to trust him to keep being the man I see. Responsible. Fair. Caring. A man who’s always going to try harder.”
“I’ll remind you of that,” Ben said, “the next time he’s bossing you around.”
I laughed. “Yep. That too. But—hey. You don’t have to decide to trust him all the way now. I don’t think you can force trust like that anyway. It comes when the … the circle closes.” I pulled out my pendant, which I was wearing with my sweater, because it was just so beautiful, and showed it to him. “This is one part of a circle, right?”
“Right,” Ben said slowly. “This sounds like it’s going to be symbolism. I don’t really get symbolism. Thomas keeps trying to explain it, because ofRomeo and Juliet,which by the way I still hate—did you know they both die at the end? What kind of a sucky ending is that?—but I don’t get why Shakespeare didn’t just, like, say what he meant, instead ofusing symbolism that you have to read the notes to understand.”
“Humor me,” I said. “I think I’m telling you this for me anyway, and it’s a long flight. So this necklace is part of a circle, and Sebastian gave it to me because he cares about me. Because he wanted to make my birthday special. And every time he does something else for me—insists on taking me to the ER, or backs off when I tell him to, doesn’t give me a hard time about going back to the trailer, acts like he’s proud of my job, even though it’s not exactly feminine or glamorous—it feels like a little more of the circle gets filled in. It feels like I can be myself,allof myself, and even if he doesn’t always like that part of me, it doesn’t make him care about me less. It makes him understand me more. We’re going to change, but maybe we can roll with the changes. Maybe I’m believing that can happen. That could be radical acceptance, I guess. Knowing you don’t have to be so scared of change, because you can deal with it. You don’t have to run away or hold yourself back because you’re scared you can’t cope or you can’t be enough for somebody, because you’ve already proved that you can. And I think that trust is what he’s trying to build with you, too. At least that’s what I see.”
“Oh,” Ben said. “Huh.”
“Yeah,” I said, “it’s not something you can decide now even if you wanted to. You have to kind of slide into it despite yourself, I think. That’s how trust works. But—hey. We started out talking about cooking. Eating regular food, which sounds good to me right now too. We’ve eaten a lotof restaurant meals lately, and normally, I pretty much only eat regular food. Food with more vegetables in it than you may prefer, but still. We’re going to get home about two. Want to go for a trail run with me, since we’ve been sitting down for about three days, and then make dinner?Regulardinner?Sebastian keeps paying for all that food we’re eating, and I don’t care how much I’m getting to trust him, that’s just never going to feel great to me. So maybe I should buy groceries and we should make dinner, so we can remind ourselves that we aren’t just passengers on somebody else’s bus.”
Ben said, “That last part was symbolism. I told you, I don’t get it. Do you know how to make spaghetti?”
“You bet I do. Fortunately, your idea of normal food matches my skill level. Spaghetti and meatballs?”
“Awesome.” Ben sighed..
“Only if you do half the work,” I said. “I’m not carrying any freeloaders. Willing to chop the onions even if they make you cry?”
“At least I’ll have an excuse,” Ben said.
So, obviously, I stuck around on Monday night. And then I kept sticking around, because Sebastian would only be home a few days before flying to Vegas for Super Bowl week. I probably wanted to have some sex. No, Idefinitelywanted to have some sex. Also, the guy was fun to hang out with, he and Ben both deserved support, and Ben wanted to cook, which felt better to me anyway. And then there was Lexi. I’d be staying all of next week anyway, because there was no way I was leaving Ben alone, or even with Thomas, while Sebastian was gone. Ben needed all the stability he could get. So, you see, I stayed.
I knew I hadn’t closed all the pieces of the circle, and I was never going to be able to accept radical impermanence. I might want this too much, in fact. But that was better than not wanting it enough.
Solange had thought she had forever. She’d only had thirty-six years. I’d learned one thing from all this, anyway. When you have a good thing, hold onto it. Time enough to accept a loss once it arrives.
Which reminded me that I needed to call my grandmother.
And say what?
53
OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS
Alix
Carlton didn’t waste any time on Tuesday morning.
“Another fluke play,” he said. “Once in fifty years? What the hell? How am I supposed to bet if one team keeps getting lucky? It’s like putting all your chips on red in Vegas, because the wheel’s come up red five times in a row. Then the second you place that bet, boom! It lands on black.”
“Actually,” I said, checking his wiring on another fire-suppression system, “the odds are exactly the same every time on that roulette wheel. Fifty-fifty.”
“Not if it’s come up red five times in a row.”
“Even then. The wheel has no memory. Half the slots are red, half are black. Fifty-fifty, every time. If you want more control over the odds and you’ve got the head to calculate them, get good at poker. Anyway, football games aren’t roulette. They look like it, because they can turn on such tiny things that the score seems random, but the picture’s more complicated than that. Too many variables to calculate them all, so people tend to seize on a few aspects that are easier to understand.”
“You mean the Devils are destined or something.” That was LouAnn, who fortunately was working and talking.
“No,” I said. “Nobody’s destined to win football games. I mean that statistically, they’ve been winning close games, and Idobelieve in statistics. I don’t know the reasons, but I can guess on some of them. Coaching. Leadership. Composure. But who knows? That’s why you actually have to play the game.”
“Your boy’s one hell of a clutch kicker,” Carlton grunted from where he lay on his back, tightening a connection.
“Composure,” I said again.
