Page 18 of When Ben Loved Tim
“Hey, shouldn’tyoube in school?” Tim asks along the way.
I make sure my smile is enigmatic. “I’m supposed to be.”
“You cut class?” Tim cackles when I nod and asks. “For me?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
He laughs again, “You’re a wild one, Benjamin.”
As soon as we reach his house, he puts me to work, more comfortable with the arrangement than I would have guessed. “I’m already sick of that couch,” he says, leaning on a crutch as we survey the living room. “Going up and down the stairs to my bed will be a pain. Let’s set up camp in my dad’s den.”
I try to imagine what his father looks like and picture a wolf. I follow Tim to the back of the house and enter a room that feels more like a hunting lodge. Tim makes his way to a dark leather couch, where he sits and props his boot on the rough-hewn coffee table in front of it. I continue to glance around. Wooden bookshelves built into the walls are filled with thick tomes that have somber spines. Any remaining space is filled with a scattering of trophies, an antique globe, and the occasional framed photo. I move to one and see a man with stark white hair and the same silver eyes as his son. Not too far off from the wolf I was envisioning. His stern face isn’t as handsome as Tim’s, especially in contrast to the woman at his side, who radiates beauty. I tear my gaze away, noticing framed sports memorabilia, a wet bar, and some poor creature who has been reduced to a stuffed head on the wall.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Tim asks.
I turn and see him gesturing at a massive big-screen TV.
“It certainly makes an impression,” I reply diplomatically. I’m guessing his dad isn’t a touchy-feely sort of guy. Unlike my own father, who is so sappy that he’ll shamelessly weep while telling me and my sister how much we’re loved. Don’t get me started on how crazy he is about my mom. He’d do anything for her.
“We’re gonna have to fill up the mini-fridge with Cokes,” Tim says from the couch. “The only thing in there is beer. Which doesn’t sound so bad at the moment.”
“You’re not supposed to drink alcohol with your pills,” I murmur.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tim says. “I’m buzzing anyway. It’s good to be home. I didn’t sleep so well last night. Hey, I’ll need my favorite pillow down here. And a blanket. Maybe some snacks.” He pulls at the muscle shirt he’s wearing and sniffs. “Ugh! You know what I really need? A change of clothes. And a shower.”
“How about a bath instead? So you don’t slip.”
“Yeah, okay. Will you run one for me?”
“Sure,” I reply, still surprised by how quickly he’s taken to the situation. “Were you raised by a nanny or something?”
“No. How come?”
I shrug innocently. “Do you have a stay-at-home mom?”
“Nah. She works as a translator.” He scrunches up his face. “Are you saying I’m spoiled?”
“You just seem like you’re used to having servants.”
Tim shrugs. “Hey, you offered. I can do it all myself.” He pushes against the couch, as if he’s going to get up, although I’m pretty sure he’s bluffing.
“Stay put,” I tell him. “I’ll get your bath ready.”
While watching the tub slowly fill with water, it finally sinks in that this is really happening. I’m going to be Tim’s make-believe wife for the next week! Maybe even longer. If only I could figure out some way of staying home from school. How hard would it be to sprain my own ankle? Or maybe a wrist. Although I can already imagine the jokes if I did. I return to the living room and insist on helping Tim up. We haven’t touched yet today. His hand slides into mine for the fourth time since we’ve met. I’ve been keeping count. And I pray it won’t be the last, because I want to memorize how it feels. Years from now—decades even—I want to close my eyes and be whisked back to this moment. I release his hand unwillingly and follow him to the bathroom, where he stops and stares.
“Why are there bubbles?” Tim asks.
I shake my head, not understanding. “Why wouldn’t there be?”
“I dunno,” he says with a shrug. “It’s a little…”
“Girly?” I supply.
Another shrug. “I mean… Sort of. Yeah.”
“Oh whatever,” I say with an eye roll. “You didn’t take bubble baths growing up? Because I sure did. And back then, it came in a pink bottle.”
“I loved that stuff!” Tim says.
