Page 32 of The Twelve-Hour Rule
“Benjamin,” she says, in that half-scolding way that means she’s happy to see me. “You look thinner.”
I bend to kiss her cheek. “You say that every time you see me.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
I smile and sit down across from her, the same seat I’ve been sitting in since high school. The same coffee mug I always use is waiting for me.
My sister pours herself a cup and leans against the counter. “How was paradise?”
“Nice,” I say, maybe too quickly. “Warm. Relaxing.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not what that tone means.”
“I—” I stop. I don’t know how to explain it. How do you tell your sister that you met someone and can’t stop thinking about her and the possibility of a future with her, even though it was never supposed to mean anything?
I stir my coffee just to do something with my hands. “It was good to get away.”
“Uh-huh.” She crosses her arms. “What’s her name?”
“Why would you even think that?”
“My god, you think I was born yesterday? You look different.”
Mom doesn’t even look up from her embroidery. “He always looks like that after vacation.”
“Ma,” Jessica says with a grin on her face, “he hasn’t gone on a vacation since the twins were born, so how would you even know.”
I groan. “Stop meddling.”
My sister’s grin softens. “Was she nice?”
I pause. “Yeah.”
That’s the only word I can manage. Nice. But what I mean is: kind, curious, funny, grounded. So fucking real and independent and fulfilled and…
Someone who made me laugh before I even realized I was trying. Someone who made everything—work, noise, pressure—go quiet for a minute.
“Amazing,” I admit finally, under my breath.
My sister gives me a look that’s all affection and knowing. “And now?”
“Nothing. Back to reality.”
She nods like she gets it, but I can tell she doesn’t really. Or maybe she’s pretending for my sake, because right now I sound like a whiny, pathetic man who falls in love easily. Mom puts down her stuff, and turns to me, her voice bright.
“Ben, sweetheart, why don’t you take a few days off before going back to work? You can stay here and help me around the house. My gutters need cleaning.”
Jessica snorts, and that finally pulls a smile out of me. The gutters don’t need cleaning—it’s the end of December, and the yard’s covered in frost. Mom just wants to give me something to do, a project to keep me from sitting still long enough to start thinking about her.
I take a sip of coffee that’s already gone cold. The bitterness sits on my tongue, but I don’t move to fix it.
Mom’s humming again, something soft and familiar. Jessica scrolls through her phone, muttering about the twins’ napschedule, and outside, the sky hangs low and heavy, the kind of gray that makes everything feel smaller.
It should feel like comfort—home, family, normalcy—but it doesn’t.
It feels like the space between two lives.
Jessica catches me staring out the window and bumps my shoulder gently. “It’ll pass,” she says.
