Page 11 of The Long Way Home
“You didn’t say goodbye to them,” I try and say lightly, though the irritation is already threading its way into my voice. I don’t know if I want to have this conversation or just be done with it.
He doesn’t look at me. “Didn’t think I needed to. You were doing enough talking for both of us.”
The comment scrapes across my nerves. I pause, then climb in and shut the door a little harder than necessary, hoping he gets the memo.
He, on the other hand, remains clueless. He starts the engine, eyes fixed straight ahead. I twist the hem of my dress between my fingers, feeling the weight sink further into my chest.
“Can I ask you something,” I say, lowering my voice, “without you getting defensive?”
He exhales through his nose. “Depends. Are you about to accuse me of something again?”
I press my lips together and count a breath. “I’m not accusing you. I just—” The words catch. I try again searching for the version that won’t sound needy or dramatic. “You barely looked at me tonight.”
He pulls onto the gravel drive. “I didn’t realize there was a quota I had to meet.”
“Come on.” My voice sharpens despite my effort to remain neutral. “You know what I mean. You were on your phone half the night. Talking to everyone but me. You even walked off the dance floor mid-song.”
Ben drags a hand down his face. “It was a wedding, Rach—your best friend’s wedding. You were glued to her side all night. I barely even saw you long enough to pay attention to you.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “And for the record, Anderson’s uncle enjoyed our conversation. You always think I’m trying to impress people, but those connections are what make a good business.”
He isn’t entirely wrong. I was busy tending to whatever Margo needed. But he still left me on the dance floor, which led to me being forced near Rhett again.
Maybe I’m overreacting.
I sink back against the seat, fingers still worrying the fabric. “That’s not what I’m talking about. This isn’t about Margo. Or networking with a random guy in sales.” I swallow. “I put on this dress, this expensive, only-wear-once dress. I thought I looked good. And you didn’t even notice me.”
He frowns, glancing at me now. “Babe, come on, you know I don’t dance. You’re lucky I went out there at all. And I didn’t think you needed a compliment. You know, I think you’re beautiful.”
“Sometimes it’s nice to hear it anyway.” I stare out the window at the buildings passing by.
Silence fills the car. I swallow past the tightness in my throat. It isn’t about tonight so much as the past five months of being looked over. I don’t need grand gestures or constant reassurance. I just want to feel seen by him. And while Ben has never outwardly said he doesn’t find me attractive or beautiful, even with him sitting inches away, I feel invisible, like my existence doesn’t fully land with him unless I point it out.
Ben loosens his grip on the wheel. “Look, I’m sorry, Rach. I really am.” He glances at me, his voice a little softer now. “I didn’t mean to make you feel alone tonight. That wasn’t fair of me.”
He shifts in his seat. “I get weird at stuff like this. Social things that aren’t related to networking. I don’t always know what to do or say. And sometimes I shut down without realizing it. But that’s not an excuse. I should have been paying more attention to you.”
He glances over again. “You looked stunning tonight. You always do. I should’ve said that right away.”
I turn back toward him, the edge in my chest dulling. His voice sounds sincere. The anger I’d been holding slips, replaced by doubt. Maybe I imagined the distance entirely. Maybe I letmyself spiral. How could I let Rhett’s voice get under my skin when it had no right to be there at all?
Ben’s hand shifts to the gearshift. His fingers seem more relaxed now. I watch him a second longer, then glance back out the window.
“Okay,” I say, barely louder than a breath. “I just want to feel like you actually want to be here, with me. Not that I’m just some obligation to you, or that you’re just stuck in this.”
He reaches over, squeezes my knee, and a tiny chill runs up my body.
“I do, babe,” he says. “I’m just not great at showing it.”
When we pull into the driveway, my porch light casts a dull glow across the front step. Ben parks the car, and walks to the front door without saying anything more to me.
I sit in the car for a few extra seconds, watching the way the light hits the lawn.I’m fine. We are fine.We just need to reconnect. I reach down, pick up my heels and my clutch, and push the car door open. My feet throb with every step, and my head is starting to ache. I need Tylenol and water pronto.
The front door sticks when he goes to open it.
“This damn door,” he mumbles under his breath. “I swear.”
Once he opens it, I follow and ease it shut behind us. Lavender from the hallway diffuser drifts over me. I used to love that smell. I used to come home and feel my shoulders drop the second it hit me. Tonight it just feels wrong, like I’m wearing someone else’s comfort.
Ben slips off his shoes and heads for the bedroom without looking back. His shoulders sag, his hands disappearing into his pockets. I stand there a second too long, watching his back, trying to remember the last time I felt pulled toward him instead of left behind. I turn to the kitchen and flip on the faucet.
