Page 38 of The Ex-Best Thing
“Grandma, I mean it,” Benny says sternly. “We need to give her space. She’ll call when she’s ready.”
That didn’t sound like a pitchfork-bearing member of the justice department. I sit up, my head cocking to the side to better hear the conversation. As I do, I catch Nancy’s eyes through the open blinds in a different window and squeal.
I should have recognized that haircut.
“Come on, Bree Belacourt,” Nancy calls, her voice muffled now that she’s standing in front of the closed window. “We only want to help.”
Help? There is literally no way they can do that. Nothing can save me now.
Melodramatic? Maybe.
But also true.
I now live in this mountain of blankets. My face will never see the public again. The last little while of utter freedom and normalcy are a thing of the past. It was good while it lasted, but that was it: a final hurrah. The truth pulls at my stomach with discomfort, making me queasy. I don’t want it to be over, but I know what Benny values, and childish fights aren’t on the list.
The garage creeps open, rumbling through the walls. I glance around for somewhere to hide, but I’m not fast enough. Nancy barrels into the house and straight down the hallway toward my room. Does the woman have no boundaries? She stops in the doorway, hands propped on her hips, drawn-on eyebrows raised. I try to picture myself from her perspective, asad puddle of a woman tangled in a comforter and crouched beside the bed.
“Up,” she demands. “You can’t stay like this forever.”
Gone is the awe-struck Nancy from last night, and in her place is a drill sergeant.
The door to the garage squeals as it opens again. Benny’s voice reaches us from where he’s probably standing half in, half out of the door. “Grandma, we need to leave. This is not okay.”
“Ignore him,” Nancy says, watching me. “Have you eaten? Let’s start there. I’ll make you avocado toast with red pepper flakes.”
She knows my favorite breakfast. If I ever wondered at the validity of her fan claim, I don’t anymore. Besides, that sounds really good. Especially on the loaf of sourdough I picked up from Costco yesterday.
“I don’t have red pepper flakes,” I say, absurdly, as I’m still a puddle on the floor.
“I’m sure Colby has some packets in a drawer somewhere.” She starts toward the kitchen. “Take a shower, Bree. I’ll have breakfast ready by the time you’re out.”
This is not going how I had expected. She’s not berating me. She’s taking care of me.
My feet push free of the comforter before I make the decision to listen, and before I consciously know what I’m doing, I let myself into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
Nancy’s right.The shower felt good. But it did nothing to fix the growing anxiety pulsing within me. I walk toward the kitchen, aware of the scent of bacon drifting from the room, which is confusing since I never bought bacon.
“Good morning,” Nancy says from the stove. “Benny ranhome for orange juice, but—ah, there he is.” The front door closes with a snap.
I spin to face him, but he only gives me a perfunctory nod before carrying a jug of orange juice toward his grandma. What does that mean?
“I nixed the toast,” Nancy says, putting a plate on the round kitchen table. “I had a feeling you could use some protein. Bacon sandwich with tomato and avocado and plenty of red pepper flakes. Much more filling.”
She’s not wrong. Besides, it smells amazing. I pop a strawberry in my mouth from the mound on my plate and take a seat while Benny pours a cup of juice for me, then I tuck into the sandwich. I’m going for my third bite when I realize no one else is eating. Benny is munching on a strip of crunchy bacon in the kitchen while he washes a pan, and Nancy is wiping down the white Formica counter.
Lowering the food, I watch them. Benny won’t meet my gaze, and Nancy is a woman on a mission.
“Just ask me,” I finally say. There’s no hiding now. I want to pull the monsters out of the closet and force them into the revealing sunlight. Maybe it’ll turn them to stone.
Benny circles the table and leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He says nothing, which is mildly disturbing and unfairly attractive. Dark hair falls over his forehead and his blue eyes are focused on me.
His grandma doesn’t bother remaining silent.
Nancy pulls out a chair opposite me, right in front of Benny. “Have you been on the social media today?” she asks, her tone serious.
“Nope.”
“None of the social medias?”
