Page 46 of Tight Ends & Tiaras
In whispers, he tells me all the adorable things his daughter did today. I can smell his minty breath and sandalwood soap and wish I could snuggle with him.
I know I shouldn’t read into the intimacy of this moment. I have to remind myself we’re not really dating.
This right here is what I was missing in my relationship with Cal. What began as a hookup with him never extended beyond that. Yes, we eventually had substantial conversations, but he never missed an opportunity to have sex.
Deep down, I don’t think he ever gave himself to me as a friend. We were fuck buddies and then lovers, but never friends, I realize.
I fault myself for letting it happen. I’d had a casual hookup before Cal, but that was a one-time thing that happened with a friend of mine back in California. Even after having sex with Hunter, I never wanted more or caught feelings, and I mistakenly thought that meant I could do casual sex and not get invested.
Ben reaches out and presses his thumb between my eyes, and I laugh. “You were frowning.”
“Just, uh, thinking about all the mistakes I made last year.”
“I’ve made plenty myself.” He studies my face. “Speaking of mistakes... been meaning to thank you for being such a good friend to my sister. I... I haven’t always been there for her. I’m sure you know that.”
“She said you did your best.”
“You’ve probably heard about my panic attacks.”
“She never went into details. She would never do that. All I knew was that you both went through a lot growing up, and you felt bad for getting adopted by your uncle when she didn’t.”
“Yeah, but it’s worse than that.”
He clears his throat, and I reach out and place my palm on his arm. “You don’t have to talk about it or share anything too difficult.”
After a moment, he surprises me. “I’m finding it’s good to talk about it. Been seeing a therapist since last fall because this shit with my sister was so ridiculous.”
“Your feelings are not ridiculous. You can’t help what you feel, and the trauma we experience as kids affects our psyche more intensely than as adults. So while we can be rational as adults and think, ‘That shouldn’t bother me,’ childhood abuse or trauma or neglect doesn’t care that you’re older. It seems to plant its seeds deeper than things we experience now, and the best we can do is take the time to accept those hurts and work through them.”
He chuckles. “You sound like Dr. Patricia. Maybe I should pay you instead to head-shrink me.”
“It sounds like your therapist is working for you.” I don’t mention one of my mom’s clients is a world-renowned psychiatrist with her own TV show I like to watch sometimes or that she ‘head-shrunk’ me plenty after my parents divorced. I’d started having trouble in school, and my dad thought I needed help.
But my mom has forbidden me from sharing that with anyone because the one time the media caught wind of me and my mom leaving a psychiatrist’s office, the headlines the next day said I was “going crazy because I was off my meds” and was the reason my parents split up, which is a fucked-up thing to say about a kid. Of course, my father sued the tabloid and won. That only made the jerks at school pick on me more. Thus, my mom’s rule.
“Dr. Patricia is great. I got to a good place where I can talk to my sister and not break out into a cold sweat or have nightmares, which is what would happen ever since we got separated as kids. I’d be fine for a while, but then I’d get a rare chance to see her, and my uncle says I’d wake up screaming in the middle of the night.” He runs his hand through his tousled hair. “I’d have these dreams where she was killed in the same car crash as our mom, or instead of my mom, it was Gabby driving. It terrified me. I still get kinda fucked up anytime I have to drive in the rain.”
I wrap his clammy hand in mine. “Oh, Ben, I’m so sorry.” I think back to how he braved that rainstorm to drop me off at the airport, and a little piece of my heart falls hard for him.
“I can’t deal with how much it must’ve hurt my sister for her to think I didn’t want to see her.”
The anguish in his voice kills me, and my eyes water. “She knows you love her and that you’re doing your best.”
He squeezes my hand. “I tried to do things for her that would help her. Without her knowing. I was too embarrassed to come right out and tell her what I was going through. My uncle is kind of a tough man, and I didn’t grow up talking about my feelings, but he’s done a lot for me, so I’m grateful.”
“But you’re also conflicted.”
“Really conflicted.”
“I’m sure it’s hard to reconcile those emotions.”
“Fuck yeah, it is.”
This beautiful, passionate man has so many layers.
A question comes to mind, and I know the answer before I ever voice it. “Did you by any chance pay part of your sister’s rent last year?”
His eyes widen in surprise. “How’d you know that?”
