Chapter 15

15

MABEL

“He called us again.”

“Seriously?” I let my head fall back and stare at the ceiling of Marek’s condo. I’m on the phone with my mom. Julian is still harassing them about me. “Why?”

“He’s worried about you.”

“He’s not worried about me,” I mutter. I’m pretty sure he’s only worried about himself. “I don’t really know why he wants me back, since I was never good enough for him.”

“Mabel, clearly that’s not true. He cares about you.”

Does he? If he’s still calling Mom and Dad, maybe he does care about me. I feel those doubts rising up again.

“He says he’ll forgive you for leaving him.”

He’ll forgive me ? “Mom…” I stop. He’ll forgive me… because it was my fault. I’m the one who ruined everything. I screwed up and that’s what made him be so controlling. He was just trying to help me. Because I wasn’t good enough. I wore the wrong clothes and I didn’t look good enough. I didn’t work on my “professional image” and so I didn’t get promoted. I didn’t make dinner, so I was lazy. I valued my friendship with Bellamy too much to abandon her on her birthday and made her a priority over our relationship.

Those self-doubts are taking over my thoughts again. I’ve been feeling stronger, like I’ve left all that behind, but my mom’s blame is bringing them all back.

I’ll never find a man who accepts me for who I am, because I’m too much. Too chatty. Too messy. Too unconcerned with appearances.

“I left because he wanted to change me,” I finally say to Mom.

“But honey, when you’re in a relationship, you do change. You grow and evolve. That’s normal. It’s important.”

“What if I’m the only one changing, though?”

“Well…” She pauses. “You were growing up.”

I know exactly what she’s thinking. I needed to grow up. I was the one who needed to change.

“You had a good job. A nice home. You were really settling into a mature life. You seemed happy, and we were happy for you.”

I remember how I felt when I was with Julian. Always on edge. Drained. Depressed. Wondering if I was crazy. I felt like nothing about me mattered – my identity, my thoughts, my feelings, interests, opinions, hopes for the future… it was all about him.

And they were happy for me.

My throat constricts painfully, and I close my eyes. “I have to go, Mom. I have an interview this afternoon and I need to get ready for it.”

“Oh, good! I was going to ask how the job hunt is going.”

“It’s going.” I swallow thickly. “I’ll let you know how the interview goes.”

“Okay! Good luck, honey!”

I end the call and slide down into the couch cushions. My lungs seem tight, like it’s hard to get air into them, and my arms and legs feel heavy. I want to wrap the blankets around me and stay here on the couch, instead of going to my interview at Brockman University. It’s another in-person interview, but it’s a library assistant position, and the lowest paying of all the jobs I’ve applied for. Even if I get the job, I might not take it. Why bother going?

I’m lying on the couch when Marek and Ben get home from practice.

“What are you doing here?” Marek asks. “I thought you had a job interview.”

I don’t lift my head from the cushion or move my gaze from my phone screen where I’m watching a TikTok of someone making a disgusting pasta recipe. “What is it with these people not cooking the pasta? I don’t get it.” I watch the woman add a block of Velveeta cheese to the dry macaroni in the foil dish. Bleh.

Both guys go to the kitchen.

“Did your interview get canceled?” Ben asks.

“No. They need some liquid in there to cook the pasta. Oh, nooo… frozen peas? That’s fucked up.”

“Aaaaah! Jesus Christ!”

My head lifts.

Marek is standing in front of the open fridge. “What the fuck is this?” He recoils.

Ben laughs and pulls the head out.

I burst out laughing, too. I forgot I put my drama llama head in there earlier.

“Are you drunk?” Marek demands of me.

I roll my lips in. “I had a gummie a while ago.”

“What? Jesus Christ.”

I’d passed by a dispensary the other day so this morning I popped out to pick up a pick-me-up. I feel a lot happier. I turn my attention back to TikTok. “Butter! Perfect. So much butter. Now the liquid.”

“What are you watching?” Marek asks.

“TikTok. Yes! Milk.” The woman pours milk over the chunks of butter in the pan. “Holy crap, that’s a lot of garlic.” My eyes widen as several large spoonsful of minced garlic from a jar are added to the dish.

“Cooking videos?” Marek says.

“Yeah. Among others. Oooh… mustard! I did not see that coming.” The cook squeezes yellow mustard onto the block of cheese with several loud farting noises. I giggle like a ten-year-old boy. These cooking videos are extra funny after the edible.

Ben walks over to stand behind the couch with an apple in his hand. “You know they make these videos to play into our psychological need to watch train wrecks, right?”

I lower my chin and give him a look. “That sounds impressive.”

His lips twitch. “We’re all attracted to something crashing and burning.”

“Huh.” Maybe this is distracting me from the train wreck of my own life. I turn back to the video. “Ahhh! She’s dumping frozen chicken tenders onto it all.” I show my phone to Ben.

He doesn’t even look at it, eyes fixed on my face. “You said you wouldn’t be home until around two after your interview.”

I shrug. The cook adds a bag of shredded cheese on top of the chicken fingers. “Oh, yeah. More cheese. I should make this for you guys some time.” I cackle. “So healthy.”

“What happened?” Ben asks quietly, a crinkle between his eyebrows.

“Nothing.” I close TikTok and sit up. “We can start your next coaching session early!”

Ben makes a “yikes” face, no doubt at my somewhat baked state.

I run a hand through my tangled hair.

“What did you do, Mabel?” Marek joins us, frowning. “Did you not go to your interview?”

“No. I did not. It wasn’t worth it.”

“What does that mean?” Marek stares at me. “You need a job.”

“I probably wouldn’t have gotten the job. And even if I did, I probably wouldn’t take it. It was only an assistant position and it didn’t pay much.”

“It’s better than nothing, though, right?”

“Is it, though?”

Ben is watching me closely. I’m too high to care.

“Jesus, Mabel.” Marek shakes his head.

Ben turns and gives Marek a long look.

Marek exhales. “You can’t do shit like that.”

“I can do whatever I want. You all assume I’m the one who ruined everything.”

“Wait, what?” Marek frowns. “Who is you all?”

“Mom phoned earlier. She still thinks I should get back together with Julian. You all assume it’s my fault. You all assume I’m a cornflake who makes bad decisions.” I’d be angry if I wasn’t so mellow. I stand up, ready for a good flounce. “Well, I don’t care what you think of me.” I strut down the hall.

Except I don’t have anywhere to go. My “bedroom” is the living room. Fuck.

I duck into the bathroom and close the door. How long can I stay here? A long time.

I sit on the closed toilet, elbows on my knees, chin in my hands.

I did just act like a flake who makes bad decisions.

I exhale a long sigh.

Yes, I do sometimes make decisions based on emotion. More when I was younger. I have a tattoo on my left hip that attests to that. But I managed to go through college, get a master’s degree and a good job. Find a boyfriend. Although, look how that turned out. That was my worst decision… and my family doesn’t even realize it. I roll my eyes.

I was hurt after my conversation with Mom. My reaction wasn’t exactly… stable.

And I did it in front of Ben. I may not care what my family thinks… but I do care what Ben thinks.

I’ve been sitting here for a while, I don’t know how long but my butt is starting to hurt, when there’s a soft knock on the door.

I roll my eyes. “What?”

After a short pause, Ben calls, “Are you okay in there?”

I nod. Which is stupid because he can’t see me. “Yeah.”

“Are you going to come out?”

“No.”

I hear a low chuckle. “Mabel.”

“Fine. I’ll come out.” I drag myself up and open the door. “Where’s Marek?”

“He went out.”

“Okay.” I try to be businesslike. “Let’s get to work.” I walk past him to the dining table and take a seat, my spine straight.

He joins me.

“What do we need to work on next?” I ask him.

After a long pause, he says, “The gala for Keeping Kids Safe is coming up in a couple of weeks.”

“Okay. What is it about the gala you don’t like?”

“The usual. Making small talk with people I don’t know.”

“How fancy is this?”

“I’m not sure.”

We do some sleuthing online and find the website. The event is being held at a restaurant on the edge of Liberty Park in Jersey City. We look at some past events photos.

“Okay, it doesn’t look super glam,” I say. “But very nice. Do you have to wear a tux?”

“No, thank God. Just a suit.”

“And you have several nice ones to choose from.” I grin.

“Yeah.”

“Do you know who’ll be there?”

“Not really. People who work for Keeping Kids Safe. Probably some politicians, like the mayor? I don’t know. Team management. Me.”

“Okay, so let’s work on some small talk ideas that you can keep in your back pocket.”

“I always forget that stuff. Then I’m standing there trying to think of what to say and it takes too long and gets so awkward.”

I tilt my head. “Can you bring a plus one?”

He shrugs. “Probably.”

“I could come with you.”

His eyes flicker and his mouth twitches. “Would you do that?”

“Sure. I’ll be there as moral support. I’ll mingle with you. I can help you out, but only if you get really stuck.”

“That would be great.”

“Okay! I don’t think you need me. You’ve totally got this! But if it helps, why not?”

“Yeah.” He gives me a crooked smile. “Why not?”

A while later, I close my laptop. He’s got notes on his phone and we’ve practiced making small talk.

He glances at me a few times, then says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

I grit my teeth, but I’ve calmed down from earlier. “About what?”

He makes a face like he’s trying to find words, casting about in his mind, his lips pursing. He’s clearly uncomfortable.

Of course he is. I want to smack myself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t need to dump on you.”

“It’s okay. I may not know what to say, but I can listen.”

My face softens and some of the tension eases out of my body. Yeah. That’s him. Quiet. Stable. Supportive.

“I’m supposed to be helping you ,” I murmur.

“We have lots of time.”

I nod. I stand and move over to the couch to sit, sliding down into the cushions. “My ex-boyfriend is still trying to find me.” I look up at Ben.

His shoulders tense and his eyes narrowed, he follows me into the living room. “He wants to get back together.”

“Yes.” I press my fingertips to my upper lip. “But I don’t want to. And I don’t want him to find me.”

“He did hurt you.” His voice is grim as he sits next to me, his hands curled into fists that he rests on his thighs.

“Not physically. But yeah.” I blow out a stream of air. “Not all at once. It happened gradually. I was sucked in by how charming he was. Successful. Smart. He’s a university professor,” I explain. “He’s sophisticated and mature. He was really into me, and… I liked it. Most guys always think I’m a little too… nutty.” I’m sure he gets that, but he doesn’t say it. “It made me feel… I don’t know, flattered and proud that he liked me.” God this is embarrassing. I want to slide right off the couch and make myself thin enough to hide under it. “That someone like him could be interested in someone like me. Things moved pretty fast but it was nice. I moved in with him. And then things started changing.”

“Fuck.” He drags a hand across his mouth.

I tell him more. “He told me the reason I didn’t get the promotion at work was because I dress too hippy-ish. That I needed to dress and act more professional if I wanted to be taken seriously. One time he said my outfit made me look dumpy. When I got upset, he’d say I was too sensitive. When I told him he hurt my feelings, he’d say he was just trying to give me constructive feedback. He made me feel stupid and inferior and degraded. Then he would apologize and act like he was sorry. After he would treat me shitty, he’d be nice again. And I kept hoping he would stay nice. But… he never did.” I draw in a breath. “He didn’t hit me or anything,” I assure Ben, although I don’t add that I worried about that after one of the last times I tried to tell Julian how I felt and he got so mad he picked up my favorite candle and threw it at the wall, then told me it was my fault because I got him so upset. “But he belittled me. Manipulated me and controlled me.” I stop, once again so ashamed to admit that I got sucked into this. I don’t want Ben to think less of me because I was so gullible. But I want him to understand.

“I felt guilty,” I tell him. “For not being good enough for him. I tried harder.”

He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a growl.

“I felt like I couldn’t make good decisions, because everything I did was wrong. I tried to talk to my parents about it, but they liked Julian. They still do,” I add bitterly. I huff out another sigh and drop my head forward. “Julian is still calling them and trying to find out where I am.”

“Fuck,” Ben mutters. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

“You mean sooner?” I give him a wry smile. “I was afraid.”

Ben closes his eyes briefly, a muscle in his jaw jumping.

“I questioned myself. Maybe Julian was right. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough. I felt ashamed. I didn’t know what he’d do if I left. How he’d react. It’s hard to explain the panic and depression, and how it stopped me from acting. I kept trying to do better, but then… one day he made me choose between him and my best friend. And I realized I was slowly giving up my whole life for him. My friends, my agency, my whole identity. I didn’t know who I was anymore and what I did know of myself, I hated for being so weak and f-foolish.”

“You’re not,” he says firmly. “You are not weak. The fact that you’re here shows how strong you are.”

“I felt weak today, after my mom called.” I sigh. “I lost it and went back to feeling like it was all my fault, that I wasn’t good enough for him, that I should have tr-tried harder.”

I hate the way my voice quivers and I bow my head.

“Jesus.” With a low noise, Ben slides an arm around my shoulders and gives me a gentle one-armed hug. I turn into him. He’s strong and warm and solid. I press my cheek against his shoulder and lay my hand on his chest, trying not to cry. “I’m glad you’re here. I want to hurt that guy.”

His other arm comes around me, his big hand cupping the back of my head, pressing me closer. It’s so comforting and reassuring. And also… seductive.

Because strong and warm and solid can be comforting, but also arousing. I want to press my breasts to his hard chest. I want to kiss him in the opening of his shirt. I want to feel his skin and breathe in his scent and taste his mouth.

Oh, God. I’m getting turned on.

The vibe around us is shifting. He probably knows I’m hot for him. He’s probably embarrassed and trying to figure out how to get out of this. I squeeze my eyes shut and draw back from him.

But he doesn’t release me. He’s gentle though, loosening his embrace, then using his fingers to lift my chin so I have to look at him. And his eyes are dark and blazing. His mouth is soft, lips parted, and he looks at my mouth like he wants to taste me, too.

My breath catches and a heavy ache pulses between my legs.

It has to happen. Our faces move closer, drawn by an invisible cord, and our mouths meet. His is warm and firm on mine, pressing, then opening on me, opening my mouth to his. For a shy guy, he doesn’t hesitate. But he’s not aggressive… he’s hungry and insistent, but gentle and seeking, and I’m willing and eager. His tongue pushes into my mouth and I love it; I love his taste, the sense of him consuming me. I want more.

I slide my hand into his hair, that thick, silky hair, tangling in it, giving my mouth up to his, pressing closer. His arms around me are strong, sheltering, making me feel… oh, God, I feel so much. My heart beats frantically and my skin burns with arousal.

We keep kissing, again and again, mouths wet and sliding, tongues gliding, licking, and sucking and devouring each other. His beard teases my lips and that heaviness low down inside me tightens and coils. Our hands move over each other, exploring, squeezing, caressing. He’s all solid bone and firm muscle and as I get closer still, yes, he’s hard. I let out a low moan and my head falls back as his mouth tastes my throat.

His body strains toward mine as much as mine does toward him. Sharp need spirals inside me.

Then he pulls back. I swallow a whimper and stare at him with wide eyes. He watches me, his mouth wet and swollen, his eyes bright with lust, but also steady and serious. I give a tiny nod and he smiles, his eyes close, and he moves in again to kiss me even deeper, turning my face for the best angle, slanting his mouth across mine, licking inside.

Now I do whimper, the need inside me reaching an unbearable peak. “Ben,” I whisper.

“Mmm.” He brushes his lips and beard over my jaw.

“Marek could come home.”

He goes still, his nose pressed to my throat. He breathes in. “Yeah.” I feel heat pulsing off him.

“We should…”

“Stop?”

“No.” The word escapes me before I can filter it. I’m hot and melty, my head spinning. I’m aching for him and I don’t want to stop. “We should… move.”

I sense his relief as he presses his nose deeper against me and exhales. “Oh.” He lifts his head and meets my eyes again. “Yeah. My room. Let’s go.”