Chapter 23

23

MABEL

I have a new dress for the fundraising event. I know this isn’t a date; I’m going as Ben’s extrovert coach. Also, I really shouldn’t have spent money on a dress when I have dresses and it doesn’t matter what I wear. But I still want to look nice for him and for the people he wants to make a good impression on.

I went shopping, thinking I would buy myself a little black dress. Something tasteful and sophisticated and discreet. Every woman is supposed to have one, right? But I don’t. Little black dresses are boring. I love color and patterns and sparkles.

I went shopping on Washington Street where there are a few women’s clothing stores. The first shop appeared perfect – an elegant black and white striped awning over the door and understated, classic clothing in the window. I left empty handed half an hour later. Then I spied an Anthropologie store across the street. I love Anthropologie. In the window, several dresses caught my attention. I had a faint hope that maybe there would be an LBD that’s more… me. But my attention was snagged by a chiffon dress in my colors: shades of bronze, spice, and amber, with a bit of gold metallic thread. I didn’t even care what the style was, I had to have it.

So now I’m wearing this beautiful dress with a halter neck and long ruffled skirt. The skirt is shorter at the front so it shows a little leg. I’ve done my make-up in bronze shades and my hair is in long, loose waves. I bought a pair of sandals, too, strappy ones with a pencil-thin heel. I love them, too.

I go up to Ben’s apartment. We decided that was less awkward than him picking me up and dealing with Marek’s displeasure. I carry my coat so Ben can get the effect of the dress. His reaction when he opens the door does not disappoint.

His gaze sweeps down, then up. I strike a pose, thrusting one leg out through the skirt opening à la Angelina Jolie, planting a hand on my hip.

“Wow.” He meets my eyes. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you.” My breath leaves me and my skin tingles everywhere as he continues to study me with hot eyes. “You look amazing, too.” I step toward him to tweak the knot of his tie. His new suit fits perfectly across his shoulders, the dark gray fabric smooth and expensive looking. He opted for a crisp white shirt, which is classic, but added a more colorful tie, one with a charcoal background and a whimsical bird and plant pattern in blues and spice colors. “Your tie matches my dress.”

He looks down. “It does.”

I lean in closer, nearly pressing my nose against his neck. “You smell amazing, too.”

“Thanks.”

“I have something for you.” He turns away and picks up a package from an end table.

It’s a bouquet of flowers.

“Ohhhh.” My eyes widen. I take them and study the colors: deep red, peach, and orange roses, ranunculus, and lilies, with dusty green eucalyptus mixed in. “I love it.” I lift my gaze to him. “The colors are so beautiful.”

“It reminded me of you.”

Who is this sweet-talking man? I go up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I guess I’ll leave these here.”

“Sure. We’ll come back here later. Also, I have these.” He hands over a small box of hand-crafted chocolates and a bottle of red wine.

“What is all this for?” I look at them in wonder, then back at him.

“I want to show you my appreciation for you coming with me. And for how you’ve helped me.”

I grin. “You rehearsed that, didn’t you?”

He grins back. “Yeah. But I mean it.”

“Aw. That’s so sweet.”

“Also, I want you to know that I don’t just think you’re beautiful, but also smart and fun and kind.”

I think I’m going to cry. What is happening here? My chest fills with so much effervescence I might float away. “Thank you.” I touch his cheek. “I also think you are smart and kind. And thoughtful.”

We share a long, gooey smile.

“We should go,” Ben says in a husky tone. “Yep. Our car service is waiting.”

“Right.” I blink a few times, then lift my coat. Ben takes it from me, holding it up. With a smile, I turn to push my arms into it and he settles it gently on my shoulders. He opens the door for me and lets me precede him into the hallway, and does the same at the elevator and the front entrance of the building. A town car waits for us in the driveway and he opens the back door for me to slide in first.

Such a gentleman. Although I think he always opens doors for me? For some reason I’m noticing it tonight.

We make the drive to the venue where the event is being held in Jersey City. It’s right on the edge of Liberty State Park, on the water of the Morris Canal Basin. As we alight from the car, I take in the potted cedars with little white lights strung through them and the golden glow of the front doors. Other people are walking up the front steps to enter, and Ben takes my arm to join them, which I appreciate in my skinny heels.

We follow the other guests into the large room where the party is being held and I take it in with wonder. The ceilings are two stories high, and strings of more white lights cascade down from beams. Candles glow on round tables, and the two-story-high wall of windows looks out over a long lawn, with the river and the Manhattan skyline glittering in the distance. “Wow. This is beautiful.”

Ben nods, looking around.

Is he nervous? This is what we’ve been preparing for. I can’t get sidetracked by flowers and wine and twinkle lights. I’m here for him.

“There’s Sue.” He nods, then sets his hand on my lower back to guide me toward her.

He introduces me to Sue, an elegant Black woman with long braids in a stylish updo. She shakes my hand and smiles. “You know Maya, of course, Ben.”

Ben says hello to her, too, and introduces me to Maya Pérez. We’re joined by a couple of men who greet Ben warmly. More introductions have me shaking hands with Marc Miller, the general manager of the team, and an elderly man named Gunnar Hayes, who is the owner of the Storm. Their wives stand behind them, holding drinks, and I reach out to them as well, with smiles. “Hi. I’m Mabel.”

The evening turns into a whirl of people, drinks, and delicious food. Hors d’oeuvres and glasses of bubbly wine are passed around by servers. There’s a silent auction with amazing prizes that we of course enter. Ben buys about a thousand dollars’ worth of tickets. We meet the mayor of Jersey City, a few city council members, and a bunch of businessmen and women. We pose for pictures, both formal ones by the professional photographer working the event, and informal ones for other guests. I stick by Ben’s side as he talks to people and I’m probably the only one who notices subtle signs of nerves when he searches for something to say or tries to remember a name. I’m good with names, luckily, and I covertly give him clues.

There’s a briefly awkward moment when Ben’s GM asks about his new place and when he’s moving in, and the GM’s wife asks if he bought a house. “No, I bought a condom,” Ben answers.

Silence drops over the small group. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, madly trying to figure out how to rescue him.

Then Ben laughs. “Well, that was awkward. It’s a condo .”

Everyone else laughs, too. Whew.

“Good recovery,” I whisper to him a bit later.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I couldn’t decide whether to say condo or condominium and that’s what came out. I can’t believe I said that.”

“Forget it. You handled it great.”

I spend some time talking to Maya Pérez. She’s about my age and we discover a few things in common. She’s been to a full moon circle! We laugh about our experiences and I tell her that Cami and Tala and I want to go back to that spa to go to the salt cave.

“Oh, I want to do that, too!” she says.

We exchange numbers and I promise I’ll let her know when we plan it.

After an amazing dinner of local sea scallops and braised short ribs with a delicious mystery sauce we later learn is made from hard-boiled egg yolks, mustard, pickles and capers, the tables are moved for dancing to the music of a string quartet who play popular songs à la Bridgerton , which delights me.

I love dancing. I don’t know if me helping Ben tonight includes dancing with him. I remind myself of my purpose here. But then I think of the flowers and the chocolate and the wine, and how attentive Ben is being to me, and this really does feel more like a date than being his extrovert tutor.

There’s a break in socializing where we’re alone for a moment. Ben smiles at me. “Would you like to dance?”

I smile back. “I would love to.”

We set our glasses down on the table and join a few other couples on the dance floor. It takes me a minute to recognize the song “Cheap Thrills.” “This is so fun.”

Ben exhales. “It’s okay.”

“You’re doing great.”

“It’s going fine. It’s a lot of work, though.”

I have to remember that for him. For me, it’s easy and fun. I love meeting people and learning more about them. For him, it’s effort. “Nobody would know,” I assure him. “And we don’t have to stay late if you’re running out of spoons.”

“Spoons.” His lips quirk.

His hand tightens on mine, strong and warm, his other hand on my hip as we move together to the music. Dancing with him is easy, too, and I love gazing up at his handsome face, my heels putting me closer to his height but still six inches shorter. I move my fingers on the soft fabric of his suit, his shoulder strong beneath it.

Warmth curls through me. I’ve had some wine, but I’m not drunk… so this floaty feeling isn’t from the alcohol. “Could you stop being so attractive? It’s distracting me.”

He laughs. “Sorry. I’ll do better.” His eyes crinkle up. “You’re pretty distracting yourself.”

We eye each other as heat builds between us.

“If I said I’d like to score on you tonight, would you think I was being too forward?”

I burst out laughing, throwing my head back. “Oh my God. A hockey line.”

“I made you laugh.” He looks oddly proud.

“Yes, you did.”

“I’m really hoping to score the game-winning goal with you tonight.”

I giggle again. “Where are you getting these?”

“I’m a hockey player. We all know those lines. Just be glad I didn’t use: is your name Gretzky? Because you’re the only one who can make my stick rise.”

I groan.

“Right? Some of ’em are so bad.”

I’m still smiling. “You don’t have to use those lines on me since I’m pretty much a sure thing.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns me with a little pressure from the hand on my hip. “Good to know. You are so naked in my head right now.”

I lean my forehead on his chest, laughing again.

God, this is so much fun.

I lift my head. “I know this isn’t your idea of a great time, but I’m having fun.”

“You know what? I’m having fun, too.”

“Good.”

Later in the evening, Ben is surrounded by apparent hockey fans wanting to say hello and take selfies, and he handles it all mostly smoothly, with a couple of semi-awkward exchanges about whose phone to use and an attempt to sign a glossy card when his pen won’t work.

When Marc Miller and the owner of the team both leave, Ben looks at me. “I think we can escape now.”

“Okay.” I’m amazed he’s lasted this long. And seems to be doing okay.

We collect my coat and head outside. The cold air carries the scent of the river and it’s lovely to climb into the warm, dark car when it arrives. It whisks us over to Marin Drive and we stay on that street most of the way home, snuggled in the back seat.

“Thanks again for coming with me,” Ben says. “You made it so much better.”

“Aw, thanks. But I think you would have handled it fine by yourself.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have to. I have fun with you, Mabel.”

I smile at him. “I have fun with you, too.”

He gazes back at me searchingly, as if he wants to say something.

“What?”

He swallows. “I… I want to give you a penalty. For stealing my heart.”

It’s another cheesy joke, and I laugh at it, but his expression is earnest, not smiling. “Oh.” I blink at him. For once, I’m not sure what to say. Is that a joke? Or is he serious?

“I wrote something for you.”

“Okay.” My eyebrows pull together in puzzlement.

Ben pulls out his phone, unlocks it and finds what he wants. He hands it to me. I read the screen.

Roses are red, like my face when I see you,

Violets are blue, like the time I had the flu.

Your smile is bright, like my phone at night,

And your eyes are shiny, like a spoon in the light.

I know this is awkward, and probably weird,

But I like you a lot, even more than my beard.

So here’s my bad poem, it’s the best I can do,

Just know that I’m awkwardly falling for you.

When I’ve finished reading it, I read it again. My stomach tightens. I stare at the phone while I try to collect my thoughts, which are suddenly all over the place.

Is this another joke? But again, he’s not smiling. He’s waiting for me to respond, and I sense his anxiety.

The poem is objectively bad. But it makes my heart go all soft and squishy. It makes my trembling lips want to smile and small wings flap in my stomach.

It also scares the shit out of me.

All these things he’s done tonight… the flowers, the wine, the chocolates… those are romantic, date things. He’s been so chivalrous and attentive. He danced with me, and complimented me, and flirted with me. He made me feel admired. Wanted. Even… loved.

And that’s exactly how I felt when I started seeing Julian. When he showered me with expensive gifts and thoughtful gestures and compliments. When he love-bombed me.

I was fooled, then. I was swept off my feet and enjoyed the attention. I thought Julian really cared about me. But it was all about inflating his ego and controlling me. It was manipulation.

I was duped before. Since I ended things with Julian, I’ve questioned myself so many times. Questioned my judgment – how could I have been fooled by him? How could I let that go on? How can I ever trust a man again?

My shoulders have tightened up around my ears and I’m staring blankly at Ben’s phone. My hands start to tremble and my heart develops a tachycardia. Memories flood back, along with the feelings of being both admired and precious, and being manipulated. Weak. Foolish. Ashamed.

A sick feeling sweeps through me and I swallow down a sour taste.

We’re pulling into the entrance of our building. I shove Ben’s phone back at him and as soon as the car comes to a stop, I wrench open the door and scramble out onto the sidewalk, nearly tripping in my heels.

“Mabel.” Ben follows me, tossing a thank you over his shoulder to the driver. “What?”

My legs are so unsteady, I’m stumbling over the concrete toward the door. Ben hurries after me to yank the door open.

“You don’t need to open the door for me!” I cry, recognizing in the far recesses of my flustered brain how rude and stupid that is.

“Uh… sorry?” He follows me into the lobby and over to the elevators. “What’s wrong, Mabel? I know the poem wasn’t good, but I’m trying to tell you… I love you.”

Oh, God.

I pause and stare at him for a moment.

“I wanted to tell you sooner. But I… well. Then you said you were thinking of going to LA. I wanted you to know I have feelings for you.”

Shaking my head, I step into the elevator and push the button for Marek’s floor. I cover my eyes with my hand, head bent. “I can’t.” Terror claws at my insides and I gulp for air. “I can’t do this.”

“Mabel.” He touches my shoulder, so gently, but I shrug his hand off.

I can’t look at him. “I need… to take a step… back.”

“Okay.” His voice is low but steady, solid like a rock. “A step back. Okay.”

“I need time. To… think.” The elevator slows at the seventeenth floor and the doors glide open. I leap out. “Thank you. I mean…” I’m more lost for words than Ben has ever been. I don’t know what to say. Thank you… or fuck you? Goodnight? Or goodbye? My chest burns. “I can’t…” I swallow thickly. “Goodnight, Ben.”

And I flee into Marek’s apartment.