Chapter Thirty-Three

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

"You can't live a fairy tale."

— Kate we can just eat food and catch up. I'd at least like to be your friend again. What are you doing Friday night?"

"I have plans," she said, striking me down. "Nick Stark's—"

"Ski Mask-erade?" Everyone was talking about the Halloween party where you wore a costume and a ski mask (the only rule was no exposed faces).

"I'm going too," I said, way too excitedly. It was impossible for me to be cool when Liz Buxbaum was involved, but especially when we were going to be in the same place. "We can hang out at the party."

"But you won't be able to find me," she said, a smile in her voice. "Because I'll be in a costume, with a ski mask over my head."

"Trust me, Lib," I said, picturing her lips. "In a crowd of a million ski masks, I'd still be able to find you."

"There is no way you'll know who I am. No way."

I wanted to wrap myself up in the warm breathlessness of her voice.

"Want to make a bet?" I asked, knowing I was going to win. "If I find you, you go on a date with me Saturday."

"What happened to just going for friendship?" she asked, sounding a little amused (though that could also just be my wishful thinking).

"If we're making a bet, I'm going bigger, Buxbaum," I said, feeling like an unbelievable opportunity was presenting itself. "You in?"

"No," she said, but I could tell she was smiling. I don't know how I knew, but I did.

"Oh, come on, are you seriously going to force me to make the noise?" I asked.

"The noise?"

"The bokk-bokk chicken noise because you're scared to take the bet. You know I know you too well and will find you," I teased, confident she wouldn't be able to resist the challenge. "And then you'll be forced to endure a delightful evening with the charming Wesley Harold Bennett as punishment for losing."

"Save your bokk ing—I'll take the bet." I wondered if she was in her room, ready for bed, or if she was studying somewhere. "But there have to be rules. You can't just walk up to someone and say ‘Liz?' because then you can luck into winning."

"Fair." I love her mind. "How about we have a code word that I have to shout when I see you?"

"A code word," she repeated slowly, like she was really considering the idea. "I like it. How about you have to yell ‘I am a huge jackass' when you see the person that you'll think is me but actually won't be?"

"I am happy to say that, you little shit," I agreed, leaning my head back against the wall and picturing her face. "But you will definitely be the person I'm saying it to."

"In your dreams, Bennett," she teased.

"Every damn night, Buxbaum," I replied, wanting to beg her to spend the rest of her life on the phone with me.

Her voice was soft and sleepy when she said, "I have to go study. See you Friday, even though you won't see me."

I love you.

"See you Friday, Lib," I said, terrified by the hope that was pumping through every one of my veins. "G'night."

After she hung up, I sat there with the phone in my hand for the longest time, just staring into space. Liz suddenly felt possible again, like something could actually happen with us, and that kind of possibility was the scariest thing in the world.

Eventually I got my head out of the clouds enough to write my paper, and I was in the middle of formatting the godforsaken works cited page—why did I struggle so much with those?—when my phone started ringing.

I picked it up and was shocked when I saw the name on the caller ID.

Helena Buxbaum.

Why would she be calling me? I'd only spoken to her on the phone once in my life, and that was a couple of years ago. It was right after Liz and I broke up, and I'd seen the 402 area code and took the call, assuming it was some kind of bill that needed to be paid.

It would forever go down as the coolest phone call I'd ever received.

Shut up and don't say a word. I hate you for hurting Liz, and the Wes Bennett that was her boyfriend is dead to me. However, I want to let Wes Bennett the neighbor kid know that we're always here next door, no matter what, if he should ever need anything that has nothing to do with our daughter. Okay, bye.

There were very few people in the world I respected as much as I respected Helena.

"Hello?" I answered, a little nervous.

"Oh—hey, Wes. Um, it's Helena Buxbaum. I can't believe you answered the phone," she said, sounding shocked. "I thought only old people answered incoming calls. I fully expected the voicemail."

"I saw it was you," I said. "So I had to pick up."

"Do you have two seconds? I don't want to interrupt a kegger or anything."

That made me smile and relax. "I've got all the time in the world, and I'm shockingly free of keggers at the moment. What's up?"

"Okay, so the lady who moved into your old house—Mrs. Eggers? Yeah, she seems like a type-A lunatic, by the way, but it appears she found some things in the house that the Bennetts left behind."

"What?" I'd personally checked every single surface of the place before leaving. "What did she find?"

"Homies."

I waited for more, but when she said nothing else, I asked, "I'm sorry, did you say ‘homies' ?"

Helena laughed as she said, "Oh, I did. And she gave them to me, your homies . She found one taped up in the back of every single closet. May I text you a photo?"

"Yeah. Of course," I said, still clueless.

"Sending," she said, and when the text came through, I completely lost it.

I'd forgotten all about the homies.

The gas station down the hill used to have a gumball machine full of "homies," little plastic dudes you could buy for a quarter. Sarah bought them all the time when we were kids, because they were the only things she could afford, and it appeared that she'd saved them.

Saved them so she could tape one in the back of each closet when we moved out of the house.

I looked at the photo and shook my head, because there was a tiny note attached to each little guy that said HOMIE IS WATCHING YOU, EGGERS .

"Are you kidding me?" I said, giving in to a laugh as I looked at the picture. "I wondered why Sarah wanted to say goodbye to every bedroom in the house."

"Mrs. Eggers was a little freaked out until I told her that the Bennetts were clowns," she said. "Your sister is my freaking hero, I swear to God."

"Mine, too."

"So whenever either of you are back in town, feel free to swing by for the homies." Helena cleared her throat and said, "We'd love to see you."

"Same," I said. "Thanks for calling about the homies when I'm dead to you."

"No, you're Jesus, Wes," she said. "Back from the dead because apparently you didn't cheat on Liz."

"Right," I said, having no idea what exactly Helena knew about all that. "Good."

"So come by anytime," she said, and it sounded like she meant it. "By the way, I have the nicest memory of your dad, of the last time I talked to him. Would you like to hear it, or will it hurt?"

"I'd love to hear it," I said, leaning back in the desk chair.

"Okay, so I was having a bad day because Liz and I got in an argument, right? This was right after she went away to school. I took out the trash, and Stu was taking his out too. Now, I didn't really ever talk to your dad, aside from a ‘hey, Stuart' whenever we saw each other in our respective driveways, but he looked at me and asked if I was okay."

"He did ?" I was shocked to hear this, because the guy hadn't been particularly social.

At all.

"Yeah—weird, right? And I was in such a funk that I actually spilled to him about the way I thought Liz was ignoring my calls and that she asked me to give her some space. I rambled all over the place like the empty nester I suddenly was."

Yeah, I'm sure my dad loved the lady next door getting all emotional. Probably referred to her as batshit crazy neighbor after that.

"But instead of grunting at me, your dad gave me a hug."

Impossible. "You're kidding, right?"

"No! I couldn't believe it either. And I'll never forget what he said to me, Wes. He hugged me and said, ‘Here's the thing about kids, lady.' And I honestly don't think he knew my name, by the way—I was ‘lady.'?"

I coughed out a laugh while my chest pinched a little. "All women were."

"But he goes, ‘Here's the thing about kids, lady. They're stupid with words. They say shit all the time that they don't mean. They're wrong, or they're being emotional little shits—basically you have to understand that what they say isn't what they mean.'?"

I tried swallowing, but my throat was too tight. "He said that?"

"He did," she said, sounding serious all of a sudden. "He basically mansplained to me that our kids love us even when they act like little assholes, and then he informed me they're going to grow out of it and take it all back once they stop being stupid."

I barked out another laugh, but my eyes were scratchy. "Good ol' Stu."

"I just thought, since your dad was intense a lot of the time, that you might enjoy hearing about him being kind and giving me probably the best parental advice I ever received."

"?‘Little assholes' is the best advice?" I teased, my voice a little choked by emotion. "Come on, Helena."

"Your dad knew, Wes," she said, her voice quiet. "He knew what his kids really felt, even when their words said otherwise."

I took in a deep, jagged breath, wondering if she might actually be right. "Thank you, Helena. You're really—"

"Incredible, I know," she interrupted, sounding like she, too, was a little choked up. "And you're welcome. Now let's get back to our keggers, shall we?"

"Yeah, we probably should," I agreed, clearing my throat.

"Take care, kid," she said. "And I'll see you at Christmas break."

"You will?" She's probably forgetting we're no longer neighbors.

"You want these homies, don't you?" she said, and something about her mothering was really getting to me. Especially when she added, "I'll be pissed if you don't come get them."

"Then I will make it a priority."

"Later, then, Wesley," she said.

"Later, then, Helena," I replied, staying on until the call dropped.

It was probably a random coincidence, but that night, for the first time in years, I had a long night of deep sleep without a nightmare to be found.