17. Willow
SEVENTEEN
Willow
“ T ell you about me? Um…you have to be more Pacific. I mean, specific .”
A smile flashes on him and vanishes. “Tell me something from your childhood. You mentioned your grandmother loves purple flowers.”
"Do you remember!"
He laughs, “You just told me today."
“Oh right. That sounds like so much longer ago. I mean, seems like. I’m a little intoxicated.”
"Another reason why I can't kiss you."
"Do we need any more?"
He grins, “You're funny.
"I get that a lot."
“We have three reasons now. I think that’s enough.”
Three? He's married, I know that. He's probably talking about the distance as the second one, as I am also aware of this problem. But what is the third? Staring at his handsome face I ask, “You were raised here?" He nods. " Have you ever traveled away from Georgia?"
"I've been to Florida and Louisiana.”
"I haven't been many places. That's one of the reasons I did this. My best friend, her name is Gemma, she said I'm not spontaneous." I laugh, "I'd love to see her face if she saw me dancing tonight! Although we did get used to go dancing a lot when we hit twenty-one. The clubs got old though. It's not really my scene." I pick up a tiny rock on the porch, evidence of the gravel driveway taking a ride in someone’s shoe, and play with it. "You're a very good dancer."
"Haven't had much chance to…haven't danced in a long time. "
“Me neither." I look over and discover him staring at me. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
His eyes are smoldering as he confesses, “You're beautiful. I find it hard not to look at you. Tell me a story from your childhood."
I roll my eyes, “Little too drunk to think of one. I’m sorry. Um…hang on.” I move the pebble to my other hand. “I know there's got to be some thing…oh, I know! When I was eleven our parents took my brother and I to Disneyland and when Goofy came over to me, I cried. He was so small on TV. Manageable, right? But there he was giant-sized compared to me, all gangly arms flailing as he rocked side to side. It felt like he was a ghost haunting a mansion in one of those horror movies I spied when our parents wouldn't let us watch them . We would sometimes stick our heads around the corner, watch until we couldn't stand it anymore, scream and run back to our rooms. Goofy was like one of those characters come to life and I just couldn't stop crying. He tried to console me and that just made it worse,” I laugh, uncomfortably vulnerable sharing this memory, quieter as I admit, "I haven't been to Disneyland since."
Ben takes the rock from my hand, rolling it over in one of his mammoth ones. “I went to Florida with my cousins, but just the once. We didn't go to Disney World. I feel like we should've."
"Oh that's right! It's really close to here."
He laughs, “In another state, but yeah."
"Well…considering how far it is from California, it's extremely close." On a whim I you say, “We should go! That would show Gemma. Do you think we could talk to group into it?"
"Why don't you ask?"
I side-eyeball him. "You're teasing me."
"Maybe I am," he says thoughtfully. "I doubt they’d go but it would be fun. Maybe you and I could go someday."
I turn so I can see him better, inspecting his gorgeous face as he tosses the pebble and catches it. “You have a little fuzzy in your hair." Reaching up I pause to get permission. He nods and I remove a tiny white fuzz of fabric, show it to him, and toss it onto the ground. "You're not wearing…I don't think it's from your T-shirt." I poked his hard chest, right above his heart, the blue cotton stretching beneath my index finger.
"It's gotta be from the throw rug on our couch. I slept on that last night, which means it's been on me all day. Dad didn't tell me.”
I joke, “Does he need glasses because it was huge."
"Gigantic," Ben smiles, playing along.
“Wait. You slept on the couch?”
“Yes.”
My heart races with hope. “Your turn. Tell me a story from your childhood, Ben. I like your name. I like saying it. Ben. Ben. Bennnn."
He laughs, throwing the pebble higher as we both watch him easily catch it. “A story from my childhood. There are so many here, I don't know where to start. My cousins and I used to play here."
"How many cousins do you have?"
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen! That's crazy! I only have four!"
"My dad is one of six brothers. Some of them had a lot of kids." He smiles looking out onto the ranch, the gentle slopes made visible only by moonlight, the porch’s illumination brighter around us. “Most of them live in Atlanta, and they would come up, ride the horses, play with the chickens, pet the cows."
Wistfully I say, “I want to do that.”
"You'll be riding horses tomorrow."
"Oh my God!" I cover my face. "I'm so excited!!"
He grins and points. “You see those trees over there?" I nod, staring more closely at them. “We built forts over there. Gathered everything we could, from small sticks to huge branches, even broke some of our own. Then we stood them up until we could climb inside and hide out, telling scary stories."
"We used to tell scary stories when we went camping on the beach. There are some beaches in Malibu where you can rent a space, prop up your tent, and sleep right next to the ocean. I don't know why we told scary stories. I hate horror films. Life is scary enough."
"Do you think life is scary?"
Thoughtfully I shrug. "I don't know. There are a lot of bad things happening in the world. But I try not to think about them. Then you watch a horror film and people are doing horrible things to each other and I just don't find it entertaining . There's so much good in the world, I would rather focus on that."
“I was thinking about that beautiful photograph you showed me.”
“You were?”
“Are you a photographer professionally?"
I bite my lip, head down. "I haven't told anybody this…" Glancing to him, I inspect his face to see, oh, I don't know, if he's listening? If this is the right time to divulge what I haven't said aloud even to myself much less to another human being. "I would love to be a photographer. But the industry is so saturated, isn’t it? Everybody can take a photo on their phone. I just feel like it's my happy place, though. When I'm taking photographs, nothing else is happening around me. The whole world disappears and it's just me, my camera, and my subject. It just feels like a dream worth shooting for." On a laugh I point out, “Pun intended. No. It was an accident but I’ll claim it anyway.” Taking the pebble from him, I turn it over in my hand. “There is so much beauty in the world. Even in this. This little thing was probably once part of a gigantic boulder and now it’s round, not hard edges, but it could break glass if you threw it hard enough.” I look at Ben, holding up my tiny stone. “If you threw this at my window, do you think it would break?”
“What did you just say?”
“If you threw this pebble at my window, is it too far to break? Or because you’re so strong, would it shatter the glass?”
“If I threw a pebble at your window, something might break. Or change.” He stops talking, staring at the ranch.
“What do you mean change? Because it would scratch the glass?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, I hate being intoxicated. My brain can’t keep up anymore.”
“Are there photographers in the world? Making a living?"
My head cocks to the side. "Of course."
Ben reaches over and takes my hand, the pebble held by us both. “Then why not you?" We stare at each other and it’s so beautiful a moment that I take a mental photograph. “Willow, I think you can do anything you set your mind to. Everyone can. If someone else is doing it that just means it can be done. It's possible."
I repeat, “It’s possible."
"Say that again but the whole thing."
"It's possible.”
“The whole thing.”
I inhale, chest rising with the large intake of breath. “It’s possible for me to be a professional photographer."
Our fingers intertwine. "How does that feel?"
"It gives me goosebumps."
"That means you should try being a photographer."
With a shy smile I shake my head. “No, I mean you holding my hand."
The door opens and our hands let go as we twist to see who it is. Jaxson is standing above us with an indiscernible look in his eyes. "They're doing another shot. I say we join in.”
Ben says, “Two minutes,” and Jaxson disappears.
My heart is pounding. I feel like I got caught. I ask, “Did he see us holding hands? Oh no, does he think…” The idea that one of Ben's parents suddenly doesn't like me has my head spinning.
It spins even more as Ben says, "I know you've been drinking but I have to ask, would your boyfriend mind that I was just holding your hand?"
"Boyfriend?" I ask, confused. "I don't have a boyfriend . "
Ben frowns while scrutinizing my face. "Are you sure?"
"I think I would know!"
He licks his lips, gaze dropping to his lap like he’s disappointed in me. “My dad heard you saying I love you to him.”
"Well that's a miracle because I don't have a boyfriend. So I don't know how he could hear me saying I love you too… Oh! He heard me say that to Brady! He's my ex -boyfriend. We've been split up for years now, and he's watching our dog. My dog. I mean, we got him together, but he's mine now. Brady’s not my boyfriend!" Staring at Ben I tilt my head. "You don't believe me."
"Let's just say I've heard a lot of excuses over a lot of years."
I take his hand this time, gently. "You look so sad. I hate seeing you like that. I promise you, Brady is my ex -boyfriend."
"Do you always say I love you to your ex-boyfriends?"
"Yes." I struggle to explain, “Don't look like that. I don't understand why people can't be friends with their exes. Just because it didn't work out doesn't mean I have to never speak to him again. I do love him just not like how I loved him when we were together. I love him like family now. I hate breakups when you can't talk to them anymore, because it's like they died or something. Why does it have to be like that, when you spent so much time together? I told Brady when we broke up that I refused to let him be gone forever from my life. I wanna know when he gets married and has kids. I want to know when he gets promotions. I want to be able to tell him things like that about me, too. Do you think that's wrong?” Letting go of Ben’s hand I insist, “Because I don’t. I feel very strongly about this.”
He's looking at our separated fingers, the world on his shoulders. In a deep voice he says, "I think it's kind of great."
"Do you believe me?"
He rises up, holding out his hand. "Let's go get shots."
I grin, take the help, and then say, “Wait. I want you to know something.”
He turns to me, so much taller it’s wild. “What?”
My heart beats fast. “I haven’t told Brady about my dream to be a photographer.”
Ben smiles, takes my hand, and leads me inside.