38. Ben
THIRTY-EIGHT
Ben
F or the weeks leading up to the next scheduled retreat, Mom and Sylvia train Willow in everything. Honoring the fact that she didn’t like her job doing administrative work, it’s the one thing they don’t focus on, and Sylvia continues handling the books and bookings.
Meditation is harder for her, so much change making it difficult to quiet her mind, but Willow ends up being very good at Yoga, very bendy with good balance, though she won’t teach it for months to come, after taking an online certification course which she excels at.
Learning how to combine colors for painting, which work best for which medium, is a blast for her. Knowing she just has to guide guests to find their own creativity, they teach her the basics and she supplements what she learns with online tutorials for glassware, wood and also canvas .
Their cooking classes take place one meal at a time as they serve every breakfast, lunch and dinner, what is usually on the menu — a wide variety of healthy recipes from all over the world, thanks to Mom’s travels as a travel writer.
She learns how they make beds with hospital corners, and lessons in cleaning are unnecessary past knowing where the cleaning supplies are and pitching in to get the place ready.
Landscaping the yard, she dons a sun-hat, gloves and gets dirty right along with them, loving every minute of that the most, we discover.
When, in the second month, she suggests that guests study, rehearse, and put on a play we all watch on the last night of their stay — bringing Los Angeles/Venice/Hollywood to us — Mom and Sylvia love the idea, sending Willow to the library to find one-act plays short enough and fun enough to learn over the limited period of time guests stay.
In the first month, when the first group comes, Willow confides in me, “I’m nervous!”
“You’re gonna be great. This is part of the training. No pressure.”
Her abilities to handle pressure prove useful as one of the guests discovers they have a fear of groups. Willow gives her room over and rooms with one of the guests at their approval, learning quickly what will be confirmed over time — that no retreat is ever the same.
Gemma comes for one about three months in, and I get to meet her in person rather than the video-chats. Willow and I teach her how to ride horses, and all of the other activities are extra fun for my girl during her best girlfriend’s stay.
Willow and I sneak in alone-time as often as possible, Jonny sometimes staying with my parents, and one weekend with Shelby in Atlanta.
But it’s not enough for me.
In month five, one Friday morning before school, I make eggs and hash browns with fruit for Jonny and myself, and invite him to sit on the porch with me, even though the dawn of winter is breathing down our necks, warning of the cold soon to come. Bundled in layers against crisp morning air, we eat in silence for a bit. He does his usual scooping up of his eggs with toast, making sure every bite has the same amount. Taking a sip of my coffee I begin, “Jonny, I want to know how you’d feel about something.”
“About what?” He shovels egg and toast into his mouth.
“I would like Willow to stay with us.”
With a mouthful he asks, “For how long?”
“To live with us.”
He swallows. “Forever?”
“If we all got along, yes.”
My son blinks at me. “Why wouldn’t we get along?”
A smile tugs. “It’s different living with someone.”
“We always get along.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m bringing this up now rather than later. I’ve been watching how you guys are together, and I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you liked her.”
“I do like her. Mom’s moving in with her boyfriend, too.”
I nearly do a spit-take. “She is?”
“Yeah,” Jonny shrugs. “He’s okay. Little stuck up.”
“Stuck up, huh?” I’m guessing she got her wish then; he’s got money.
We filled out the paperwork months ago, and it’s just a matter of time before our divorce is official, but neither of us act as if we’re holding onto anything from our marriage, except for our son. But, thankfully, ever since Shelby started therapy and had her breakthrough, she’s gotten along better with Jonny — been a better mother. Even if she does act more like his friend.
She cares more.
It’s impacted him in a good way. Given him more confidence.
I sip my coffee. “Your mom and I have already talked about it. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Oh, well I’m fine with it. Would she stay in your room?”
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Lucky.”
A laugh explodes from me. “Lucky?!”
“I wish Mary could stay with me in my room.”
With a smirk I tell him, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the Cocker tree.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll find out when you’re older.”
“I think Willow is really nice. But what about Grandma and Aunty Sylvia? Don’t they need her there?”
“She’ll still work there. I’ll let her use my Jeep to drive over.”
“Huh,” he nods, scooping eggs. “This gives them another room to rent for retreats.”
I lean over and brush my fingers through his sandy-brown hair. “You’re a smart guy, Jonny, you know that?”
“I know,” he shrugs.
“That’s right, kid.” I grin, leaning back with pride. “Own it. That’s what we Cockers do.”
His green eyes sparkle with a smile that doesn’t meet his mouth. “Dad? Do you love her?”
“I do.”
“You didn’t hesitate.”
“There is no hesitation.”
Jonny watches me for a few seconds, “I think I could love her, too.”