12. Twelve
Twelve
LENA
R uthie and Mr. Wickers show up at exactly the right time for me to avoid an embarrassing sob-fest slash panic attack.
Ben’s words—that I’m difficult, complicated, chaotic, and basically a terrible businesswoman and wife—not only unleash my anxiety bitches from their weakened cages but give them free rein, like untethered ghosts whipping around in an old mansion.
I’m tormented by them and his gorgeous former fiancée ( no game, my ass ).
It’s truly unfair that God makes people like her.
That they were together longer than we’ve been means she might know him better than me—even now.
She knows his history, anyway. Set his path. Broke his heart?
Maybe it’s my insecurity talking, but my woman’s intuition hits red alert status. She reminded me of a little bird puffing out her chest and twittering around his words. Showing up here— twice —screams ulterior motives. First, she wanted to check me out. Second, she hoped I’d be dead.
Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but it’s not far off.
Dot will back me up on this.
Lauren Riley hopes to fill more than a job vacancy—that’s clear. Well, clear to everyone except maybe Ben.
That he turned all this around on me makes it all so much worse. He’s never said such hurtful things to me—I never would’ve guessed him capable of it.
Unraveling this knotted tangle between my reality and my anxious thoughts challenges me—there’s too much going on up there.
I hate that I’ve reverted into this—a crying, panicky woman—like my Nervous Nellie persona is an annoying meme that won’t die out.
That used to be my nickname growing up, thanks to those damn Garbage Pail Kids cards.
I’m supposed to be stronger now. Stable.
In control-ish. Fucking therapized. I did so well that Dr. Reese changed our appointments to quarterly. This isn’t me anymore.
But it only ever takes one thing. One hole to sink the ship. One day to question everything. One push to send you over the edge.
So, with my body aching and heart breaking, I take a page from Mom’s book and fix PB he pushed me on the tree swing so he wouldn’t have to look me in the eyes.
He shared it not because I asked him a thousand questions but because he was ready to be vulnerable with me.
When he’s ready, he’ll tell me about Lauren, too. And everything else that’s upsetting him. I just have to be patient and available, like he always is for me.
Until then, I must get my shit together. The dog park comparison was a shitty thing to say that will sting for a while, but he’s not wrong. I don’t run my business—my business runs me.
Ben’s warm and persistent embrace makes me desperate for more of him. Rebuilding our closeness is my top priority. I can almost hear Mom’s voice in my head. Ben once gave you fireworks over a bad day. What can you do for him?
Be more available, for starters. He wants to spend time with me. As long as that’s true, we’ll be okay.
He needs more tree-swing moments, when it’s just him and me, no pressure, and he can open up naturally.
I suspect he wants to say more, like things have been building in him with every opportunity I’ve missed.
His dissatisfaction at work, his hearing, and his future—we’re teetering on an uncertain edge of change.
Time together will help us figure that out.
Finally, I release him and mouth that I love him back, just as Ruthie giggles.
“Are ya’ll stuck or something?”
“Stuck like glue,” Ben says and signs to her. He kisses my forehead.
A good marriage never hangs on to anger long.
He takes over my PB&J efforts, cuts the sandwiches in half, and serves them to us. Then, with that gentleness I adore, he takes my injured hand and looks it over. “Swollen. Pain level?”
I shrug. “Moderate. But I can help in the kitchen.”
“No, I got it. You need to rest. Tomorrow’s covered, too. After that, I don’t know.” He moves to Ruthie and gives her a side hug. “Enjoy your day off. Don’t let Mom do any cartwheels or high-fives.”
She flashes a peanut butter smile. “Or drum rolls or patty cake.”
He smirks. “I better get back before your employees kill each other.”
“Thanks, Ben.”
He nods and sets my phone on the counter. At the door, he turns, catching my eyes with his, and a light smile eases up his handsome face. A warm surge bubbles in me, and with it comes a decision.
I know what I need to do.
The next morning, Ben sets up for Saturday at Saddletree and leaves with Ruthie—he doesn’t say where.
I instruct Tessa on promised orders—she loves taking the lead on special bakes—and then post on social media that we’ll be closed temporarily starting Sunday.
So, with everything under minimal control, I leave with Dot.
Cherry meets us at Diamond Studios, where she peruses the lengthy contract.
Since her divorce, Cherry considers herself an armchair lawyer and skilled negotiator.
She eyes me over the rim of her chunky reading glasses.
“They’ve arranged for Saddletree’s groups and compensated your employees.
They’ve even added a bonus for the horses—they want to use them in some shots.
They’ve thought of everything. It’s a solid deal, but are you sure? ”
“Ben needs me. I’m sure.”
We review the contract, and, eventually, I sign Saddletree away for the next two months.
Two months to heal. Two months to research how to make Saddletree operate better. Two months for Ben and me. A chance for our lives to center around us, not Saddletree.
I can’t wait to tell him.