32. Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
LENA
I t’s the car accident all over again. I took things too fast and didn’t steer right. Now, I’m spinning out of control, unable to prevent the crash or the damage. I only hope I survive it.
That we survive it.
Long-dead beliefs resurrect. Nothing ever works out for you. And like I once predicted, Ben Wright makes the list.
I thought I knew despair. Leaving Mark hurt.
Losing Mom hurt. But this pain blasts the others to laughable bits as it rips through them.
My leftover hope vanishes into a gnawing, aching, unbelievable sadness.
In my acute emotional trauma, Dot rushes to my side.
Words I never thought I’d say spill from my mouth through choking, desperate sobs. “He’s left me, Dot. Ben’s left me.”
She glares at me like she might jump in her van, hunt him down, and bring him back to me, hog-tied if necessary. If anyone could, it’d be her.
But in a nanosecond, she softens, gripping my neck and yanking me into an embrace whether I want it or not. Her strong arms wrap around my torso, holding me up. She doesn’t try to talk to me, thank God, but drags me to the bedroom and pushes me, gently for her, onto the bed.
That’s where I stay, sobbing until I can’t anymore.
The setting sun sends gold bands across my bed when Dot opens the door. “Ruthie’ll be home in twenty minutes. Get your shit together. This isn’t the end of your world—I fucking promise you that. You’re needed, loved, necessary, and a badass who doesn’t give up on anything.”
She shuts the door, her words banging around in my stupid head. But it’s hard to feel those things when devastation runs the show. I feel carved out. Empty. A ghost drained of living blood. I curl into Ben’s pillow, wondering how long it’ll be before I no longer smell him on it.
I’ve failed him, and he’s failing me, too.
But Dot’s right—I won’t give up and must be strong for Ruthie. For Ben. For myself.
I get up, clean up, and amble into the living room. Bright lights and the smell of something baking hit me first.
Then, a welcoming cheer greets me—Dot isn’t the only one here.
She meets my eyes near the kitchen island and shrugs. “I called for reinforcements.”
Jaye, Cherry, and Mrs. Moore move across the open living room and beeline toward me.
“Everything’ll be okay,” Jaye says as she embraces me. “We’ve got chocolate, Cheetos, and mac-n-cheese in the oven.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” I say, weakly.
Cherry grabs me next, yanking me into her rose-scented perfume. “And wine. Lots of wine.”
“Good.”
Mrs. Moore’s delicate frame warms me in an instant. “We’re here for you as long as you need us.”
“And when you don’t,” Dot calls from her kitchen station. “You’re stuck with us.”
A chuckle escapes, and it surprises me to hear it. “Thanks… I would cry, but I’m all dried up.”
Cherry pushes chardonnay toward me (definitely a Texas pour). “Let me help with that.”
Mrs. Moore leads me to the living room and motions to my spot on the couch.
I sit, curl into the blanket she hands me, and take a deep breath.
It’s nice being cared for like this. Not just nice, but necessary.
I feel loved and supported like my personal rescue team is removing me from the wreckage.
They gather around me, and I tilt my glass toward them before taking a long sip.
“You’ve done everything right, Lena. Compromise, communication, therapy, keeping your body tight and the wrinkles at bay. The odds must be in your favor,” Cherry says, typing into her phone. “Let’s see the stats on reconciliation with therapy and after someone moves out.”
“He hasn’t moved out,” Dot defends. “He’s on a… hiatus. That’s all.”
“Eesh.” Cherry puts her phone away. “Never mind. You’ll beat the odds anyway. I mean… as long as… are you sure he’s not cheating?”
“He’s not cheating,” Dot and I say together, and she continues, “Oh my God, Cherry!”
But how can I be sure of anything now? “I mean, he said he wasn’t.”
“Then, he isn’t,” Jaye offers. “He doesn’t seem the type.”
Cherry’s brow cocks. “Did you install that tracker app like I suggested?”
“No.”
She shakes her head disapprovingly, her dark curls bobbing with her. “See how useful that’d be now? That and Penis-Dar.”
“Penis-Dar?” Jaye repeats.
“Oh, that’s the penis activity tracking app Dot and I are working on,” Cherry says. “It’ll be big, and we’re looking for investors.”
Jaye smirks. “Not a bad idea.”
“Well, the sooner you know, the better. That way, you can shed your tears and move on with your life. There’s no coming back from that.”
“He only left a few hours ago. Maybe it’s too soon to talk about moving on with my life. And that’s not the problem, anyway. He needs me to be less… me.”
“Is that what you really think?” Dot shoots back as she waves a hot pad over the mac-n-cheese she’s just pulled from the oven.
“That’s what he said, pretty much. It’s what I’ve always feared. I’m not enough, and I’m too much…” A loud sniffle separates my words. “I don’t know what to be anymore.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Mrs. Moore says, sitting beside me. “He needs a minute to get himself together. A reset—that’s all. He’s losing his hearing and grieving for it. Who here wouldn’t fall apart over something like that?”
“What do I do?” I ask. “How can I be what he needs?”
Mrs. Moore’s pale face eases into a wide smile, and her gray eyes twinkle. “Just be the woman he fell in love with. Be yourself .”
Tears spill over my eyes, especially when her soft, bony fingers slip over mine. She pats my hand like one would a baby’s back. At my new tears, the women rush over to me. Love surrounds me on all sides like a blanket, making me warm again.