25. Benji
BENJI
I’M OKAY
The afternoon sat heavily in my stomach.
Gordy and I had patched things up, but because of my outburst and Sam faithfully waiting outside the barn for us, we all missed the buffet.
When Sam and I left the farm, I promised him I’d take him out to dinner to make up for it, though he insisted I stop by at home first, check in on my mom, and take care of my plants.
After an afternoon that had basically been one long discussion about how I had neglected everything besides Sam, I didn’t argue.
When I finally arrived at home—if I could even still call it that, since Sam’s apartment felt more like home these days than my parents’ house—I found a black Subaru I didn’t recognize parked out front.
I rolled up the slight slope of the driveway and came to a halt beside it. The bumper carried a dent, the backlight a pale scratch, yet the paint shimmered under the sun, fresh from a car wash.
Maybe something had happened to Dad’s car, and they’d given him a rental. But that didn’t add up—he should still be at work. Through the half-open curtains, the living room ceiling light glowed, hinting that someone must’ve honored us with a visit.
I hurried up the porch and leaned over the rocking chair by the door to peek inside, catching a glimpse of my mom sitting at the kitchen table and, across from her, with her back toward me, a woman with shoulder-length brown hair.
The truth was, I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone.
All I wanted was to water my plants, freshen up, and take Sam somewhere we could enjoy each other's company while we still had the chance.
Maybe, if I kept it quick, I could dodge a conversation.
All I had to do was say hello and hurry to my room.
Taking a deep breath, I gripped the knob and found the door unlocked.
“Hey, Mom,” I said as I stepped inside.
“Oh, hi, sweetie,” she replied, turning toward me.
A second later, the other woman turned her head, too—slowly like she wanted to savor the agony of me realizing who it was: none other than Sam’s mom, sitting at my kitchen table, nodding toward me with a smile that looked anything but genuine.
I paused and stared at the two women and the coffee pots between them.
My mom's white satin blouse, which she only wore for guests or when we went out, might have fooled me, but her bun with some loose strands gave away that this visit was spontaneous.
Otherwise, she would have dressed up much more, if only because she had the opportunity so rarely.
Mrs. Cauley, on the other hand, was put together like she was about to model for a catalogue.
Her hair hung perfectly straight, and she wore a glossy white blouse tucked neatly into tailored black pants.
On her feet were the cleanest pair of black dress shoes I’d ever seen in this house—not high heels, but the kind with just a slight heel that didn’t reveal skin, polished to a mirror shine.
If I had to guess why she’d suddenly appeared here, Sam’s stories were my first clue. It was only natural she would want to snoop, to figure out whether I was going to be a threat to her son. But I wasn’t going to play that game.
“Ma’am,” I said, giving her a curt nod before turning back to Mom. “I’ll be in the backyard for a bit before I head out again to?—”
The little devil on my shoulder dared me to finish the sentence, just to watch her reaction. But the twitch in Mrs. Cauley’s eyes told me she already knew what I was going to say.
“That’s alright, sweetie,” Mom said. “We’re in the midst of catching up anyway.
” She smiled so bright she almost looked like her old self again, ready to slip back into the groove, maybe even host another party—as if finally feeling like a part of this town's community again had healed her overnight.
And that settled it even more. I wasn’t going to make a fuss about Mrs. Cauley—not just for Sam’s sake, but mom’s. Whatever her reasons for showing up here were, if it made my mom happy, I could live with it.
“Well, I’ll leave you two alone.” I managed a smile that felt honest. “Enjoy your time together.”
I waved and headed to my room, closing the door behind me.
It still looked like I had left it the day I took my TV and GameTube to Sam’s place, only now it felt colder, almost empty, like I’d traveled back in time.
I changed into old jeans and a used shirt and headed to the garden.
It was already past five, and I didn’t want to keep Sam waiting too long, even though he’d told me to take my time.
My plants looked dry and a little neglected over the past few weeks, but they were sturdy enough not to worry me.
For twenty minutes, I lost myself in the routine: trimming some stems, pulling weeds, checking for pests (thankfully none), and watering until the soil darkened and the leaves perked up.
By the time I sat the can down, my mood had lifted, too.
At least, the plants would still be here tomorrow—and the day Sam left.
It wasn’t much, but it was something to hold on to.
I was kneeling in the strawberries, plucking one after another, the brightest reds filling my bowl, when the back door creaked open. Mom and Mrs. Cauley poked their heads out, pausing in the doorway.
“And that’s the backyard,” Mom said. “It doesn’t look like much right now, because Benji has to take care of it alone.”
“It looks lovely. The view alone is relaxing,” Mrs. Cauley replied, deliberately not looking at me, though I could feel her whole body itching to do so.
Mom waved, holding onto the door, and I waved back at both of them.
“Are you making progress?” she asked.
“Look how beautiful they are.” I held up the bowl of strawberries.
“They look better than from the store,” Mom said.
“Oh, I was talking about you two. But the strawberries are also good.”
Mom chuckled. Mrs. Cauley pulled a face as if I’d just crashed my car into hers. I bit into my lip to hold back a laugh. If you can’t beat ‘em, drown ‘em in friendliness, right?
“I’ll bring you some in a minute,” I said, and went back to filling the bowl.
When I finally headed back inside another ten minutes later, the sound of Mom’s laughter met me at the door.
It had been too long since I’d heard it that bright—the last time definitely before her diagnosis—and for a moment I just stood there, smiling, letting it wash over me.
No matter how hard my Dad and I tried, we could never make her laugh like that.
I stepped into the kitchen. “Ladies,” I said, squeezing myself past them to the sink.
As I rinsed the strawberries, I listened to them gossiping about some guy from the library where they both used to work, who had apparently knocked up a girl half his age from a town over.
Their laughter spilled through the room like they were still my age, and it was strangely refreshing.
Just as I finished with the last strawberries, one of the chairs scraped back. I glanced over my shoulder to see Mom heading for the hallway.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, smiling in a way that almost made it seem like she’d been waiting for this chance—to leave me alone with Mrs. Cauley—although that wasn’t like her at all.
The click of the bathroom door echoed through the house as I turned off the faucet.
I set the last strawberries on a paper towel, dried them, and reunited them with their siblings in the fresh glass bowl.
When I turned around, Mrs. Cauley was sunk in her phone.
I set the bowl in the middle of the table, and the thud made her look up.
We stared at each other for a moment, both pulling our lips together like there were lots of things we would’ve loved to say to each other, but for the sake of everything good, didn’t.
“Feel free to eat as many as you want,” I said and nudged the bowl toward her.
“Thanks.”
I turned back to the sink, but hesitated. Maybe this was it—the chance I’d promised Sam I’d take, to prove I wasn’t who the rumors made me out to be.
“Thank you for coming here,” I said, clearing my throat. “My mom... I haven’t seen her this happy in years.”
Leaning against the counter, I watched Mrs. Cauley clutch her phone like she might call her cop husband any second. But after a moment, she nodded.
“I told you I’ve been meaning to catch up with her,” she said. “I like to keep my word.”
“I appreciate it. Really. Anyone who makes her laugh like this is welcome in our home.”
She smoothed her thumb over her phone case, a softer look breaking through. “It’s tough times.”
“Well, if all your friends abandoned you after you got sick, you’d have tough times, too.”
Her mouth pressed thin, as if my words were a bit too harsh, but then eased as the realization that I wasn’t wrong must’ve set in. She smoothed the edge of the tablecloth as if ironing out my words. “I feel bad for not taking the time to come visit sooner.”
“Don’t worry about it. That you eventually came around is all that matters.
” I held her gaze, and she held mine. We both knew we were staging a polite little play, pretending this was about my mom.
Her smile mattered, sure, but the real reason Mrs. Cauley came here was Sam, whether she’d said it or not.
So why keep up the charade, when we could cut right to the chase? “Have you talked to Sam yet?”
Her eyes widened as if she hadn’t expected me to be that blunt.
“We don’t need to pretend that we both don’t know what’s going on,” I added.
Her face hardened, the corners of her mouth pulling down, her eyes filling with cold fire. She loved Sam; I could see it in the way she bristled at me.
“It’s all right,” I said quickly. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know the answer.”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business.”
“You’re right. It probably isn’t. Sam keeps telling me the same thing when I nag him to call you. Only he says it with a much nicer tone.”