Chapter 13
BEN
Inviting Elias to come here doesn’t feel like a mistake until it’s time to stop practicing and dress for dinner.
Out on the courts, it was easy to forget where we were. We could have been on tennis courts anywhere. Sun beating down on our backs. Our focus on each point at a time.
Elias seems lighter as we step off the courts, drinking water and wiping sweat off the back of his neck with a towel.
“Do you need to borrow something to wear for dinner?” I ask.
The easy smile drops.
“What do you mean? I didn’t realize we had to dress up for dinner.”
My neck starts to get hot. Soon a blush will be engulfing my face.
All the ease of the past few hours slipping away in an instant with a stark reminder of how stuffy my family are.
“No, you don’t have to dress up. Just a shirt and a pair of pants.”
“I don’t have any nice shoes. Is your family going to be angry if I turn up to dinner in my tennis shoes?”
“No, you’re a guest. A guest with unusually big feet.”
Okay, my face is definitely on fire now. He seems embarrassed, but I don’t think it’s over the size of his feet.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious. You can wear whatever you want, obviously. You’re a guest. My mom will just be thrilled to have someone new to …” I manage to stop myself just before I say ‘grill.’ “ … talk to.”
His shoulders relax a little, but he still doesn’t seem convinced.
“Okay, well, I’ll wear the nicest clothes I have.”
“If you want to borrow one of my shirts or something, I’m sure we’re not massively different sizes in that department.”
Oh my gosh, shut up!
“Thanks.” Luckily, he’s distracted enough that he fails to pick up on how unbelievably embarrassed I am right now.
We head to our separate rooms to shower and change.
I linger after changing into a clean shirt, pants and tennis shoes—if Elias is wearing tennis shoes, I don’t want to make him feel self-conscious by being the only one.
I’m still kicking myself when Mom’s car pulls up outside.
The only thing dragging me out of this room right now is the thought of leaving Elias alone with her.
I can’t imagine him choosing to cower in his room rather than face the music.
And he does take the fastest showers in the world.
When I make it downstairs, Mom and a few of her friends are sitting on the couches with glasses of wine, laughing about something hysterically. When there’s no sign of Elias, I try to slip past without being detected, but Mom catches me and calls me in. “Benny, come and say hello to our guests.”
I flinch at the hated nickname.
Her guests are her usual friends, I think, it’s hard to tell. The women my mom hangs out with meld into each other when they go to the same Botox injector and hair stylist.
“Have you gotten taller since we last saw you?” one of my mom’s friends asks.
Before I can answer, another one says, “Isn’t he adorable? Tabby, he’s a doll!”
I grit my teeth and smile politely.
“Excuse me, sorry, I just want to check on my guest.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Mom says, turning to the group of women. “Benny brought home an adorable German boy from school.”
Elias? Adorable? I’d say intimidating is more apt a description for a six foot five slab of pure muscle and power.
“Ooh German!” Someone coos. “Guten Tag!”
They burst out laughing and I smile politely. “Right, so, I’ll just go make sure he’s dressed.”
“Honey,” Mom calls me back. “You will change out of those tennis shoes for dinner, won’t you? Your father’s bringing someone home and he’ll want you to make a good impression.”
A few of the women are looking awkwardly into their wine glasses. Some keep their gaze trained squarely on the drama. Either way, I know they’re all listening.
I want to tell her I’m wearing them out of solidarity to my guest—isn’t that the polite thing to do? But I have no idea how she’ll take it. The last thing I want is a passive aggressive argument with her in front of the biggest gossips in town.
Instead, I nod and say, “Of course, Mom.”
The tightness in her face softens—sort of—and she goes back to sipping her wine. Her attention is fully turned back to her friends as I leave the room. A cackle of laughter follows me down the hallway on my way to the guest room.
The door is shut, so I knock and wait for a reply.
“Yes?”
I open the door hesitantly—I don’t trust Elias not to be naked.
He’s dressed, and sitting on the bed in a nice pair of grey pants, a blue shirt and black socks. Wow, his feet really are big!
“Everything okay?”
He looks at my feet and a smile ghosts his lips.
“You’re wearing tennis shoes?”
I shrug. “Thought we could rock them together.”
Mom’s friends leave just before Dad comes home with a business associate. They’re both dressed in dark suits and carrying briefcases they hand to Anna. She offers them a drink and goes off to fetch their Scotch before Dad even notices me standing there.
His gaze travels over my body before stopping at my feet. I catch the slightest flare of his nostrils before he fixes his face into a calmer expression for his associate.
Mom kisses him on the cheek and introduces Elias as my friend from school.
“Hello, sir,” Elias says, stepping forward and shaking his hand. Dad notices his shoes, too.
I want to explain myself. But that’s the wrong thing to do. Best to not mention it and hope no one brings it up. That’s the way we usually do things in this house.
“Will Madison and Sloane be joining us for dinner?” Dad asks, turning away from me completely.
“No, they were held up.” Mom says. “They won’t be getting in until the day after tomorrow.”
“Shame. I would have liked you to meet my eldest two,” Dad tells the associate.
“Maybe next time.” The associate turns to me. “Ben, I met your business partner, Nathan, sometime last year, I think. He passed my number along I hope?”
I rack my brain for the memory. A name.
“Yes …”
Come on brain, give me a name. M-something. Mathers, Matheson …
“Mr. Mathews, right?”
He smiles. “Please, call me Mason.”
I automatically search Dad’s face for approval, but he isn’t looking at me and he doesn’t appear to be paying attention.
Mom starts grilling Elias the second the appetizers are served.
He takes it well, his charming, confident demeanor winning Mom over instantly.
I keep glancing at Dad to see what he thinks of Elias, but he still isn’t paying attention.
Elias is irrelevant to him because he doesn’t have anything of worth to my dad or his business.
As soon as there’s a lull in the conversation, Dad starts talking about Madison and Sloane. I automatically fade into the background, trying to swallow bites of veal with a dry throat.
Elias listens politely, eying the food on his plate with suspicion. I wonder if he thinks rich people eat the placentas of newborn unicorns. That’s how my mom looks ten years younger than she is.
“You’d do well to take a leaf from your brother’s book,” Dad says now.
My head snaps up a second too late. He frowns. “Are you listening, Ben?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sloane’s well on his way to becoming the youngest ever member of the House of Representatives….”
I grit my teeth and nod in all the right places while Dad waxes poetic about Sloane’s many talents.
When Mom cuts in, I think she’s going to remind him of my achievements, but it’s only to remind him that he has a very successful daughter, too.
“Of course, honey,” he says before taking a sip of wine. “I’m very proud.”
I didn’t think Elias was even listening to the conversation. He’s carefully cutting into a piece of meat like he’s afraid to scratch the pattern on the china when he speaks. His voice is powerful, his accent a delightful change from the usual voices around this table.
“Did you know Ben is in the ITA top 20? That’s out of every college tennis player in the country.”
My chest swells with pride but I push it down, waiting for my dad’s reaction. Before he can say anything, Mason Mathews replies first.
“I saw Ben play last year. He’s extremely talented. Do you play, Elias?”
“Yes. I plan to go out on the pro tour next year.”
“Impressive,” Mason nods as he cuts into his veal.
I settle back while Elias and Mason chat about tennis, only joining in when the conversation is directed toward me.
Both of them draw me in now and then, asking my opinion on who’ll win the US Open this year and whether Novak Djokovic is nearing retirement, or if he’ll find a second wind like he always does.
By the time dinner is over, I don’t feel anywhere near as crappy as I usually do after these gatherings.
Dad invites Mason into his office to smoke a cigar and Mom goes into the movie room to watch some TV while Anna clears the plates away. Elias looks like he’s going to try and help but then seems to remember what I told him about Anna taking it as an insult to her work.
“Well, I guess we should get an early night,” Elias says, yawning.
“Do you want to see my room?” I just blurt it out. I’m not sure why. I only know that I’m grateful for him saving me like that at the dinner table and I want to extend a hand of … what? I’m not too sure. Gratitude?
He shrugs. “Okay.”
I lead him up the winding staircase to the second floor where my bedroom is.
I don’t glance behind me. I don’t want to see the look on Elias’ face as he takes in the dreary portraits done by old, respected portrait artists.
I especially don’t want him to look at the one that makes me look like a sack of potatoes.
My room hasn’t changed at all, though I’m sure Anna’s been in to dust.
The same vintage maps hang on every wall. Same completed LEGO sets displayed on shelves. My prized Millennium Falcon in a display case above the desk. My face flushes at the sight of it all. The truth of my existence—lonely, nerdy virgin.
The instinct to shrink in on myself as I watch Elias walk around, looking at everything, is strong.