Chapter 4 Ben
“Boom. Done.” I raised my hand and dropped the stain-soaked rag I held like it was a mic. It landed on the tarp beneath me with an uninspired splat.
My lower back twinged as I straightened from a crouch. I probably should have taken more breaks instead of spending the entire day doubled over like a pretzel, but I wanted the floors done so I could focus on getting the drywall up, and no one had ever described me as a patient person.
I left the sitting room and crossed the hall to the dining room, where I’d started staining at five a.m. The day had since bled into afternoon, and the southern facing windows in the dining room bathed the floors in natural light. They looked well on their way to dry.
I pulled my cellphone out of my back pocket, ignored the Twitter notifications crowding the welcome screen, and pulled up my camera.
I crouched down, back protesting, and took several shots before finding the right angle.
I’d never been a fan of filters, but I used the built-in photo editing tool to darken the image to the point that the detail in the grain popped, then attached the finished picture to a group text with my parents and hit send.
I already knew how they’d respond. Dad would be effusively proud. Mom would love it. My eye for detail came from her. Whenever Dad was in a fix about paint choice or finishing touches, he’d ask Mom, and she always had the perfect solution.
My phone dinged with an incoming text.
I LOVE IT. I bet it looks even better in person. When can I come out to see it???
I sighed. Mom. She was getting pushy about visiting. Even though she’d promised me she’d try to respect my wishes and give me some space. I’d never been great at saying no to her, even less so since Zach died, and I was torn between being annoyed and feeling guilty.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. What the hell did I say back to her?
While I hesitated, my phone began to rapid-fire chime.
Great job, Ben! It looks awesome. Perfect color to bring out all that character. Ignore your mother. Take your time.
Hani, don’t tell him to ignore me! Christmas is in three days. He shouldn’t spend it alone!
He asked for space, Klara, and we need to respect that.
Isolation isn’t good for humans.
Honey, the man has only been gone for a few months. It’s not like he’s lived in a shack on the Outer Hebrides for five years.
I read a study yesterday that said even a few months of hermit-like existence can be detrimental to mental health, and with the risk of CTE, Ben has to be more careful than most.
Gee, thanks, Mom.
Klara, Ben is still part of this text. Maybe we don’t talk about him like he isn’t here?
Oh, sorry, Ben! You know how I worry. Read the study.
She sent the link. It was one I’d already seen.
I’ve read it, I typed back. And I’m not a complete hermit. In case you’ve missed it, the three of us talk almost every day, and I still keep up with my friends back home. Please don’t worry about me. I’m doing okay. I’ve even made a few new friends out here.
The texts stopped. I waited for Mom’s third degree, but it didn’t come. Good. Hopefully I’d put off the threat of a visit for another few weeks by mentioning new friends, though “friends” was definitely an exaggeration. Jack didn’t know who I really was, and I’d just met Ella.
My phone rang. Dad was FaceTiming me, which he never did alone. Looked like I didn’t escape anything after all.
I hit accept.
My parents’ familiar faces filled the screen.
Mom leaned in, eyes narrowed. “Who are these friends?”
Well, hello to you too, Mom.
“Jack lives up the hill from me,” I told her. “He’s in his mid-60s and has no idea who I am. It’s kind of a nice change.”
“He isn’t one of those hillbilly rednecks, is he?” she asked.
I thought of Jack, his lack of a TV and a cellphone, the couple hundred pounds of meat in his basement freezers from animals he’d killed and butchered himself. I immediately decided against telling her any of this. “No, Mom. He’s totally normal.”
Her brows rose. “Is that it? I thought you said friends. As in plural.”
Dad’s hand covered their camera, and my screen went dark. “Honey, stop pestering him. He’s smart. He’ll know to reach out if the loneliness starts to get to him.”
“One old man who is probably just as isolated as he is doesn’t sound like a healthy social life,” Mom said.
I needed to put a stop to this before my annoyance sparked into anger. “Uh, Dad? Your hand is covering the camera, not the microphone. I can hear everything you’re saying.”
He took it away. “Oops. Sorry, Ben.”
Beside him, Mom’s expression was full of concern. She opened her mouth, likely to berate or beg me; I didn’t have the patience to find out which.
“There’s a woman too,” I said.
Dad’s brows climbed up his forehead. “Oh, really? She pretty?”
“Who cares if she’s pretty?” Mom said. “Is she one of those weirdo woodlanders? Or an instagroupie?”
I rubbed a hand over my face. “Mom, where are you even getting these phrases? No. She’s totally normal.” Well, kind of normal. I thought of Ella’s wild outfit and special brand of humor.
Mom stared into the camera. “He’s smiling. Hani, why is he smiling? Are you lying to your mother, Benjamin?”
Uh-oh. She went full Benjamin on me. “No, ma’am.”
Distrust played over her features. “What’s her name, then?”
“Ella.”
“Ella what?”
“Jones.”
“What’s she do for a living?”
“She’s an artist. No, a graphic designer.” Crap. “Well, a bit of both.”
Her eyes sparked like she’d caught me in a lie. “Ah-ha!”
“No, Mom, I swear. She owns Ella Jones Paperie. You can look her up online.”
She pointed at me. “You stay right there!” Then she exited screen right, leaving Dad and me alone.
“Sooo…how you been?” I asked him.
He leaned close to the phone, his dark eyes large, “Your mother is becoming a handful. I think I may un-retire.”
I nearly choked trying to stifle my laughter. Handful was an understatement. If Mom was this overbearing at a distance, I could only imagine what she was like in person. Poor Dad.
Mom crowded back in next to him before I could say anything else. She had a tablet in one hand, the fingers of her other one flying over the screen.
“Oh, honey, look,” she said, pushing the tablet in front of my father.
His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Well, that’s kind of charming. What a cute little fox.”
“Told you she was real, Mom,” I said, careful to keep the gloating out of my tone. “You guys should check out the birthday card with the moose on the cover.”
I might have gone a little overboard looking through Ella’s online listings after I left Jack’s the other night.
I just had to see that squirrel and his death threats for myself.
And then after I found it and laughed at it all over again, I read through the rest of her tongue-in-cheek, and, okay, sometimes borderline offensive greeting cards.
I knew they’d found the one I asked them to search for when Dad threw his head back and barked out a laugh.
Mom was slower on the draw, still frowning at the screen. “Wait. I don’t get it. Is the moose swearing at the beaver?”
“Yes,” Dad and I chorused.
“But why does he have candles on his antlers? Oh, no. I get it. Oh, that is so wrong.” But then, looking for all the world like she didn’t want to, she grinned.
And then started to chuckle. “This still doesn’t prove that you know her,” she said when her laughter subsided.
“You could have seen something in the local newspaper about her, for all we know.”
My frustration with her came roaring back.
I am a grown-ass man. I will not scream at my mother over the phone.
“When have I ever lied to you?” I asked her.
Her expression darkened. “Seriously? You want to play that game with me, Mr. I-don’t-know-where-those-beer-cans-came-from?”
“I was sixteen!”
“The point stands.”
“Fine. I’ll send you a picture of us the next time we hang out.” Anything to get her to back off.
“When will that be?”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
Why. Did. I. Say. That? Years of pressure on the playing field, and I faced it like the pro I was.
A little harassment from my mother, and I caved like a house of cards.
I really should have known better. She was like a dog with a bone when she worried about a loved one.
She would not let this go. If I didn’t send her a picture tomorrow, she’d probably get on an airplane.
She grinned at me through the phone like a Cheshire cat. Like I’d played right into her hand. “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you!”
“Love you, Ben,” Dad said.
“Love you guys too.”
I started texting Dad the moment we hung up. Please, you gotta help me out here. Mom’s stressing me out. I came here to unwind. I need this break. REALLY need it.
God, if only they knew how much.
I know, Ben, Dad answered. I’ll do what I can. Go easy on your mom, though. We’re all she has left, and she’s terrified of losing either of us. Every day you’re away is a day something could happen to you without her being close enough to help.
Great. Now I felt like an asshole.
I strode into the kitchen and tossed my phone on the unfinished island.
I was mad, at both myself and them. Nothing good ever comes from speaking from a place of anger.
Better to cool down before responding. But seriously, I came out here for me.
And now it was somehow more about my mother’s mental health than my own.
She wasn’t the one who had to live with CTE.