2. Elle
elle
. . .
B en’s phone rings in my ear. I’ve lost count of the number of rings that sound out before his voicemail picks up. His voice is gone, and in its place is a generic computerized one telling whoever calls that it hopes they have a great day, and their call will be returned shortly. I hang up and press the green button to connect my call again. In the other room, my family chatters about Noah’s football team and how they’re doing really well. And just like every year prior, there’s hope that the Pioneers will go to the Superbowl. This time, I leave a message telling Ben when my plane will land. Peyton and Noah fly back before anyone else, and Quinn and Nola are heading to her parents until after New Year’s. Jimmy, Jenna, and Eden are heading to Hawaii to finish off Eden’s winter break. The Westburys and my parents are flying to Beaumont for the rest of the holiday. There are a lot of people who want to meet baby Oliver.
I lean against the window and stare into the dark sky. It’s a clear night, and I can see the stars—a rarity in California. Ben would love it here. I don’t think he’ll ever understand how missed he was at Christmas. I have a pile of presents to bring home to him. Most of them are from my mom. She loves him like he’s her son. And he missed meeting Oliver. I can’t wait to introduce Ben to the baby. He’s going to love him. I look down at my phone and wipe a fallen tear. Ben will never understand how hurt I am that he decided not to come. I can’t even remember the last time he wasn’t at a holiday or family function.
There’s a knock on the door, and then it opens. I glance at my mom, carrying Oliver in her arms. “He’s sleeping,” she whispers as she lies him down in his playpen. She comes over to me and pulls me into her arms. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug and let out a small sob. “Ben missed so much on this trip.”
“I know. But we can celebrate Christmas when we get back home. It doesn’t have to be on the day itself. Besides, I’m sure his mom loved having him home.”
I hate lying to my family. “I hope she treated him well.” I already know she didn’t. She rarely sends him anything, and he’s always the one who has to reach out to her. I swear, it’s like she can’t be bothered.
My mom stays for a few more minutes before heading back to the other room. I make my way over to Oliver and sit in the chair next to his bed. This little boy has no idea how lucky he is. It’s not because my parents can provide for him, it’s because they are the best parents in the world. They have so much love to give. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken them this long to add to our family. I’m sure with raising Quinn, Peyton, and I, they probably thought they were done, but here they are, taking on a baby when Peyton is trying to make them grandparents.
Oliver fusses, and I wonder if I should pick him up to console him. I know next to nothing about babies, yet the urge to hold him, snuggle him against my chest, is strong. I relent and scoop him into my arms until he’s nestled in the crook of my neck. His tiny baby breaths tickle, but I welcome them.
He still and lets out a small, contented sigh. When I met him a few days ago, he was just a tiny baby, and now he’s my brother. Even if my parents don’t end up adopting him, he’s going to know he was loved when he was part of our family.
I adjust him to rest in my arms. This gives me a chance to stare at this face. His eyelashes are long, perfect. His cheeks have the slightest hint of red; they’re chubby and pinchable, and I realize I’ll hurt anyone who tries to hurt him.
My finger traces a line down his nose and over his lips. He puckers and then stretches. I know I’m breaking every parental sin out there by touching a sleeping baby, but I can’t help it. Oliver’s eyes flutter open, and we stare at each other. I expect him to fuss or let out a scream, but he doesn’t. He looks at me, blinking every few seconds. Does he know I’m his big sister? It’s unlikely, but maybe he sees me as security.
“Hi, cutie.” I pull out my phone, turn on the camera, and adjust Oliver so we can take a selfie. I send it to Ben with the caption: Oliver says, Hi, Uncle Ben! I wait for Ben to respond, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Oliver.”
He stretches and yawns. I frown, knowing I woke him from his slumber. I stand and hold him to my chest. We walk around the room, and I sing to him until he’s asleep. Instead of putting him back in his crib, I lie him on the bed and fall asleep next to him.
“Do you have any kids?”
I clear my thoughts and smile at the lady next to me. She told me at the beginning of our flight that her daughter is eight months old, teething, and not enjoying the flight to LAX. The woman is apologetic and on the verge of tears each time her baby fusses or cries.
“No,” I tell her. “My parents are fostering a baby though. He’s just a couple of months old.”
“I love my daughter, but?—”
“She’s not bothering me,” I tell the mother. “She’s a cutie.” I touch the little girl on her nose, and she tries to bite me. I laugh, but the woman is horrified.
“She puts everything in her mouth. She likes to test those chompers.”
“I can imagine.”
The intercom crackles and the pilot announces our descent into Los Angeles. I’m excited to be home, see Ben, and fix the issues we were having before I left. Every part of me hoped Ben would’ve shown up at the cabin, and things would be back to normal, but he didn’t, despite my many texts.
I inhale deeply and try to calm my nerves. Ben hasn’t responded to a single text of mine since the night of our fight. I don’t know whether to expect to see him at baggage claim or find him idling along the curb. He’s never left me stranded before, and I can’t imagine he would this time.
After the plane lands, I help the mom next to me gather her things and then follow her off the aircraft. I wish her well when she has to stop and wait for her daughter’s stroller and thank the universe she’s not a Page Six subscriber and recognized me as Harrison James’ daughter. I meander through the airport with just my ballcap on. It’s late, and there aren’t a lot of people waiting around. I let Ben know I’ve landed, and don’t bother to wait for his reply. Anxiousness and dread wash over me even though I fight to stay positive. He’ll be outside , my mind repeatedly says as I make my way to luggage claims.
I don’t know how long I stand outside, up against one of the pillars, waiting for Ben to arrive. The minutes tick by, and then a full hour. LAX is quiet. There’s a lull in arrivals due to the early morning hours. With each set of headlights that appears, my heart races at the thought of Ben driving toward me, but each car passes by.
“Can I call someone for you?” The porter approaches cautiously. “Do you need a taxi?”
I start to shake my head but then nod. “That would be great, thank you.”
He radios for someone to come to the terminal, and within minutes a yellow car pulls up. I climb into the backseat, shut the door, and fight a wave of tears.
“Where to?”
“Um . . .” I should give him my address, but I don’t. I give him the address to the studio. I have a couch in my office, and I’ll sleep there for the night. The fifteen-mile drive usually takes over an hour unless it’s three in the morning, and then it’s twenty minutes. I hand the driver a wad of cash and wish him a happy New Year before climbing out. He pulls away the second I slam the door, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. It’s cold, but nothing compared to what we experienced in Vermont. I look at the sky, wondering if Los Angeles will ever see snow, and then laugh at my thoughts. The entire city would shut down in straight panic if it snowed.
Thankfully, I have the keys to the studio and make my way inside and to my office. I collapse on the couch and let the anguish I feel rush freely. My sobs turn into hiccups, and any make-up I have on runs down my face. I don’t bother changing and lie on my couch with my knees pulled to my chest. I don’t know how to fix this issue with Ben, especially if I can’t get him to talk to me.
When I wake, it’s because of the sounds I hear in the other room. My assistant, Debra, walks in, startles at the sight of me, and then quickly closes my door. “What are you doing? Are you okay?” she whispers.
I sit up and rub my face. She hands me a box of tissues and then goes to my refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. “Thanks.”
“What happened?”
I shake my head. “Ben and I fought before I left for the cabin, and he hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts.”
“Oh, Elle.”
I sigh heavily. “I don’t know how I’ll face him this morning. I want to jump into his arms and strangle him at the same time. This meeting is going to drag on forever.”
“You need to get cleaned up.” She stands and starts rummaging through my bag, setting the things she needs on top of my desk. Thankfully, I keep a steamer in one of my desk drawers, and she gets to work on one of my shirts. “It’s a good thing you don’t work for someone because you look like shit.”
“It’s a good thing I like you, or I’d fire you for saying I look like shit.” I stand and head into the tiny bathroom attached to my office. Someday, I’ll be in a high rise with an ensuite and a view that looks over the city. Until then, I’m happy with what I have. The rented space is perfect for my bands and me.
Debra laughs, knowing I’d never let her go. She runs this place, and I know it. She appears in the doorway with my shirt and leather jacket. “You need to feel like a badass this morning.”
“But I don’t feel that way at all.”
“I know, but this morning, you need to. The meeting won’t take long. Plum are already here, all three women.”
“Plum,” I grimace. “I’m still not sure I like that name for a band.”
“It’s catchy,” she says. “It’s one word, and people will remember it. Plus, it fits the personality of the girls. It screams pop with an edge.”
Usually, I’d talk to Ben about it and get his take because he is the one who will do all their marketing. “I’ll ask Ben when he gets here; see what he thinks.”
Debra nods and tells me breakfast will be on the table. After she leaves, I finish cleaning my face and reapply my make-up. I take my hair and pull it into a high ponytail. It’s messy and yet perfect for this business.
When I enter the small conference room, the lead singer of Plum stands up. “Good morning, Justine, Wynonna, and Priscilla.” They echo my sentiment and sit down at the table. I first met Justine Floyd at Trixie’s. Quinn and I had gone to check out a new band, and Justine put on an acoustic set. That night, we spoke, and she told me she usually performs with sisters Wynonna and Priscilla but that they had the flu, and they didn’t want to lose their gig at Trixie’s. I brought them into the studio and fell in love with their sound, and I quickly offered to represent them. They have quite the backstory. Justine ran away from home at fourteen and somehow managed to escape the horrors of living on the streets. Wynonna and Priscilla, aptly named after Wynonna Judd and Priscilla Presley, are upper class and privileged. The three of them met at Trixie’s during an open mic night and decided to play together.
We start the meeting even though Ben’s late. It’ll be easy for him to catch up, plus he needs to show the girls their mock-ups. After an hour, I text him and ask him if he’s planning to show up, and of course, he doesn’t respond. Now, I’ve gone from hurt to pissed because he’s messing with my business. I tell the girls the logos will be emailed, and I’ll see them tomorrow for recording. Once they’re gone, I ask Debra to cancel the rest of my day and order an Uber to drive me out to Malibu.
I’m on edge the entire drive, and my anxiety increases tenfold when the driver pulls into my driveway. When I get into the house, I notice the amount of trash piled up. “What the fuck,” I mutter before yelling Ben’s name and storming through the house.
I find him in his office with his headphones on. I tap him on the shoulder, scaring the crap out of him. He glares at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Working. What does it look like?”
“Did you want to answer any of my texts? My calls? Or show up for the fucking meeting this morning?”
He frowns and rolls his eyes. He goes to put his headphones back on, but I yank them away. “ Answer me! ” I scream.
Ben stands and towers over me. His eyes seek something in mine, but I have no idea what he’s looking for. “What part of ‘I’m done’ wasn’t clear to you?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m done, Elle. That means I’m not going to answer your calls. I’m not going to reply to your texts, and I’m not going to work. I. Am. Done!”
I blanch at his words and step back. It takes me a moment to realize the finality in his voice, but once I do, I nod. “Right.” I leave him in his office and head into our bedroom. It’s a mess. Clothes, food boxes, and beer bottles cover the floor, much like the rest of the house. I pull as much as I can from my closet, carry it out to my car, and pack up the stuff I’ll need in my office. I stop by the room where Ben’s working, but his back is to me. He’s angry, all because we haven’t set a wedding date.
“Ben,” I say his name loud enough for him to hear. He stops typing and turns slowly in his chair. His eyes are red and puffy, and there’s a sadness there, mixed with anger. “I’m going to head back into the city.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “There’s a good chance Noah’s heading to the Superbowl.”
“I don’t care,” he says.
“It’s Noah,” I point out. “You’re not going to be there for him?”
Ben hangs his head. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, Elle.”
“I’m not doing anything, Ben. You are. I spent my entire vacation trying to get you to talk to me so we can figure this out, and you’ve ignored me.”
“It’s the only way.”
“No, it’s not,” I tell him. “We can fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix.”
“So that’s it, huh? You’re just going to toss the only family you have aside because I haven’t settled on a wedding date?”
Ben doesn’t say anything for a long time. “I’m going to look for an apartment or something. I’ll be out of here as soon as I can.”
I shake my head and place my hand over my stomach to curb the tremendous ache I feel. Our life together isn’t supposed to be this way. I pack as much as I can, and tiptoe back to Ben’s office. His head is down and the urge to go to him is great. I yearn to touch him, to soothe him, to fix what is happening, but I don’t know how. There is something else going on, something more than not setting a date, but he won’t talk to me. He leaves me no choice but to walk away for now.