9. Elle
elle
. . .
F or the entire drive to the house, I give myself a pep talk. If Ben’s home, I’ll go in under the guise that I need clothes for the upcoming tour. It’s a valid excuse as most of my stuff is still there, but one he’d easily see through. The last vacation we took, I forgot to pack a bunch of essentials and went shopping when we arrived at our destination. He knows I’ll do it again if it means avoiding confrontation.
I hate confrontation. Mostly, I hate fighting with him about our breakup. But we need to talk. We need to discuss our future. If we’re done, we need to make it official.
As soon as I pull up to the house, I notice a truck in the driveway. Ben has company. This shouldn’t surprise me, and in any other circumstance, I’d use the fact he has company to avoid the conversation we need to have and drive away. But, according to Quinn, I need to see Ben. If I go inside and find another woman . . . no, I can’t think like that. He wouldn’t bring someone here. Would he?
My mind swirls with scenarios as I make my way to the front door. It could be the housekeeper, although I canceled the service weeks ago. Maybe it’s a friend from work, although Ben’s never brought any of his former colleagues to our place before. It could be his brother, but again, inviting Brad over isn’t something Ben does. He’s always kept our lives private from his family.
I open the door and see clutter in the entryway. Work boots, trash bags, and a couple pizza boxes. I shake my head, wondering what in the hell Ben’s up to. Those boots are definitely not his and my early guess about Brad being here is right when I hear him yell at the television. If Brad’s here, it means they’ve been drinking and probably on a weekend-long bender.
As I enter the living room, two sets of eyes meet mine. Not only is Brad sitting on my brand-new leather sofa, in his freaking underwear, but their mother is eating nachos and wiping her hands on the armrest. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something incredibly insulting and remind myself that Ben and I are not together, and while this is a fact, we haven’t made any decisions on what we’re going to do with the house. My hands clench into fists and my resolve is about to shatter with each step I take. The beautiful marble floor has a layer of dirty clothes on it, and when I look toward the kitchen, I can see dishes piled on top of the counters.
“Give me the strength,” I mutter to myself.
“Say something, sweetie?”
I smile at Brenda and fight the urge to tell her she has queso in the corner of her mouth. “No, I’m just going to go find Ben.” I hustle down the hall and into his office. By the time I reach him, I’m so angry that I want to scream. I slam the door, but he’s wearing headphones and can’t hear. Instead of calling his name, I pull them off his head to get his attention.
His expression morphs from anger, to recognition, and then finally emptiness. He has truly given up on us and that breaks my heart. I point toward the door and shake my head. There are so many words on the tip of my tongue, but nothing seems to want to come out.
“What in the actual fuck, Ben?” I say through clenched teeth. “Our fucking house is a pigsty.”
“I know.”
“Excuse me? You know? And you’re not doing anything about it?”
Ben takes his headphones from my hand and sets them down onto his desk. “What are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?”
He frowns. “I don’t need a reminder that you paid for this place. Believe me, I haven’t forgotten.”
“I’m not reminding you of anything, Ben. I came home . . .” Calling this place home doesn’t feel right, not in the state our relationship is in right now. “What are Brenda and Brad doing here? And why in the hell is your mom eating on my couch? And why isn’t your brother wearing pants?”
“What does it matter?” he asks, in a nonchalant tone making me wonder if he cares about anything anymore.
“Uh, it matters because this is still my house too. Because we need to decide what we’re going to do with it and if your family is going to ruin the marble floors, someone is going to have to pay for it, and we both know they don’t have the money.”
“Stop yelling,” he says, even though I don’t believe I raised my voice at all.
“Stop yelling? Are you serious right now? You’re letting them ruin our stuff! We worked hard for our things.”
“No, your dad did.”
“Screw you, Ben!” I walk out of the office and into our bedroom. I almost don’t get into the closet; afraid he might have done something with my clothes. Thankfully, my side is untouched, while his is all over the floor. I’m afraid to step anywhere because I have no idea what might be hiding under his crap.
I head into the bathroom and am surprised to find it fairly clean. I expected to find a ring of filth in the shower, hair everywhere, and who knows what floating in the toilet. Still, this isn’t the Ben I grew up with, and I’m pissed Quinn told me to come over. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and send him a text telling him how he sucks and about Brad and Brenda.
After I pocket my phone, I notice pill bottles on the bathroom counter for Xanax and Valium. “What the . . .”
“What are you doing?” Ben asks, startling me. I hold the bottles in my hand.
“What’s going on? Why are you taking these?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“That may be, but I’m making it my business. Quinn told me I need to talk to you and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. But I’m willing to bet it has something to do with these. So, tell me what’s going on.”
“Like I said, it’s none of your business.”
“It is my damn business, Ben. You look like shit. You’ve lost weight, haven’t shaved in over a month. You aren’t cleaning. Your mother and Brad are here, and my brother won’t stop pestering me about coming out here. So, here I am, Ben, crying in front of you, begging for you to let me in because I still fucking love you. Please, tell me what’s going on.” I don’t bother to wipe away my fallen tears. He needs to see them. Ben needs to see his words and lack of effort are hurting me. I didn’t want this break up, he did.
When he doesn’t say anything, I throw the bottle at him. “Whatever, Ben.” I brush by him and head back to what was once our shared bedroom.
“Fine, you want to know what’s going on?” he yells. “I have fucking cancer, Elle. I have fucking cancer in my nut sack. Are you happy now?”
His words stop me dead in my tracks. Surely, I’ve heard him wrong. I turn slowly and look at him. “What did you say?”
“I have cancer,” he says quietly. He looks down at the ground when he speaks, but I still notice the lone tear making its way down his cheek before he quickly wipes it away. “The pills are to help me sleep, and for anxiety.” I walk closer to him and stand where he has no choice but to look at me.
“Ben,” I say his name and then cover my mouth. I rest my head on his chest and he finally wraps his arms around me. “Oh, Ben.”
“Don’t cry, Elle.”
As much as I want to stop, I can’t. He’s been my best friend for most of my life and this patch we’ve hit, it’s been rough, but I never thought it would last. When Ben’s grip on me loosens, I step back.
“When did you find out?”
“Not that long ago.”
“Are you doing chemo or something?”
“Surgery first, and then chemo and maybe radiation.”
“When is your surgery?”
“Next week,” he tells me.
“Is this why your mom and Brad are here?”
He shrugs. “She just showed up and then she called him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ben steps back. “Because it’s my problem not yours, and we’re not together anymore. Besides, I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Together or not, I love you. You’re my best friend and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
“Except set a wedding date.”
“That’s not fair, Ben, and you know it.”
He nods and moves toward the counter to put his pill bottles back. He stares at me through the mirror. “Did Quinn tell you? Is that why you’re here?”
“Quinn knows?” Of course, he does. I don’t wait for Ben to answer before continuing. “Quinn didn’t tell me. He came to my office the other day and told me I needed to come out here and see you. When I first walked in, I thought it was because he wanted me to see what a trash hole the house is, but now I know. He wanted me to come out here because you swore him to secrecy, and he kept your secret.”
“I don’t know why I told him. He’s the first one to know. He’s come over a couple of times. I can’t figure out if he’s trying to play peacekeeper between us or what.”
“He’s not,” I tell him. “Quinn’s your friend. He will always be your friend regardless of us.”
“You say that?—”
“I mean it, Ben. Quinn would never stop hanging out with you because we broke up, unless you did something unforgivable. What happened with us, is because of us or me or whatever. It’s not like you cheated or hit me.”
Ben rests against the countertop. “I know I can’t afford the house on my own, and I know I shouldn’t ask, but can we wait before we divide things up? I’m not really in good enough shape to move right now.” I don’t remind him that the house is paid for. It’s something he should know. I’ve never kept it a secret that I used my trust fund to buy this place. Ben pitched in, but a house payment is something we don’t have.
“I’m not going to kick you out. Your mother and brother on the other hand . . .”
Ben chuckles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile since Thanksgiving. He turns and looks at his face in the mirror and groans.
“You’re right, I look like shit.” He runs his hand over his beard. “I’m not even a fan of this beard but I’m too lazy to shave.”
“Sit down, I’ll do it for you.” I pull out his shaving supplies and nudge him toward my vanity. He sits as still as he can and allows me to shave him. When the razor drags over his skin, he swallows hard. “I’m almost done,” I tell him. I thank my dad for this, for teaching me how to shave a man’s skin. I don’t know why he taught Peyton and I, but we loved sitting on the counter with him while he shaved. And then one day, he handed us the razor and held his hand over ours, guiding us. Peyton and I took turns learning how to shave his face. He never once complained about the nicks we gave him. Now, I feel like I could open my own barber shop and offer a fresh shave to people.
“Do you want me to trim your hair?”
He shakes his head. “I’m going to lose it soon. I want to keep it until it starts to fall out, and then I’ll shave it.”
“Yeah.” I run my fingers through it, and he closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ben. This is wholly unfair.”
Ben looks at me and tears fall from his eyes. “I’m scared, Elle.”