12. Ben
ben
. . .
I don’t know how long I stay outside, watching the taillights of Elle’s car disappear down the road. It isn’t until Brad comes outside and says we were out of beer, and he wants to order pizza that I realize I’ve been out here for maybe an hour or so. If Quinn had said this . . . well, he wouldn’t have. He would’ve gotten in his car, gone to the store, stopped at the pizza parlor and returned with everything. Neither my brother nor even my mother can bring themselves to do such a simple task. Elle’s right, they freeload. And they do so because of who her dad is, and that’s not right. What makes this situation worse is I’m the sick one. I’m the one who is facing surgery—life altering surgery, plus the treatment that goes with killing the cancer cells—and my family can’t even step up. They expect me to take care of them.
What a fucking joke.
When I get back inside, the mess I told them to clean up hasn’t changed. Brad is rummaging through the refrigerator, mumbling something under his breath, and my mom is flipping through the channels on the television, while eating a bag of chips. I shake my head and wonder why.
Why do I put up with this?
Why do I need these people in my life?
Why are they like this?
Mom glances my way and smiles. Unfortunately, I can’t return the gesture because I’m not happy. I’m not happy about my status with Elle, my life as it is now, my health, or my family. I hate to admit it, but Elle’s right, my mother and brother shouldn’t be here because they’re not here to support me.
“Bradley, who’s running your garage while you’re here?”
He’s moved from the refrigerator to the cupboards and slams the cabinet door. “When Mom called and told me you were sick, I closed up shop. I figured I needed to be here.”
Is he really here for me though? He’s not helping out around the house or making sure I’m okay.
“And you?” I ask as I look at my mom. “What about your job? I get that you lost the house and showed up here, aren’t they expecting you at work?”
“Well, I lost that about three months ago,” she says, as if it’s no big deal.
“And you didn’t find another one?”
“I applied around.” She shrugs.
Right, God forbid you get a job.
“Well, I’m going to set some rules. If you don’t like them, leave. I’m at the point in my life right now where I simply don’t care.”
Brad comes out of the kitchen and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t be ungrateful, little brother.”
I scoff and shake my head. “Here’s the thing, if you’re going to stay here, you’re going to pick up after yourself. Elle isn’t responsible for cleaning or supplying you with food, and neither am I. This is our house, and we like it to be a certain way. Granted, when you arrived, it wasn’t exactly clean, however that doesn’t entitle you to be pigs.”
“You listen to that girl way too much,” Bradley says.
“It’s because he’s a whipped little boy,” my mother cackles and Bradley follows suit.
“Laugh all you want, but this is her house as well. We haven’t made any decisions on how to split it, and she has a right to be concerned. With that said, I have a feeling she’s gone to her parents and told them about my diagnosis, which means Katelyn is sure to come over and Harrison will too, eventually. This place needs to be cleaned and done so now. Not to mention, the germ infestation isn’t going to be good for my recuperation.”
“I don’t have germs,” Brad says.
I roll my eyes. “Everyone has germs, you dumbass.” I head toward my office knowing they’re not going to clean. They may start, but something will come on the television and their attention will be elsewhere. Back at my computer, I pull up the website Elle and I have used for housekeeping and request some services. It’s not something I plan for, but the house needs to be cleaned before I come back with a compromised immune system. After I complete the booking, I put my headphones on and return to work. I need every distraction possible and need to not think about what’s going on in my body or my heart.
Truth be told, it was good to see Elle today and to hash out our issues. I’m not dumb in thinking things will change between us, because I know they won’t. She is who she is, and I am who I am. We’re like oil and water, we like each other but don’t mix well. Which just really sucks because I love her. I’ve loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her, without knowing who she was.
The computer screen blurs, and I find myself crying once again. It happens every time I think of Elle and what could’ve been. Part of me thinks the smart thing to do would be to take her back but doing so doesn’t solve the issues around us. And taking her back now makes me look like I need to depend on her and makes her look like she only came back because I was sick. Neither of us need that kind of pressure.
My phone rings and when I glance at the screen, I see my doctor’s name and number. My heart drops to the floor and stays there. I swallow hard and my shaky finger presses answer and then hits the speaker button. “He . . .” I stop and clear my throat. “Hello?”
“Ben? This is Dr. Dowling. The surgeon had a cancelation and I’d like to move your surgery up to this Thursday.”
Do I want to ask why someone would cancel surgery? Did his patient die? Miraculously recover?
“Um . . . okay?” Thursday is two days away. The day after tomorrow, I’m going to be cut open and have parts of me removed.
“Excellent. I’ll have the nurse send over your pre-op instructions.” He hangs up, but I have questions. Mostly, why?
Why me?
I head out to the living room to tell my mom the date of my surgery has been moved and find it somewhat clean. Thankfully, they’re still working, and I decide against interrupting them. I guess my little tirade hit them where it counts. Before I can retreat to my office, Elle walks back in. She stares at me, the cleaning supplies on the floor, and then makes eye contact with my mother. I expect a full-on fight, but Elle gives a small smile and then looks at me.
Her smile widens and my heart skips a beat, but then my brain reminds me that we’re not together and the little flutter I felt is probably anxiousness because of the situation I’m in. Elle motions for me to follow her down the hall. She turns into my office and waits for me before closing the door.
“I didn’t expect you to come back.”
“Yeah, I figured. I almost didn’t, but I’d gone out to my parents to see them.”
I knew it.
“I should’ve asked you first if it was okay to tell them about what’s going on.” Elle wrings her hands together. I should let her know it’s okay, but I sort of like watching her squirm. She’s usually so confident, I feel like right now, she’s second-guessing herself and I can see the remorse in her eyes. “I told them. I’m sorry. I know I should’ve asked?—”
“Elle,” I finally stop her. “I had a feeling you were going to go see your parents.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” I say with some laughter. “I know you better than you know yourself. I also knew you’d tell them, and honestly, I’m glad you did because I don’t know if I could look at your parents and tell them what’s going on. They’ve always treated me like family.”
“Which brings me to the next thing I have to say.”
“Should I be worried?”
Elle eyes me, and I’m officially scared. “Mom says she will be by, which means she’s going to bring the entire grocery store with her.”
I glance toward the door and think about Katelyn walking in and seeing the mess my family has made. “I made a request for someone to come out and clean. Hopefully they get here tomorrow. At least my mom and Brad are cleaning.”
Elle nods. “Another thing. I know you have your oncologist, but I was doing some research?—”
“Why?” I interrupt her.
“Why? Because you deserve the best.”
“The doctor I have is approved by my insurance,” I tell her.
“I don’t care about your insurance if he’s not the best. I have the money?—”
“Elle, you can’t buy a cure or pay to make this go away. I have cancer. I have to let science do its thing.”
She sighs and sits down at my desk. “Quinn said I shouldn’t try and pay for things. I can’t help it. I want you to have the best of the best and sometimes it takes money. What if your surgeon . . .” Elle picks up the pamphlet about sperm harvesting off my desk. “Ben, what’s this?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
“Did you do this?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“Nah,” I say, shaking my head again. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “We’re not together. I don’t see the point.”
Elle stands and comes to me. She places her hands on my cheeks and makes me look at her. “Benjamin, I love you. What we’re going through is a rough patch.” She shows me her ring finger. “I haven’t taken my ring off because I believe we have a future.”
I step back and her hands drop to her sides. “You didn’t take it off because you didn’t want your family to know we broke up. It’s not because you thought we’d get back together.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s what I believe, and you can’t change my mind.”
“Fine,” she huffs and looks away for a beat. “Your next girlfriend, who could become your wife, will want to have your babies, and you’ll want her to have them. Wouldn’t you rather have your sperm saved now, instead of regretting things later?”
I go to the window and look out. There isn’t much of a view from my office—just our small backyard and the neighboring houses. The view is in the front where our living room, kitchen and bedroom are.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ben,” Elle says quietly.
“Until you have to go on a video shoot or leave for a tour or go find your next talent.”
“My dad is taking my new band on tour and Uncle Liam is going to help run my office for a bit. Quinn will fill in as well. I’m not leaving your side,” she tells me.
“I don’t want your pity, Elle. Or your money or the guilt that comes with knowing you’re missing work because I’m sick. I’m facing an uphill battle and the last thing I need on my mind is knowing how stressed you are.” I can’t turn to look at her, out of fear I’ll take what I said back and tell her I want her to hold my hand while I go through everything. I do want her there, but I can’t just push our problems under the rug.
Elle clears her throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Ben. I’ll call this clinic and get you an appointment.”
“It’s too late.”
“What do you mean it’s too late? You told me surgery is next week. Surely, they can get you in before . . .” She pauses. “They’ll get you in. I’ll make sure of it.”
I turn and face her. “This is what I’m talking about. I tell you it’s too late and you think you can make a phone call and fix everything.”
“Be mad at me. I don’t care. In five or ten years, when you’re married and your wife wants a baby, you can thank me then. Until that happens, Ben, I’m going to do what I can to make sure you have the best of everything. If you think that’s pity or I’m doing something I don’t want to do, you’re wrong.” She marches toward me with her finger pointed at my chest. “I love you. You’re my best friend, and until December, you were my fiancée. I. Am. Not. Leaving. You .”
She wipes away the tears streaming down her face.
“Elle—”
“No, Ben. You don’t get to tell me I can’t care. That I can’t be there for you. That will literally kill me. You’re worried about feeling guilty because I’m there, well guess what buddy, you’ll feel guilty if I’m not there. My mom, dad, Quinn, they’re all going to be there and how is that going to make you feel when I’m not?
“I get that we’re not an ‘us’ anymore, but you know what? We were best friends long before we became lovers, and I want to be there for my best friend.”
She covers her face with her hands and sobs. I go to her and pull her into my arms. “Okay, Elle.”
“Okay, what?” she mumbles into my chest.
“You win.”
She looks up at me. “This isn’t a game, Ben. It’s life. I want to help you, and this is the only way I know to help.”
I study her for a moment and finally give up the fight. Deep down, I knew once she found out I had cancer, she’d be in takeover mode. I nod and pull her back into my arms. “Please help me.”
Elle squeezes her arms around my torso and says, “Of course.”