Chapter 40
“Thanks for stopping by. I could really use a completely objective third party.”
Sahara has her feet curled under her as she works on the jigsaw puzzle that I finally picked up off the rug earlier today.
It’s been a week since my father lost his mind and tried to…
I don’t know? Form a relationship with me?
And since I found out about Ben… Time and distance really are a helpful tool.
But as I’ve continued to parse through my feelings when it comes to him, I end up just as mixed up as I was when he left my apartment with the promise to see me again soon.
I will hand it to him though. He listened to my desire for space. Ben hasn’t stopped by, he hasn’t texted, he hasn’t presented any more over-the-top jewels to me. I really hope he hasn’t bought a house. But I wouldn’t know even if he did, because he’s respected me. Respected my space.
I hate it.
Sahara finishes placing the edge pieces, giving me a nod.
“Of course. Let me just clarify what’s going on really quick.
You and Ben are kind of engaged—we went over that last time, though it’s still confusing as hell—and now you just found out that he is funding your entire tuition.
And you are upset because he hid that from you. Is that the jist?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, flopping back onto my couch.
“Alright,” she continues. “As the completely objective third party, it was pretty shitty of him to hide that from you. But also, like, extremely romantic? Not the hiding part. But the sexy billionaire that falls in love and wants to take care of his partner part? Sounds like a rom-com movie I would totally watch.”
“Ben’s not a billionaire. I think.”
She waves me off. “Whatever, you get the picture. I know I only met him briefly, and believe me, I’m not one to defend a man, but he seemed like a good one.”
“I think he’s hiding other things from me too,” I admit.
Sahara hums, starting to group the puzzle pieces by color now.
“It seems like it’s hard for you to trust anyone, period.
And with your dad showing up unexpectedly?
That’s a one-two punch. So it makes complete sense you would have trouble trusting Ben after this.
” She pauses, stopping to look me in the eye.
“It really is up to you on whether you’d like to let him earn that trust back or if you’d feel more comfortable walking away. ”
“The question of the hour, isn’t it?” My smile is wry and my heart is heavy. “I miss him.”
“He’s important to you.”
A traitorous tear trickles down my cheek. “Yeah,” I whisper. “He is.”
Sahara pats my leg before refocusing on the puzzle. “There’s your answer then.”
She stays for dinner and we chat about our love of true crime and our hope to one day do something meaningful in the world with our degrees.
We finish the puzzle only to realize there’s one missing piece.
After searching the entire rug, under the couch, upturning the cushions, we never find it.
Long after she leaves, I sit there staring at the beautiful mountain scene with one small piece missing right at the peak.
It drives me crazy.
When I fall asleep later that night, I dream of hiking up that same mountain, only to fall into oblivion as soon as I reach the top.
It takes another three days for me to work up the courage—or maybe it’s to rage against how respectful Ben is being—to track Ben down for a conversation.
Starting at the coffee shop, I walk by the front windows several times to see if I can spot him working behind the counter. On my third pass, Thea comes out with her little-old-man baby strapped to her chest to shoo me away.
“He’s not here, stop being weird!”
“I fear I’ll never be able to stop being weird,” I reply. “Do you know where he is?”
She shrugs. “He’s off today, I’m pretty sure. He’s been particularly mopey this past week and a half. Are you about to put him out of his misery?” She waggles her eyebrows.
“Don’t do that”—I wave toward said eyebrows—“again. It’s very creepy.”
Thea’s shoulders hunch. “I’m sleep deprived. Be proud that I’m not having this conversation in a baby voice.”
“I am very grateful for that…” I clap my hands together. “Okay, I’m going to try his apartment next.”
“Good luck.” She smiles her warm, maternal smile as she lets herself back into the coffee shop. I watch as Jules rounds the counter, pulling a chair out for Thea and Emmett. He gives both of them a kiss before returning to work.
I want that.
Well, minus the baby. But stick Ernest in his place and, yeah. I want that.
Ben lives just down the street, so I leave my car at the coffee shop and walk over to his apartment. I knock and Gabe opens the door to greet me.
“Oh, hey, Cole!” He leans casually against the door, a smirk on his lips.
“Will you stop fucking doing that?” Ben calls from the couch, not even looking over his shoulder. “It’s fucking mean to keep getting my hopes up.”
Gabe gives a look that says, Ball is in your court.
“Tsk, tsk, Benjamin. It’s not nice to talk to your brother that way,” I tease.
Ben’s head immediately whips toward me and he’s up and over the back of the couch in seconds, shoving his brother out of the way. He’s got his glasses on and his hair looks like he hasn’t brushed it in several days. He’s so achingly handsome, it hurts.
“Sorry, sorry.” He’s breathless. “He’s done that five different times this week and it’s always one of our siblings or a very confused delivery driver.”
I stick my hands out in what I know are really lame jazz hands. “Surprise.” When he doesn’t move, I ask, “Can I come in?”
“God, of course. Sorry.” Ben pushes the door open, guiding me past the living room and into his bedroom. “Can we talk in here? Is that okay?”
“Yeah, this is fine.”
“Can I get you a diet cherry cola? Some chicken noodle soup?”
My eyebrow quirks. “You have chicken noodle soup? With the egg noodles?”
“No, but I can make some. I’ll make some for you,” he rushes out, standing with nervous energy dripping out of every pore.
I huff a laugh. “No, don’t go make me soup.”
“I would,” he whispers. “I would do whatever you want.”
“I know.” And I do.
“Listen, I’m so sorry about hiding my involvement in the grant,” he starts. “It was wrong to keep that from you, no matter how good my intentions were.”
I nod, biting my lip. He takes a seat on his bed and I sit across from him, swinging side to side in his desk chair so I have something to do. I have to sit on my hands so I don’t reach for him—something that was unfathomable a year ago and has now become second nature.
“There’s no way for me to trust that something like this won’t happen again,” I start.
Ben slides off his bed and onto his knees before me. “I will tell you everything from now on, I promise. I’ll—”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “Let me finish.”
He nods, sitting back on his heels with a furrow between his brow.
“Like I was saying, there’s no way for me to trust you other than allowing you the time to rebuild that trust. Allowing us the time to continue to build the relationship we’ve started. I want to do that, you are worth doing that with.”
There’s a look of relief that flashes across Ben’s face that quickly turns to panic when I say, “But I need you to explain the tattoo.” I have a weird feeling that his tattoo is meaningful in some way, and I think it’s the other thing he’s been hiding, but I can’t be sure.
He gulps, running a hand through his hair and breaking eye contact with me for the first time tonight.
“What are you afraid of?” I ask, quietly.
“That I’m going to scare you off,” he confesses, his tone just as gentle as mine.
“Ben, you proposed to me when we weren’t even dating. I think if I was going to be scared off, you would have done it by now.” The corner of my mouth lifts. A peace offering. An encouragement.
After a moment, Ben begins. “To explain properly, we need to go all the way back to that party after graduation. Even further back, if I’m being honest.”
“Okay…” That’s a long-ass time ago.
“You know how we always hated each other in high school? But how I actually didn’t hate you.”
“We’ve talked about it, yes,” I confirm.
“And when we made that pact, I had already been in love with you for quite some time.” He says it so matter of factly, like it was something as easy as breathing for him.
“I knew you and knew that you wouldn’t be able to turn down a challenge.
I also was fairly confident that you had never played a game of beer pong in your life. ”
On that, he’s not wrong. “I didn’t exactly have time to learn,” I reply in mock defense.
“Fair.” He smirks and my heart skips a beat. Looking at him feels like when I drink cola too quickly—fizzy and effervescent, but it burns a little bit too.
He’s quiet for a long time. It’s unusual for this man who always knows what to say. I get the sense he’s gone somewhere uncomfortable in his mind, somewhere difficult to relive. He takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose before he continues.
“It didn’t start right away. After the party, I mean.
I had to go back and add some of the ones I missed.
” I’m not following, but I hold space for him to parse through his thoughts.
“College was hard. I was still here but you were gone. It felt like high school but wrong somehow. Broken. I didn’t have a name for it at the time, but I fell into a depression.
I spent a lot of time alone, numb, feeling like I was aimless or purposeless.
“Jules and my parents jumped in pretty quickly, and I was able to start therapy with the campus health center. One day my therapist asked if I could think of something I was looking forward to.” He rubs his jaw, the light stubble there. “Do you know what instantly came to mind?”
My breath hitches because I think I do.
“You,” he says, answering his own question. “You and our pact and, I know it sounds insane, foolish even, but the thought of you at thirty, standing in a white dress, ready to marry me. I was really, really looking forward to that.”
I’m crying now. I was hopeful all of my tears had dried up, but I was wrong because big ugly teardrops are falling, and I couldn’t stop them if I tried.
Ben’s laugh is derisive as he continues.
“My therapist asked if there was anything in the more immediate future so I made some shit up, but when I went home that night, I started my journals. I had to count backwards to figure out how many marks I needed and then calculate twelve years into the future to see what number I was working toward.”
He stands, walking toward his bookshelf and pulling one of the moleskins down.
He flips open to a page and then hands the journal to me.
At the top there’s a month and a year and at the bottom two numbers written out, labeled “days passed” and “days remaining.” But what catches my attention are the rows and rows of tally marks.
“There were four thousand four hundred days between the night we made that pact and the day you turned thirty,” he explains.
His voice lowers as he reaches out to brush a tear off of my cheek.
“Every single one of those days has been documented in a journal. I’ve been foolishly yours for as long as I can remember, Colette. ”
“Why?” I ask, my breath unsteady. “Why did you wait?”
We could have had so much more time together.
His smile is sad. “Do you really think you would have welcomed me with open arms if I had tried to pursue you before now?” He doesn’t give me time to answer before he says, “Five tally marks because I wanted a reminder of you and getting over four thousand seemed a bit excessive. But now it’s five tally marks for five dates with you.
Five dates to try to convince you to be mine.
” He pauses, taking a deep inhale. “That was my last secret. The last piece of me that I was hiding from you. Now you have all of me, for as long as you want me.”
I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to express what Ben means to me. He knows that, of course he does. He kisses my forehead and it’s tender, full of so much care.
“I want you to go home and think about everything I’ve shared with you.
Think about how you want to respond—if you want to respond.
And let me know when you’re ready. When you’re sure.
” He gives me the smallest tilt of his mouth, a gift.
“I’ve waited over a decade for you, I can wait a few more days. ”
I nod, mostly because I’m paralyzed with overwhelm, not because I want to leave his side. But I need to collect myself, make sure I can give this man everything he’s so willing to give me.
Ben walks me to his apartment door, our hands threaded together. Everywhere we’re touching feels like it’s on fire, like my body is trying to fuse itself to him. He opens the door and then spots something on the entryway table.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he mutters. “I found this attached to my shoelace when I left your apartment the other day.”
He places something delicately in my open palm.
My missing puzzle piece.