35 BEN
BEN
“Damn your rules to hell,” I grouse as she walks out of my guest bedroom looking like yet another fantasy.
She’s in a red sweater dress that’s soft and fitted like a second skin over her body.
But it’s a short bloody thing and she’s wearing a pair of sexy black boots, the kind that go above the knee.
“Ben!”
“Can I add some rules? Can you wear ugly, beige, full body thermal pajamas on every day that’s not Saturday?”
“You want me to wear long johns to meet your mother?”
“She’ll understand,” I huff, earning another laugh.
“Seriously, does this look okay?” She asks, fidgeting. She doesn’t normally fidget and of course, because I am a man totally doomed, I find it adorable. “How formal is dinner with the Clarks?”
“You’re perfect,” I answer quickly, meaning it in every sense of the word.
She rolls her eyes, obviously, but I’m smiling wide. I’m high as a kite, actually. Intoxicated after the best week of my life.
I’ve never felt a void in my life before.
But, as Janelle astutely pointed out with my Uber Eats app usage, I have gotten used to being alone.
Even when I was filling my days with adventures, I was always meeting a new instructor or tour guide.
We’d be best mates for a few days and then I’d never see them again.
When I filled my time with appearances, dinners, parties, and women, even threesomes and the like…
eventually, I would come back to an empty hotel suite.
I flew from place to place sitting numb at a window seat, Nigel lurking elsewhere on the plane.
I tend to dodge both my brothers now, since they’re happily married.
I avoid all my friends who moved on to planning proposals and paying for weddings and then changing nappies and complaining about being tired.
Everyone moved on with someone, I now realize. I just…kept moving.
How is it that I was never alone, but still lonely?
And now…
“Ready?” She asks me. I nod and follow her into the penthouse elevator.
I link my fingers in hers and she accepts. I inhale her signature scent around me. Even riding in elevators is different these days.
How the hell am I going to go back?
She’s done with me in a few weeks. I know she feels something between us. I know she’s grown fond of me. But she doesn’t seem to be the least bit scared about what happens on January the first.
I am.
I’m completely petrified.
“Are you okay?” She asks as we fold ourselves into the back of a big town car my father hired for us.
“Of course,” I answer.
“I’m not,” she says.
My face snaps up, “What?”
“What what? We’re meeting your parents! Your twin and his wife and daughter!
His twin spidey senses are going to be all tingly.
Plus, I know Emerson will just sit there silently observing, but Samantha is about to ask us at least fifty deeply personal questions.
Remember my mouth and the words and the lying? I’m going to screw this up!”
“Janelle,” I kiss her knuckles, “breathe.” She obeys, surprisingly. “I think you’ll find my family to be,” I think through how to describe it. “generally uninterested in me. Byron is so far up my father’s ass that he’ll talk shop all night long. Emerson is the genius. I’m…”
“What?” She presses.
“I don’t know, you’ll see,” I say, unsure how to explain it. “We won’t be the main event.”
“We just shocked the world with a knee-jerk Vegas wedding, if we’re not the main event, who is?”
I snort, “My father. Always.”
She grimaces, so I kiss her hand again. It’s a quick drive over to my parents’ penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side. We don’t chat for the duration, and it’s fine. Peaceful. Aside from the inch of skin on her thigh that keeps distracting me.
That’s how it was all week. Days working, then evenings with her spent walking, laughing, teasing.
Companionable silence from time to time.
Sexual frustration all the time. I thought I was onto something with the strutting naked bit.
Until it backfired in my face, seeing her gorgeous curves stepping out of the shower, droplets clinging to her everywhere.
I was jealous of water.
That’s the bloody state I’m in lately.
I force myself to look away from her legs, lest I give my family a full salute here in a few moments.
“Ugh. Showtime,” she says, looking a bit green with nerves as she stares up at the imposing architecture we’re about to enter.
“Hey,” I tug at her hand before she can get out onto the sidewalk. “Let me handle the detailed answers. You stick to the truth.” She makes a weird gulping sound. “How romantic it’s been, all the grand gestures you love, how handsome I am, how great the orgasms are—”
“Ben!”
“That kind of thing. Just try not to call me gross in front of my father, yeah?”
She smirks and lifts a shoulder, “I’ll try my best.”
“Right. So we’re fucked.” I say, making her laugh as we get out of the car. We ignore the paparazzi, nod at the doorman, and make quick work of riding up to the top three floors of the high rise my mum and dad call home. I squeeze her hand as the elevator pings our arrival and she squeezes back.
“EEEEEEEEeeeeee!” My sister-in-law screams as the doors open, arms outstretched.
“Ah, Samantha’s here already,” I murmur.
“Hey Sam,” my wife chuckles, hugging Samantha back with genuine enthusiasm.
I watch for any signs of distress, since she’s been so weird about seeing any of the Canton family, but I find none.
The two women gush over each other so long Emerson, stoically holding the elevator doors open, clears his throat.
“Right, sorry! Come in!”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I joke as she finally hugs me. It’s a quick hug before she leads Janie away.
“How’s it, old man?” I say, gripping my older brother’s outstretched hand and leaning in for a hug.
“Great,” he says, meaning it. He watches his wife walk away with mine. I watch them too. I look back at him to tease him about being whipped but he’s staring at me. “Huh.”
“Huh? What huh?”
He shakes his head, feigning innocence, “Nothing.”
“Samantha, I need you to translate your annoying husband’s grunts for me, please!” I call, walking down the hallway toward the first living room.
“Yes, great to see you again, Evelyn.” I hear Janelle saying as she takes my mum’s hand. They met briefly at Emerson and Samantha’s wedding, I guess. I know Father didn’t meet her there, though. I don’t see him yet.
“Ugh finally . You know I get a bit off if we haven’t seen each other in months, you ugly bastard.” Byron says as he approaches from a wet bar off to the side.
“Still younger and better looking than you,” I joke back.
We hug and study each other. Janelle wasn’t wrong earlier. I’m sure he senses some things about me. Just like I can tell he’s not well. He looks like shit, for one thing. He’s gained weight and has circles under his eyes darker than the car I just arrived in.
But it’s not those things, visible to anyone.
It’s just…a sense I have.
I’m guessing it’s to do with Layla. I scan the room. She’s not here.
“Is she alright?”
He smiles a small smile, “Pregnant.”
“What!!” I yell before hugging him hard. Janelle’s attention snaps to me so I tell her, “Wanker’s been keeping secrets. Finally remembered how to knock up his wife. Congratulations!”
“Ben.” Emerson scolds me.
“They have a hard time conceiving, I think they’ve been trying for years, since Abby turned one.” Samantha explains quietly.
“You’re an ass.” He says to me before turning to Janelle with a much more polite smile, “Layla is just barely pregnant and since we’ve had a rough go of it she’s taking it easy. She’ll have to meet you tomorrow at the gala.”
“Of course, I understand. Congratulations,” she replies, then eyes me with an expression that clearly says I shouldn’t tease him about infertility. I should though, or else everyone gets all quiet and weird about everything.
“And you, Boy Genius? Fixed your wobbly knob yet?”
“Ben!” Janelle says.
“Oh, his knob works,” Samantha wags her eyebrows.
“Gross!” I grimace.
“You started it!” Samantha calls back.
“Children.” Mum says.
Janelle turns to Samantha, “Speaking of, where are your munchkins?”
“Since Abby and Layla stayed in with Layla’s mom, and it was so close to bedtime, we left the boys there too,” my sister-in-law replies.
“Aw, I was pumped to finally meet them in person. They need to see my face outside of a phone screen,” she says to Samantha.
I suddenly remember again how embedded she already is into the family.
Emerson and Samantha adopted twin four-year-old boys months ago, but of course, Janelle has already spoken to them.
At the same moment, I can feel my twin studying me across the room and, worse still, I can see Mum studying Janelle.
My pulse starts to speed up and my hands grow clammy.
Maybe wifey was right to be nervous. We’re not convincing voyeurs on the internet. This is family. They know me, and many of them already know Janelle.
“There they are,” my father’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
Showtime.
“Dad, this is Janelle Rae Rowland,” I say as he approaches us. Samantha squeaks behind us, probably because I used her full name.
“Soon to be Clark,” Janelle flashes a look at me that screams get it together. Indeed. “Haven’t had a chance to change it yet. And you can call me Janie.”
“Janie. Nice to meet the woman who finally hammered some nails into this boy’s feet.”
Byron laughs awkwardly.
Emerson grimaces and mutters, “Wow, lovely imagery, Dad.”
Mum tenses.
“You mean she keeps him grounded! Finally settling down, you know,” Samantha says quickly, trying to make things a little less awkward.
“This wanker? Grounded?” Byron piles on.
“Finally getting smart about his life,” Dad carries on.
I wave off the tension, smiling at Mum, “Ah, you all know I’m too bloody handsome to be smart. Would be criminal.” My father and brother mutter in annoyance, but the women all exhale in relief. “Shall we eat or is tonight just drinks and talking about my limitless charm.”
“Aaaand there it is,” Samantha laughs.
I look at my wife, expecting that kind of comment-eye-roll-combo to come from her. But she’s frozen, her eyes narrowed at me. I reach out for her hand, “Come, my darling, let’s get enough alcohol to make it through having to look at his awful mug all dinner, yeah?”
“I’m your twin, asshole,” he huffs as we walk through the living area to a grand dining room lined with windows that show a stellar view of Central Park.
“The ugly twin. You’ve gone all pudgy.” I smile but I’m purposely pushing his buttons, since he always sides with our father about everything.
“Just wait, you’re married now. Your dad bod cometh, brother.”
“Wait, are you guys going to have kids? How many?!” Samantha chimes in from behind us. I think I hear my older brother chastise her quietly. “Sorry! Inside thoughts! Personal question!”
I glance down at Janelle’s face, ready to intervene.
But she squeezes my hand and says, “It’s okay, Sam. We’re in no rush, just having a lot of fun right now.”
Sticking to the truth.
Does that mean she’s honestly having fun?
Even being gone all week? Maybe I should have cut our trip short? Maybe I should cut back on traveling.
I shake my head and change the subject, “Smells grand, Mum.”
“I had Anya go with the lamb since all you boys love it.”
We all bang on about the view and the food and more easy, surface level nonsense.
We sit for dinner and Dad ignores Byron, makes comments about Emerson being a general disappointment, and throws dig after dig at me about my immaturity, incompetence and so on.
Janelle bristles, watching it all. Samantha makes side comments to her or tries to change the subject.
Mum’s face twists up further and further with anxiety, then I make a few jokes at my own expense.
Give my mother a wink and Dad a glare and feel everyone settle down again.
There. Back to normal. Why on earth would I cut back on traveling?
The stunning woman letting me grip her thigh under the table, she prefers me gone. She prefers her solitude, her routine. I’m good for a laugh from time to time but more than that and I just muck all her routines up.
She’s a homebody and she's not going to change. I'm a wanderer, an adventurer. I’m not changing. Even if, I realize suddenly with a stab of grief straight in my chest, I’d love the excuse to do so.