Chapter 19
Now that I am officially single again, I’m back to doing what I know best. Working and going along with whatever shenanigans Widow Jenkins tells me I will be doing with her.
I was miserable for months, but I am doing better now.
Maybe it helped knowing I had survived this before.
I’ve talked to Luke a couple of times, mostly for logistical reasons, but I haven’t seen him.
Jenkins knew what she was doing. She picked up on Luke’s lack of intent to settle down and initiated facing the facts.
It was devastating, and I was annoyed at her for meddling.
In the long run, it was best that I didn’t keep wasting time.
I didn’t want to be upset with Luke. Instead, I got angry at Jenkins for intruding into our personal business.
He never made me any promises about our future.
I just kept hoping that our relationship would be enough to change what he wanted.
It wasn’t enough for him, and it wasn’t enough for me, either.
I’m still not upset with him. And I’m not upset with WJ.
In the end, I was upset with myself for not having that hard conversation sooner and falling back into that cycle.
Has WJ been my only friend since Luke and I broke up?
Basically, I have still been hanging out with Syd because I committed to being a better friend, no matter what.
It’s not the same hanging out with a friend who used to be your couple friend; nevertheless, she has been great.
No one needs to pick sides. We just don’t all hang out together anymore.
She is busy, though, with her kids, her husband, and all that her life entails.
I’ve been spending more time with Cora, too.
She is constantly giving me shit about only wanting to be her sister when I’m single.
I am working on being a better person, but it's hard.
“We aren’t doing anything, lady. I'm the opposite of a party host, and quite frankly, I'm not likely to show up to a party, even if I am the host.”
“You need to get out more. I’m forty years older than you and get more action. I’ll host the party, but I need you to do the heavy lifting,” she barked at me while throwing a pistachio shell at my head.
“What do you mean by action? Wait, don’t answer that. And who do you think I'm going to be mingling with at this party? Everyone in our neighborhood is old,” I replied.
“Age is just a number. Look at the Johnsons. Don’t tell me they don’t know how to party!”
“You’re right, Jenkins. I’ve always wanted to get involved in a group of geriatric swingers while still in my thirties.”
“Ben Greene is about your age,” she says back to me with an eyebrow raised.
“You mean Grass Daddy?!” I bent over laughing.
“First, he is definitely older than me in years and in life accomplishments based on the herd of kids he has running around his yard. Plus, he would have to take a break from mowing. And he’s got a lot on his plate with his kids. He probably wouldn’t even come.”
“You could try being a little nicer to him, you know. His wife died. Cancer. And he is raising those three girls by himself. Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not being a dick! He just isn’t my type.”
WJ pulled out her phone and started pecking at the numbers on the screen.
“Jenkins, what are you doing?”
She shushed me, and I braced myself for the worst.
“Hey, Ben! It’s Emilia, the old lady next door; remember me?” She barks into the phone. “Can you come over here? I need help with something. YES, right now! Jesus.”
She looked over at me. “Ben’s coming over.”
“No shit,” I deadpanned back at her.
“So, we’ll just ask him what he thinks.”
Despite my attempts to leave to avoid this awkward interaction, I was still sitting with WJ on the porch when I saw Grass Daddy come out of his open garage door.
As he got closer, I started to stand up to go use the restroom or something, and WJ snarled at me and said, “Sit your ass down. We have a party to plan.”
I groaned and sat back down, pulling out my phone as a distraction from how awkward I felt.
“Hey, Emilia! What do you need help with?” Ben said as he walked up the porch steps.
He moseyed over to the railing and leaned against it, facing us.
This is definitely the closest I have been to him since the Period Incident.
He is wearing black joggers, slides, a faded beer shirt, and looks to be fresh out of the shower.
Ben is rocking the ultimate Dad Look. He’s usually wearing a baseball cap, but he must not have wanted to wreck his freshly washed hair.
He has a bit of a belly, a closely trimmed beard, and his slightly wet hair is more than a little gray around the edges.
He has the eyebrow crinkle lines that look tragic on me, yet distinguished on men.
I can’t help but notice the slight breeze wafting his freshly showered man scent my way. It’s not a terrible smell.
“So, Cassie and I are throwing a 4th of July party for the neighborhood. Cassie doesn’t think you would want to come,” WJ said to him with a glimmer in her eye.
“Oh. My. God, Jenkins. That is not exactly what I said. Sorry, Ben. I was just telling her you seem pretty busy, and I don’t know who would actually all come to the party. I don’t even like throwing parties, so I'm definitely not hosting it,” I said, all in one breath.
He chuckles, “Maybe you guys have noticed I don’t get out much, with the girls taking up all of my time, but I'm definitely up for some new traditions! We used to spend the Fourth of July with my wife’s family, and I don’t think we will be doing that this year.
So, I would love to come. What did you need my help with? ” he asked.
This statement makes me wonder how long it has been since his wife passed away. I know they have a small child they created together. He said “my wife,” though; maybe it's a force of habit, or it is too sad to say “my late wife.”
“Help? We don’t need help with anything,” WJ replied.
Ben looks confused. I’m not sure how well he knows WJ, but maybe he thinks she is having a senior moment and can’t remember calling him. “Didn’t you call me, saying you needed help with something?”
“Nope, don’t think so,” WJ responded.
I glared at her.
She glared back, and I got a little scared.
“I think she just wanted to get your opinion on the neighborhood party,” I said, trying to clear up any confusion.
“Well, I think it’s an awesome idea. I would love to be of help in any way I can.
I look forward to spending time with both of you.
I’m happy to do all of the grilling if that works for you guys.
I’d better get back home. I’ll stop by when I have some spare time and get a list of things I can bring. ”
“That works for me!” Widow Jenkins responded. “We should do it right in between our houses since I'm hosting, and you have such a nice yard.”
Ben chuckled under his breath. “You know what? That sounds like a great idea.”
He turned to walk away from us, and as he did, he looked at me. And then, he winked. I immediately look away and try to hide inside myself. He jogs down the porch steps and back over to his house as WJ starts singing “Ben and Cassie sitting in a tree…” I swore he heard her and paused.
What. The. Fuck.
So, that begins the insanity of neighborhood block party planning.
WJ has me chauffeuring her to every party store in the tri-state area, looking for the perfect Independence Day aesthetic.
She has a driver’s license and a car, for the record.
Think big, bold, and tacky as hell. I am not here for consultation, however.
I am simply for driving, loading, and unloading.
WJ started in on me with “When we get back home, I need you to run over to Ben’s house with the plates to make sure that they will work for the meal he is thinking about making.”
“Lady, they are round and flat and sparkly. I’m not sure why they wouldn’t work.” I sassed back at her.
“Cassie, I don’t have time to be messing around with you. You said you were helping with this party, so why don’t you quit bitching and start helping?”
“Wow, Emilia. I was volun-told that I would be helping with this party, and I know what you're trying to do by sending me over to Ben’s. It’s not happening.
He isn’t my type; we don’t have anything in common, and he has way too much baggage.
Just because there is one single man born in the same century as me living in this neighborhood doesn’t mean that he is a good match for me. ”
I got back a menacing glare from WJ that did scare me a little bit, and she said, “So, when we get back, you’re going to go over to Ben’s house and make sure the plates work.
After you unload everything from the car.
I’m going to start working on my jello shot recipe, because the ones I have been finding don’t seem to have enough vodka in them. ”
We got back to the neighborhood, and I saw the Johnsons out in the garden.
There doesn’t appear to be any swingers around.
I need to identify a way to think about them that doesn’t include their bedroom activities before the neighborhood party.
Also, I need to somehow forget I’ve seen Mr. Johnson’s Johnson.
The Thompsons are sitting on their side deck drinking non-alcoholic beverages, and Grass Daddy and the kids are out playing in a sprinkler.
WJ thrusts the package of plates at me, and I know I have lost this argument like every argument we have ever had. Looks like I am headed next door.
As I started to approach their driveway, I watched Ben playing with his girls.
They are all wearing swimsuits while giggling and running through the sprinkler.
The main objective appears to be “get daddy wet” since he’s not wearing a swimsuit.
The middle girl saw me approach and, like a feral demon child, she began screaming, “GET HER!” She dove for the sprinkler and pointed it in my direction.
I got blasted with water on the top half of my body.
I was wearing a thin old t-shirt and jogging shorts, which are now plastered to my body.
Grass Daddy dove on top of her, yelling, “Stop it right now, Linden!”
He got the sprinkler turned off, looked at her and said, “Front steps. Now.”
She sulks away and then looks back at me with a meme-worthy evil grin.
“Cassie, I'm so sorry! She is insane. I don’t even know how to apologize. Can I get you a towel?”
I continued to stand there, mouth wide open, slowly blinking.
“I’ll go get you a towel. Oh my God, I'm so sorry on her behalf.”
He jogged toward the front steps, and I saw him pause by Linden and growl, “You’re on my list, girl.”
When the door closed as he went inside, I seemed to snap out of my sprinkler-induced state of shock.
I looked down at my hand and thought, thank goodness the plates are wrapped in plastic, and then I thought, for fucksake, they are paper plates.
I looked up, and Ben was rushing out of the house with a bright pink-and-purple-polka-dot beach towel.
He handed it to me and grabbed the bag out of my hand.
“Once again, so sorry for her. She doesn’t try to be evil; she was just born that way,” he said with a silly grin on his face.
“Uh, it’s no big deal," are the words I finally manage to get out. “Emilia sent me over here to make sure the plates she bought will work for the food you're planning to make. She is in a tizzy with all of the party planning, and I'm her reluctant assistant.”
Ben looked in the bag at the plates. “Yep, they look like they will work.” He turned around to his kids and hollered at them to come over. “Let me formally introduce you to my girls.”
He put his arm around the oldest girl and said, “This is Brooklyn. She is fourteen and thinks everything I do is embarrassing. Brooklyn, this is Cassie, and she lives just diagonally from us.” Brooklyn looked at me with a little smile and shrugged her dad off.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, and continued, “I see you with the older lady next door a lot.”
I smiled back at her and said, “Oh yes, she is my best friend whether I want her to be or not.”
Ben continued, “You have met my ten-year-old, Linden, already.” He scooped up the youngest girl and said, “And this is Taylen. Taylen, can you tell Cassie how old you are?”
Taylen made an effort to hold up four fingers.
“Good job, baby,” he said and set her back down on the ground. “Brook, will you take your sisters inside and get them in dry clothes?”
“Sure, Dad,” Brooklyn responded, picking up Taylen to carry her inside.
“It looks like you have your hands full,” I said.
I had the towel wrapped around my body to avoid any unintentional nipple sightings.
I reached for the bag of paper plates. “I’ll get these back over to Emilia’s since they seem to be plates, which is what is needed to put food on that you plan to eat.
I'll wash this towel and get it back to you.”
“No hurry; it looks good on you.” The corner of Ben’s mouth tipped up into a half smile. He walked a bit closer and said, “Again, I'm really sorry you got wet, and welcome to my shitshow. You can stop by any time.”
“Well, with the reception I received when I stopped by today, I can’t see why I wouldn’t be back tomorrow.
And no big deal about them getting me wet.
I was a bit shocked by the cold water, but I need to shower anyway, so we’ll just call it a presoak.
I’m going to go get cleaned up. If you need any help getting things ready, let me know. ”
“I think that might be fun. It was good to see you,” he said and pulled me in for a long, wet hug.
I gasped quietly and apparently forgot how humans are supposed to react during physical contact with another human.
Normally, I only touch people who are willing to have sex with me.
With my unencumbered arm, I reached around and patted him on the back.
I quickly pulled back and started to turn around to walk home.
“I meant what I said, Cassie. Feel free to come over any time. I would like the company of someone who doesn’t consider me an ATM.”
I gave a little backward wave and scurried back to my house. I’m going to need to shower and think about why that long, wet hug took my breath away.