Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Ben
I haven’t been this nervous since med school interviews. The silence in the car is doing nothing to help. Bex is staring out the window, legs crossed, arms folded. Her usual stance when she’s bracing herself to get hurt.
I want to reach over, lace our fingers together, reassure her. But my hands stay on the wheel. I can’t lie to her. This isn’t going to be easy.
My parents are not warm people. Loyal? Yes. Fiercely proud? Absolutely. But warm? Not a word anyone’s ever used.
I told myself this would be fine. That they’d see what I see. The way Bex lights up a room; the way she makes everything feel less heavy. But even as I think it, I know better. They’re going to judge her. And they’ll do it with the same brittle smiles they gave everyone that isn’t Kelsey.
Kelsey. For fuck’s sake. They still talk like we’re on a break.
Like she’s off on a sabbatical and I’m just waiting patiently for her to come home.
That our separation is a glitch in a bigger plan, and finally, we will come back together and live out the rest of the fairytale everyone is so keen we have.
When my mother asked me to bring Bex over, it was all too polite. No complaints. No snide comments. Just, “Why don’t you both pop by before your trip?”
After her meltdown when I opened the conversation about having a new partner, I knew something was brewing. She flipped from devastated to calm in a beat. It wasn’t that she’d finally come to terms with me and Kelsey ending. It was that she wanted Bex and I on her territory.
I should have said no. But when it comes to my parents, I rarely can. They gave me so much, and they like to remind me.
Plus, part of me just wants to get it over with.
Show them that my life has moved on and I’m with someone else, no matter what they hoped would happen.
At least tomorrow, Bex and I can escape together to warm sand and sun-soaked pools.
Just us. After tonight, we’ll need it. Perhaps we may not even come back.
I wonder if I could transfer abroad…the thought is tempting.
“They’re going to be fine,” I say out loud, my voice echoing in the silent car.
Bex doesn’t answer, she just gives me a tight smile. I deserve that. After all this time, we’re still sneaking around like teenagers caught in the wrong bedroom. I feel pathetic. Who am I kidding? I am pathetic.
Managing other people’s expectations is exhausting; keeping toxic family members happy always comes at the sacrifice of yourself. Tonight, I’m showing my parents that my life is my own to live with who I want.
We pull up outside the bungalow. The front path looks worse than I remember. Full of broken tiles, one of them is cracked clean in half like a fault line. I park and cut the engine.
“I’m sorry we’re doing this now,” I say quietly. “Tomorrow we’ll be on a beach somewhere far away, and this will just be background noise.”
She nods, but it’s guarded.
I get out and walk around to her door as she opens it. Offering her my hand, I’m relieved when she takes it. Small victories. Thank goodness she still wants to touch me.
We step onto the pavement, and I tell myself this will go better than I expect. I lie to myself all the way to the front door. Think worst-case scenario, and we may be pleasantly surprised.
***
Bex
Caroline and Gregor Jones live in a small bungalow beside their restaurant. The restaurant is more of an American-style diner. It’s open every day, all hours of the day, serving anything cooked in grease. The house has seen better days. It’s tired, worn at the edges.
I know it hasn’t been doing as well lately. Ben has helped them out a couple of times financially. But Mr. and Mrs. Jones are proud people, business owners who don’t take handouts easily.
We walk up the front path. There are two small steps at the front door, the tiles broken and falling off.
Ben places his hand on the base of my back.
He’s nervous, his breathing quickening as he rings the bell.
The trilling sound echoes through the house, followed by the yapping of a small dog.
Caroline opens the door, holding the offending animal, which continues to growl and bark like it’s a security dog.
“Come on, Larry,” Ben laughs and removes the canine, a rat masquerading as a dog, from his mother’s arms. I follow them into the house, his mother’s eyes sizing me up. She gives no indication that she’s met me before.
She’s a stout woman with dyed black hair styled into a tight perm. Her features are sharp with eyes the same piercing blue as her son’s. With a bright smile, I express my thanks for the invitation to visit. She grunts, non-committal.
The procession continues into the front room. Larry has now calmed down in Ben’s arms, and he places him back on the floor. The little rat runs up to me, and I stiffen. I’m not keen on dogs of any size. They smell fear, though I force myself to be brave.
“Dogs are a good judge of character,” Caroline mutters under her breath.
“Mother,” Ben semi-growls, but she ignores him. Keeping her eyes on the little dog now sniffing around my feet.
“Yes, a very good judge of character.” The little rat yaps as if on cue, and Ben scoops him back up, then offloads him to his mother.
Mr. Jones is sitting in a single armchair in the corner, one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper draped over his lap, puffing away on a pipe.
The wallpaper is yellowed with age and nicotine.
It hasn’t been updated in twenty years since we were kids.
The walls are covered with a mishmash of photos and memorabilia: family wedding photos, holiday snaps, and newspaper cut-outs about the restaurant.
They seem to run in a timeline around the room, showing the key historical events of the Jones family in order.
Then I see them, the more recent photos, dozens of them, of Ben and Kelsey at family days out and special occasions, displayed proudly. My heart constricts, and it dawns on me that they really do want them to get back together.
The display is a shrine to their lost daughter-in-law-to-be. As far as Ben’s parents are concerned, I am the interloper.
“Sit down, the two of you,” his mother orders. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
I accept a plain tea gracefully, glad I have something to hold to steady my shaking hands.
Gregor Jones continues to puff on his pipe, watching us. Ben sits beside me on the sofa, not quite touching me. I will him to put his arm around me. He doesn’t. I’ve never seen him so nervous. It’s like he’s reverted back to a boy and is awaiting a scolding.
The evening is slow and painful. There’s an overwhelming sense of sadness, like someone has died.
We’ve danced around the topics of my job, my hobbies, and my general outlook on life.
Anything but what really matters. But overall, nothing untoward happens until we’re preparing to leave.
Caroline puffs out her chest and fixes her son with a look.
“Ben, have you told Kelsey about this?”
His hands clench into fists. His nervousness disappearing with the direct confrontation.
“This,” he gestures to me, “is my girlfriend, and her name is Bex.”
His mother eyes him thoughtfully, knowing she’s hit a nerve. Her lips twist in a satisfied smile.
“Yes, but Kelsey was your partner for years. I think she deserves to know you are fooling around with one of her so-called friends.”
The comment hits me square in the stomach. Fooling around? So-called friend? That’s what they think of me. I’m just someone Ben is passing time with until he goes back to her. I try to keep the pain off my face so Ben doesn’t see it. But he can. Ben composes himself before he speaks.
“Mother, not that it is any concern of yours, but I will tell Kelsey. However, we separated more than a year ago. My relationship with Bex had no part in it.”
“And you think anyone will believe that?” she hisses, her perfectly curated control slipping. We don’t respond. We just stand, nod polite goodbyes, and walk out. There’s nothing more to say; it’s clear we, as a couple, are not accepted by them.
The car journey back to the city is quiet. Neither of us says a word. I knew his parents wouldn’t throw a party, but open hostility? The veiled insults? The cruelty? That blindsided me.
The city whisks by the window as I replay every second of the visit.
The way his mother looked at me like I was something needing to be scraped off her shoe.
How she pretended to barely know me, referring to me as the teacher when we arrived.
The wall of Kelsey’s photos. And the words, fooling around, echoing over and over in my head.
My hands sit on my knees, fingers twisted together. I want to reach over and touch him, share my warmth with him, but Ben is miles away in a world of his own. Locked behind the cold, quiet mask he wears when it hurts, when he’s not a hundred percent sure what to do next.
His phone buzzes in the holder. Loud. Demanding. The name Kelsey flashes up on the screen. Rejecting the call, he says nothing. Then it rings again.
When he doesn’t answer a second time, a voice message pops onto the screen. He pulls over and places the phone at his ear to listen.
“Fucking bitch!” he yells, slamming his hands into steering wheel.
“What is it?” I stammer, reaching for him. He’s tense beneath my touch, as if poised to fight.
“My bitch of a mother told her before I had the chance.” His voice is trembling with rage. “She told her we’re fucking. That’s her calling to see if it’s true.”
My stomach lurches. Tears burn my eyes, but I force them back. I shouldn’t be surprised. It stings that she still has that kind of access to his family.
His phone continues to buzz and beep all the way home, until we pull up outside the apartment. We sit side by side, neither of us opening the door, only listening to his cell ring out over and over again.
“You go on up, Bex, I won’t be long. I’ll give her a call and explain the situation,” he whispers, his eyes fixed through the windshield at nothing but the dark night outside.
The situation. Like I’m the problem he needs to clarify. Like what we have is scandalous. My heart sinks. He leans over and hugs me tight. I nod, too numb to argue, and climb out of the car.
I walk miserably to our front door alone. My boyfriend walks in the opposite direction to call the woman everyone still thinks he belongs to.