Chapter 16
Maven
My phone chimed, announcing the dreaded hour had come.
Well, another dreaded hour in a laundry list of them over the past month.
I laid my violin on the bed and dismissed the alarm, only for Taylor Swift’s voice to ring out the reminder I constantly required these days: “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.” My new ringtone for Ben.
“Did you not get the link I sent?” I asked, holding the phone to my ear while I opened my laptop screen.
“Hello to you too.”
“Sorry, I thought you were calling about the counseling session. You are planning to get on right now, aren’t you?”
“Is that today?”
“Ben! I reminded you of it on our breakfast call this morning. We’re supposed to be on in a few minutes.”
He chuckled. “It’s hard to know which appointments on my calendar are real and which ones aren’t.
Because apparently I was supposed to take my goldfish to the vet at 5:20 this morning.
And I had a meeting with a mortician at noon yesterday.
That one isn’t part of a different, much darker, plan of yours, is it? ”
“It depends how well behaved you are today.”
“What’s the procedure for this appointment, anyway?”
I pulled the link up on my laptop. “To get through it.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.” There was a brief pause in the conversation. “So, I guess I’ll see you in there?”
“Yep. I was just admitted into the waiting room.”
An older gentleman with graying hair, a round face, and dark-rimmed glasses was suddenly staring back at me from my screen. In a moment of panic at realizing he had admitted me into the actual video call, I hung up on Ben. Almost immediately, a text message dinged, but I ignored it.
“Hello, Ms. Price.”
I gave an awkward wave. “You can just call me Maven.”
He looked at his paperwork, scribbled something, then nodded. “Maven. I’m Elliot Hughes.”
I’d selected Mr. Hughes because, of all the decently reviewed digital therapists, he not only worked with the courts regularly but was licensed in Vermont. Which would hopefully prevent any unexpected hiccups with the paperwork. “Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“It’s one perk of an online practice.”
While we waited for Ben, I glanced down at my phone to read my missed text.
Ben: You need to work on your phone etiquette.
“Mr. Walker.” Mr. Hughes said, forcing my gaze to the screen again where a box had just appeared with a grinning Ben in it. “Or would you also prefer I call you by your first name?”
“Bennett’s fine.”
“Wonderful. I’m Elliot Hughes. Call me Elliot or Mr. Hughes, whichever you’re most comfortable with.” His gaze lowered. “I see on your intake papers this is a session fulfilling a court order for a reconciliation effort?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “One of two. But, so you’re aware, we aren’t actually considering reconciliation. It’s just a formality before we can get our divorce.”
Mr. Hughes made another note, pushing up his dark-rimmed glasses as he wrote.
His gaze lifted again. “To allow us all to speak openly and vulnerably here, I feel it’s important to mention that my job is not to push a reconciliation.
My job is to help you assess your past relationship and see if there are ways to improve—ways to prevent destructive patterns in current or future relationships.
So, if it’s all right, today I’d like to focus on deconstructing your relationship just enough that we can pinpoint those issues.
Then, during the next session, we’ll discuss what we observed and strategies to prevent those patterns from being repeated. How does that sound?”
I glanced at the clock in the corner of my screen. Forty-seven minutes of deconstructing my relationship with Ben sounded like pure misery. But the only way forward was through. “What are we waiting for?”
Mr. Hughes seemed to appreciate my lackluster enthusiasm. “Why don’t we begin by each of you telling me a thirty-second version of how you met? Bennett, would you like to begin?”
“Sure.” He lifted his hands. “When I was ten, my dad was taking a few of us boys fishing and he invited Maven along.”
“So you two have known each other a while?”
Ben nodded. “Over two-thirds of our lives.”
My heart pinged at the reminder.
Mr. Hughes scratched something on his pad. “Do you have anything to add to the story, Maven?”
“Nope.” I liked Ben’s strategy of offering the bare minimum. This session was a box to check, nothing more. “That about sums it up.”
“Maven, can you tell me when you first realized you had feelings for Bennett?”
I let the question roll right off me like it didn’t matter. “Actually, that same day. Crush at first sight.”
“Bennett?”
“That’s a complicated question.” Ben leaned back in his chair, his hands intertwining and his thumbs tapping together.
“I suppose I realized I was attracted to her during a school assembly. She played her violin in a talent show her freshman year, and… it just hit me like a freight train. She was so beautiful.” Ben lowered his gaze, thankfully at the same moment heat filled my cheeks.
“From there, I started to take notice of her constantly. Where she was, what she was doing, who she was with. I couldn’t get her out of my head. She’s been stuck there ever since.”
I stared at Ben. I’d been stuck there ever since? What was that? A little show for Mr. Hughes? Something to spice this whole thing up so the poor man would feel like what he was doing here wasn’t totally pointless? I pulled out my phone.
Maven: Stop whatever that was!
Ben: You want me to lie to our therapist?
Maven:
Ben:
“Who would like to go first?” Mr. Hughes’s voice pulled my attention back to the screen, where Ben appeared as confused as I did.
“Sorry,” he said. “Can you repeat that?”
“I’d like each of you to tell me something about the other person you never quite understood: their worldview, opinions, or preferences.”
“She has horrendous phone etiquette.” Ben somehow kept a straight face.
“Ben has problems keeping appointments.” I was less successful in fighting my smile. “He missed two very important ones recently.”
Ben gestured to what I supposed was my position on his screen. “She loves New York City.”
“He dislikes the entire state of New York because he hates New York City so much.”
Mr. Hughes’s brows lifted, like he didn’t quite know what to make of us. “Should we discuss New York City?”
“No!” we both said in unison.
He made a note of that.
The rest of the session continued on in a similar fashion, with Ben and me alternating answering questions.
But where I continued to keep mine as non-descriptive as possible, Ben slipped in an occasional response clearly meant to rattle me.
Like when Mr. Hughes asked about the activity we’d most enjoyed taking part in together, he’d first said…
Well, it didn’t matter what he’d first answered.
That’s the last place I needed my mind to go again.
But then, second, he’d said watching me play my violin. He got another text for both answers.
Ben: Why are you so desperate for me to lie to our therapist? Is that something I need to bring up with him?
Maven:
After another set of uncomfortable questions regarding where things began to seem hard in our relationship, Mr. Hughes glanced at his watch, and my gaze shifted to the clock on the corner of my laptop screen. Thank heavens! We were done!
“Since we are about out of time,” Mr. Hughes said, “I want to leave you both with a homework assignment. We won’t necessarily discuss our answers next week, but I think it’s important preparation for coming to our next session with an open mind.
So I want you to spend this week flipping your current narrative—of what went wrong between you—on its head by asking yourself: What would the other person say as to why the marriage didn’t work out? ”
Homework assignment: complete. I’d spent way too long thinking about what had gone wrong.
My narrative: Ben loved Autumn Ridge and the life he hoped to create there more than anything.
Even more than he’d loved me. His narrative: I loved my music more than him.
Which wasn’t true. He just hadn’t given me the chance to prove it.
The moment we were off the video call, my phone dinged with a new text message.
Ben: Based on the call, should I reschedule that appointment with the mortician?
Maven: After some of those answers? Absolutely.
Ben: I thought that might be the case.
Despite myself, I smiled.
Ben: Which brings me to my next question: when exactly are you planning to return to Autumn Ridge?
Ben: Only asking for safety reasons.
Ben: Though we should also plan our next shared weekly experience.
Dropping onto the bed, I typed out a quick response.
Maven: I was thinking you should come to New York. Since I went to you last time.
Ben: Can’t.
Ben: Between work and the fall festival, I’m slammed. Plus the barn raising is this weekend.
Ben: You should come.
Ben: There will be opportunities to drop things on my head. Like in that movie you like. The one with the brothers.
I knew he remembered the barn scene! Either that or he’d looked it up since I’d mentioned it.
Me: If you think you’re getting out of watching Seven Brides for Seven Brothers by just casually dropping that, you’re not.
Ben: I wouldn’t dream of it.
Ben: In fact, if you come back Friday, we could watch it after the homecoming game in preparation.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard on the screen, a stupid grin on my face.
But there was an unsettling feeling inside me that made me pause.
It had started off like a faint whisper but was growing impossible to ignore.
I was on dangerous ground. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to have a full-on Ben relapse and get hurt all over again.
There was no point in spending more time with Ben than was court mandated.
Sure, my pride might take a slight hit at not being able to convince Ben to transfer the case to New York, but I was now confident he had no intention of changing his mind.
And, honestly, like Ben had said, it would be foolish to not see it through at this point.
In just over three weeks, Judge Rost would issue our divorce decree.
So it was time to make a new plan. One that didn’t start with me running back to Autumn Ridge to see Ben orchestrate the community barn raising.
In fact, it was a good thing I wouldn’t be there for any part of the fall festival.
I didn’t need horse-drawn hayrides and pumpkin patches and getting lost in his family’s straw maze together.
My reasoning skills were clouded enough as it was.
Maven: Sorry. I have something on Saturday.
Technically, the only thing I had on Saturday was a courtesy invite from Cassandra to an art exhibit if I was still in town. I hadn’t even committed to it yet, but I should before a moment of weakness sent me back to Autumn Ridge. And to Ben.
Maven: Maybe we could meet up halfway on Monday? Grab dinner in Saratoga Springs and find a quick activity to do?
Maven: I haven’t aced someone in bowling for a while.
The dots beneath Ben’s name appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared.
Ben: Unfortunately, my calendar for Monday evening says: fake networking meeting with Lush Lips.
Ben: Not sure who that is, but it sounds important.
I smiled to myself. He would be finding my creative calendar entries for years. Literally.
Maven: You could probably cancel that one.
Ben: Done. I’ll see you Monday night in Saratoga Springs. Let me know if I need to pick you up at the train station.
Maven: Sounds good
Ben: Good luck practicing for your audition
Maven: Thanks
Ben: I’ll see you on our breakfast call tomorrow
Maven:
Before I was tempted to change my mind, I set down my phone and stood. I needed to practice for my audition. And I needed to stop thinking about Ben. And the barn raising. And the dance after. And who Ben would dance with if I wasn’t there. Or if we’d dance together if I was. None of it mattered.
Or it shouldn’t.
I drew in a slow, clarifying breath.
I was doing the right thing. Even if it felt awful.
My phone rang again, but this time it played “Can’t Feel My Face” by The Weeknd—Carson’s personal ringtone since he’d become a dentist. I placed my violin on the bed and picked up the phone. “Hey!”
“Hi, Aunt Maven!”
I smiled. “Hey there, Penny. What are you doing?”
“Can I video call you?”
“Of course.”
I waited for the incoming video call and quickly accepted it. My niece’s darling face filled the screen. “I picked out my Halloween costume!”
“I want to see it!”
The camera flipped around, and lying on the bed was a beautiful, glittery pink dress with a silver wand and crown.
“Are you going to be Glinda, the Good Witch?” I asked.
Penny’s smiling face was on the screen again. “Yes!”
“What a perfect costume! I can’t wait to see you in it!”
“I can try it on for you this weekend.”
My mouth parted. I’d forgotten I’d told Penny I’d try to make it back before the football game on Friday. Leave it to a nine-year-old to hold me to a hastily offered comment given as pacification in the craziness of my quick departure.
“Are you not coming?” she asked. There was a subtle shift in her tone and expression, like she knew by my hesitation what I was about to say. Thanks to Penny’s terrible mom, the sweet girl had endured more than her fair share of disappointment over the years. I refused to join that club.
“Oh, I’ll be there.”
Penny’s smile brightened again. “Nana has work off too, so we can all go to the game together! And to the barn raising!”
At her mention of the barn raising, I nearly got swept away by the wave of anticipation moving through me.
Which was definitely a problem. And the exact reason I required a new plan.
One with boundaries. Very rigid and intense boundaries that limited me to only spending time with Ben when mandated by our court order.
Our shared meals would remain digital—even while I was in Autumn Ridge—and would last a maximum of fifteen minutes.
Regrettably, I would also need to stop all attempts to drive him crazy.
And I certainly wouldn’t be staying in the same trailer with him again. Or sharing a bed.