Chapter 13
Zoe
The following Saturday, Bennett comes home from grocery shopping while I’m eating lunch at the kitchen table.
It appears the man does most of the shopping himself.
He has a cleaning lady who comes once a week, and he gets some prepared meals delivered every Sunday, but he seems to take care of everything else without help, including the yard work.
Today, he sets two large pumpkins by the back door of the kitchen. Next to them, he places a few boxes of candy. Full size, not fun size.
I gasp in delight. “You really do Halloween!”
“I told you that I give out candy.”
Yes, but part of me hadn’t fully believed it until now. “Do you carve the jack-o’-lantern yourself?”
“Of course.” He pauses. “I bought two pumpkins so you can do one if you like.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“You could have bought more decorations. Like an inflatable ghost. Or an inflatable witch. Or an eight-foot-tall skeleton.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next year.”
But I won’t be here next year.
I push that thought aside.
I’ll be moving into my new apartment in just over a month—I’ve signed the lease!
—and I should be more excited. I mean, I am excited, but it’s tinged with disappointment.
I’ve gotten accustomed to living with Bennett.
I tell myself that I just like the large bedroom and kitchen, but truthfully, that’s not all it is.
“When will we carve them?” I ask. “Would tomorrow be too far in advance?”
“I think so. Besides, I won’t be here. I’m going to Vancouver for a few meetings. I’ll be back by the time you return from work on Tuesday.”
I open my mouth to agree to his plan, but then his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers the call.
“Hello,” he says, and in that single word, something changes. Like he’s stepping into a different role, one I’ve never seen him in before.
I wonder who it is.
“Congratulations.” Then, after a pause, he speaks a few words in a language I don’t know. It’s not Cantonese, which he uses with his parents. Korean, perhaps? “Yes, yes, of course…” He heads to another room, and I give him privacy for the call.
I finish my food and adjust the positions of the gourds. I’m about to head upstairs when he enters the kitchen. He still looks different. He’s not quite smiling, but he seems happy.
“It was a…friend,” he says. “He’s getting married and asked me to be a groomsman.”
The pause before “friend” was odd. The relationship must be more complicated, but I don’t ask.
“When’s the wedding?” That seems like a safe question.
“Next September.”
By then, I’ll be out of his life.
“You know…” He runs a hand through his hair and looks at the pumpkins by the door. “We can do the costume competition.”
“Oh my god!” I bounce and clap my hands. “Are you serious?”
“Do I look serious?” he asks…in a very serious tone.
“But why? Do you feel bad because I was supposed to do it with Clifton and—”
“Don’t bring my brother into it. I know you want to do it, so we can. You’ll have to figure out the costumes, but I refuse to be the back end of a horse.”
“I still think you’d make a cute horse’s ass.”
“I’m sure you’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
“Zoe…”
“Fine, fine,” I say with a sigh. “I’ll think of something else.”
“If you need to sew anything, I have a sewing machine in the basement.”
This is unexpected. “Can I see it?”
Not that I know how to use one myself, but for some reason, it’s something I need to observe with my own eyes.
I follow him down the stairs. I’ve never been to the basement before.
All I know is that this is where he works out, and indeed, there’s a small gym area, as well as some storage shelves.
He flicks on another light and takes off the cover on the sewing machine, located on a table in the corner.
Next to the sewing machine, there’s a red mooncake tin—my mother keeps her mending supplies in a similar tin.
My mom wanted to teach me to sew when I was young, but I refused. I wasn’t particularly interested, plus I knew she wouldn’t be the best teacher. It would just lead to yelling, and she’d hold my perceived shortcomings against me.
Fiona, on the other hand, enjoys making her own clothes.
“Do you know how to use it?” I ask Bennett.
“Yes.”
“Did your mom—or another relative—teach you?”
“No,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. “I rarely turn it on, but there’s fabric and more thread here.” He gestures to some plastic containers.
“Why do you have a sewing machine?”
“I just do.”
Yeah, he’s not going to be forthcoming about this, but the important thing is that he’s agreed to the costume competition.
“The timing of the competition might be a little tight,” I say. “It’s on Halloween. At ten thirty.”
“We can stop handing out candy by eight thirty. Most of the kids come before then.”
“It’ll be a late night. I assume you’re not usually out past eleven.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle it.”
“Excellent.” I rub my hands together. “Can’t wait to see you as the back of an elephant.”
“Zoe…” he says warningly.
His tone makes me want to provoke him further. What if he kissed me to shut me up?
I put a hand to my lips. How would Bennett kiss? I’m convinced his control would snap, and it would be glorious. I’d feel like the queen of the world if I could make that happen.
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I can’t help staring.
“Promise me,” he says, “that you won’t make me the back end of any kind of animal.”
I hold up a hand and cross my fingers. “I promise.”
He covers my hand with his, pushing my fingers down. His touch is warm and firm, and I’m reminded of everything his hands did in my fantasies the other night. I ache to feel them beneath my clothes.
“You,” he says, “are impossible.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
His eyes blaze, and I inhale sharply. I’m convinced he’s about to push me against the wall and drop his head to mine, and there’s nothing I want more.
But instead, he stalks up the stairs, leaving me desperate for something I shouldn’t desire.
On Sunday morning, I wake up to an empty house. Bennett left early to catch his flight.
It’s strange to be all alone in the house. I’m used to seeing him for at least a few minutes every day. A teenager from down the street comes by to feed Mittens and scoop the litter box—I’d offered to do it, but Bennett said he had someone. Otherwise, I see nobody.
Sunday night, I can’t sleep, so I go down to the kitchen. I drink some soy milk and stare at Tom, Dick, and Harry. One of Harry’s googly eyes has fallen off. I stick it back on and try not to think of the night I found Bennett sitting at the kitchen table.
Monday is better. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.
Tuesday evening, when I arrive back at the house, I find Bennett sitting at the kitchen table, scooping the guts out of a pumpkin.
I grin. I’m happy to see him. “How was your trip?”
“Fine,” he says, his attention on the pumpkin.
He’s wearing that damn Henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Of course, I wouldn’t expect someone to wear a dress shirt for carving a jack-o’-lantern, but it’s Bennett, so you never know.
Seeing him here like this, his brows drawn together in concentration, it’s easy to imagine that in a different life, he would have been a family man, patiently preparing pumpkins and costumes for his children. Exchanging fond looks with his wife.
I’m not sure why I’m thinking about this, and I don’t know if he ever wanted children. But I can picture him being a dedicated father.
I scurry to my room, put on a T-shirt and pajama pants, then return downstairs.
“You can do whatever you like with the other pumpkin,” he says.
“What are you doing with yours?”
He shows me a simple pencil sketch of a pumpkin with a lopsided toothy grin.
“Huh,” I say. “I don’t know why, but I was half expecting you to do a silhouette of a bat or cat or tree.”
“I prefer something with a face.”
“I agree. A jack-o’-lantern should have two eyes and a mouth.” I cock my head and give the matter careful consideration. “One eye or three eyes might be acceptable, with the right design.”
I sit down and get to work on my pumpkin. I cut open the top and begin scooping out the pumpkin guts. I hold a handful of slimy orange, dotted with seeds, toward Bennett.
“Mm. Tasty,” I say.
He gives me a stern glare that excites me more than it should.
Unlike Bennett, I don’t feel the need to sketch out my design beforehand. Once I’ve washed the pumpkin guts off my hands, I draw the eyes, nose, and mouth directly on the pumpkin. Then I start carving. I’ve never done this before, and it’s slightly harder than expected.
“By the way,” he says, “have you figured out our costumes?”
“Sounds like you’re asking which organ I plan to remove from your body.” I hold up my knife with a grin.
“Indeed, I’m very frightened,” he says in an amusing monotone.
I focus on my pumpkin. The star-shaped eye is going reasonably well.
“You’re not going to tell me?” he asks a minute later.
“No, I’m leaving you in suspense. For now.”
“How terrifying,” he mutters.
“I spent most of Sunday debating the matter, so trust me, it’s good.”
“I fear your definition of that word differs from mine, but I’ll try to believe you.”
I set the orange star that I’ve extracted from my pumpkin in the large bowl of pumpkin guts. Before starting the second eye, I get distracted by my companion’s forearms. One of his hands is curled around the pumpkin, and the other is holding the knife. What if those hands…
I turn back to my pumpkin and make the first cut for the right eye, but I can’t help taking another peek. How is it legal for a man—especially one who happens to be my ex’s brother—to look so good while carving a pumpkin? I’ve never…
“Ahhh!” I shriek.
Shit. I cut myself. Blood oozes from my middle finger.
Bennett immediately hands me a tissue, which I press against the wound.
“Come upstairs,” he says.