Chapter 23
Zoe
As soon as Bennett says it, my skin turns to ice. Something terrible must have happened.
“Her name was Ginny,” he says, and I note that he’s using past tense.
“We met at the beginning of university and started dating right away. I was convinced, by the time I went home for Christmas, that she was the girl I’d marry.
I didn’t tell my parents about her for a while—I went to university out of town, so it was an easy secret to keep.
I knew they wouldn’t be thrilled that I was so serious about someone, and I wasn’t wrong.
But it didn’t take long for them to come around. ”
His tone is very matter-of-fact. He clasps my hand, and I squeeze, dreading the ending to the story but wanting him to tell it.
“After undergrad,” he says, “she started a master’s at U of T, and I started working. Once she graduated, we moved in together and got engaged. I would have done it sooner, but Ginny wanted to wait until she finished school.”
I try to picture this younger version of Bennett, completely in love. I have no doubt that he loved her very much, and he wouldn’t have been half-hearted in his commitment. I didn’t know him then, but I know that much is true.
“About a year and a half later, in November, she went out with friends.” He doesn’t look at me now; he stares at the wall opposite the bed, but he keeps his hand on mine.
“She texted me—she’d recently gotten her first smartphone—when she was getting on the bus.
The bus ride wasn’t long, especially at ten thirty at night.
But by eleven, she still wasn’t home, and when she didn’t reply to my messages, I was worried.
I’d heard sirens several minutes earlier, and I hurried toward the bus stop.
” He pauses. “She’d been hit by a man in a stolen car.
He ran a red light, and she died instantly. ”
I will myself not to cry. I don’t want him to have to comfort me.
“It happened fourteen years ago,” he says. “The person who called this morning? That was her mom. I think of them as my in-laws, even though we never…you know.”
He reaches into his night table. The lower drawer—not the one where he keeps the condoms. He pulls out a framed photo of himself and a young Asian woman. It’s the best picture of Bennett I’ve ever seen. His chin is resting on her shoulder, and he’s actually smiling.
“Even with her,” he says, “I didn’t take good pictures. This one is surprisingly decent, which is why she got it printed and put it in a frame.”
I’m not sure how to respond. Should I tell him that she was very pretty, that they looked good together?
“The sewing machine,” I say instead.
“It was her hobby. She even considered sewing her wedding dress.”
“And she taught you?”
“A little, yes.”
I try to discreetly wipe my eyes. God, my heart hurts for him.
Then I think of how, the two times I went out with my friends, he stayed up until I came back, and I can no longer contain my tears.
“Hey.” Bennett’s thumb brushes the wetness from my cheeks.
“You don’t have to comfort me. It was your loss, not mine.” I can’t stop my voice from wobbling. “When you waited up for me…”
“Yes. I wasn’t anxiously pacing the house, but I wouldn’t have been able to sleep until you were safely home. You’re the only woman I’ve lived with since Ginny.”
I shut my eyes, which are still leaking tears, and wrap my arms around him as tightly as I can. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure she was amazing.”
“She was.”
We hold each other for a long while.
Eventually, I extract myself from his embrace and lean against the bed frame. “When Clifton spoke of you, he never mentioned her.”
“Yes, well.” He chuckles without mirth.
“What happened with him?” While Bennett’s opening up to me, maybe he’ll share that.
He sighs. “Clifton was in his first year of university when she died. His high school held the graduation ceremony in the fall, and it was the weekend after the accident.”
Oh my god.
“My parents had both intended to go, but I was in really rough shape, and they didn’t want to leave me alone—I was staying with them because I couldn’t bear to be in that apartment without Ginny.
” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Ultimately, they decided that my mother would go and my father would stay with me. Clifton was pissed. He’d won an award, and to him, this proved I was the favorite and nobody cared about him. ”
“What the hell?”
“He’s never forgiven me for it. When he brought it up that Christmas, my dad had to stop me from punching him in the face.”
I can’t believe I ever dated that piece of shit.
“I wouldn’t say my parents always made the right decisions, but they tried to do their best for both of us. Of course, I can understand him being disappointed, and he was only seventeen, but…”
I think of the stories I’ve heard about favoritism over the years. “It’s not like they both missed his graduation because you had an inconsequential hockey game. Your fiancée had just died.”
“Yes, and Clifton mumbled his condolences, but that was all. I know grief can make people awkward, but he didn’t seem to care about me. About her.” He sighs again. “It’s hard to describe how much of a mess I was.”
I touch his shoulder, hoping that will say more than words.
He leans a little closer. “I didn’t go to work for over two weeks, at which point I was desperate for a distraction.
Everyone at the office was so good about it.
I received no pushback for taking time off.
My father’s workplace, however, wasn’t understanding that he missed a few days for his son’s fiancée’s death. He was fired.”
“What?” Is that legal? But even if it isn’t, it could have been too much hassle to fight.
“I mentioned it to someone at work, and they told Barry.” Barry is the founder of T we can only do the best with what we have now.
I swallow. “And Mittens? Did you get her with Ginny?”
He nods. “She’s a rescue cat. She was two when we adopted her. Ginny named her after a cat in a children’s book.”
I cringe as I think of our first meeting. “I’m sorry I insulted your cat’s name.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “But last year, she got sick…” He goes on to explain the vet visits, using lots of words that mean nothing to me, but I’m content to listen. I know he would have paid any vet bill without a second thought. Mittens has been through a lot with him.
We sit in silence for a long time, and I can’t help wondering how different Bennett is now from who he used to be.
Who was the boy that Ginny fell in love with?
I suspect he didn’t become an entirely different person after she died, but I’m sure it changed him quite a bit, and my heart aches for him.
The rather stoic mask that he has in place—I think it was what he needed to cope.
“Have you had a relationship since?” I ask.
He doesn’t immediately answer.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I add quickly. “It’s not my business.”
He rubs circles on my shoulder with his thumb; it feels like he needs to touch me. I focus on that, rather than the question that lingers in the air.
“I haven’t,” he says at last. “I’ve slept with a few women, but it was years before I was even ready for that.”
Has he sworn off relationships forever, afraid of going through such a loss again? Does he think no one will ever measure up to her?
I’ve asked a lot of questions, but I’m too scared to ask those. I’m just glad he felt comfortable to share as much as he has. Bennett doesn’t share himself easily. At least, he doesn’t anymore.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and he continues to stroke my skin. Eventually, we head downstairs for breakfast, and for the rest of the day, I can tell that our conversation took something out of him. I think Mittens can tell, too, and she spends more time than usual sitting on Bennett’s lap.
There’s another question I don’t ask, one that I know I’ll return to again and again, whenever I can feel his breath on my cheek. Whenever his mouth is tantalizingly close to mine.
Has he kissed anyone since Ginny?
But I’m pretty sure I know the answer.