Chapter 27
Bennett
Sunday morning, Zoe and I have breakfast together. No special French toast today—just cereal, plus coffee in my new mug. It really does have a baffling collection of animals and colors. While it’s not something I’d get for myself, I like how it’s distinctly her.
I smile, and she smiles back as she reaches across the table for my hand. Such a simple moment, but it’s perfect, and I want more moments like this. I open my mouth to ask if she’d like to continue doing this—for real—after she moves to her new apartment.
But before I can get any words out, my phone rings.
It’s my mother.
“Bennett,” she says, “I know we weren’t planning to do dim sum today, but why don’t you and Zoe come over for lunch?”
“I’ll ask her,” I reply.
From across the table, Zoe gives me a quizzical look.
“Don’t tell her this,” Mom says, “but I’ve already started cooking.”
I sigh. “Mom…”
“So please use your powers of persuasion. Say that I’ll show her your baby pictures. I’m sure she’ll like that.”
I suspect my mother is right. Hopefully, she’ll leave it at the baby pictures and not get into the toddler years.
I know this hope is in vain.
I end the call a minute later and turn to Zoe. “My mother has invited us over for lunch. She said not to tell you, but she’s already begun cooking, which means there will be enough food for ten people.”
Zoe chuckles but doesn’t speak.
“If you don’t want to go,” I say, “it’s fine. Though she promises to show you baby pictures, which may be…entertaining.”
Her face lights up, and it’s beautiful. “Okay, we’ll go. I was just thinking about everything I need to do for the move. I’m sure it’ll be fine, though.”
Inwardly, I wince. I don’t enjoy thinking about her moving out, but the fact that she wants to see my parents is a good thing, right? I want to believe it means she sees a future for us.
I don’t ask. Not now.
I’ll save it for when we return.
“I’m so glad you could come.” My mother beams at Zoe.
She really is thrilled. In fact, it now seems cruel that I could ever think of introducing a fake girlfriend to her.
So I hope, for my parents’ sake as well as my own, that Zoe is interested in continuing to see me.
I don’t relish the thought of telling my mother that it didn’t work out with Zoe, who is now complimenting the decorating and accepting a cup of tea from my father.
She seems genuinely at ease with my parents, even though she just met them two days ago.
She looks so radiant. How Clifton let her go is beyond me.
My mom ushers Zoe into the living room, where a stack of photo albums has already been set on the coffee table. Mom sits down and taps the cushion beside her. Zoe takes a seat, and I squeeze in next to her.
“He said I would show you baby photos, yes?” Mom asks, reaching for the first album—the Hong Kong album.
“He did.” Zoe pats my leg. “I admit I’m very curious.”
The first few photos are of me at the hospital, looking like any other newborn.
I was a well-photographed baby, even though there were no camera phones or digital cameras in those days.
My mother brags that I started walking and talking at a young age.
Why this is important, I’m not sure, but I enjoy seeing her and Zoe together.
My mom takes a break to see to things in the kitchen, then returns to start the second album, which begins when we moved to Canada. It was January, two months after my first birthday. I suspect Zoe is getting tired of this, but she’s being a good sport.
I, on the other hand, am far from excited about what comes next.
“When we came to Toronto,” Mom says, “Bennett suddenly decided he didn’t like clothes. It was my first Canadian winter. I had never been so cold in my life, and he was running around in just a diaper!”
She turns the page. There are six pictures of me in a diaper and nothing else. In one of them, I’m pointing at the snow outside.
“One time,” she says, “I put him in a snowsuit. It took forever because he was crying. Then I turned my back to put on my boots. It was only two seconds, I swear, but that was long enough for him to take off the snowsuit. How he managed, I’m not sure. He was like Houdini!”
Zoe giggles and puts her arm around me. “You were so cute.”
“If you have children…” my mom begins.
Okay, that’s enough. While I like the idea of having children with Zoe—and she did say she might want kids—this is too much, too soon. I don’t want to scare her off before she’s even officially my girlfriend.
“Mom,” I say. “Please.”
My mother smiles and flips the page, revealing more pictures of me in a diaper. There’s one picture of me wearing clothes, but I’m shoving a finger up my nose, so it’s not exactly a great photo.
“Even the diaper was too much for him sometimes,” Mom says. “He…”
She trails off, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because I’m glaring at her, but because there’s a noise at the door. A moment later, someone puts a key in the lock and steps inside. The only other person with a key is…
“I thought it was just us?” I say to my mother.
She frowns. “I didn’t invite your brother. I thought today I would just get to know Zoe a little better. He rarely comes on Sundays anyway.”
Clifton appears in the doorway to the living room. “Oh, you’re here,” he says when he sees me, his tone more contemptuous than usual. “Good. This will be even better than I thought.” He points at me, then Zoe. “I knew there was something wrong.”
“Ah, what you talking about?” Mom asks.
My heart hammers in my chest. I reach for Zoe’s hand.
My father enters the room. “What’s the commotion? Clifton, I didn’t know you were coming, but there’s lots of food.”
“Why don’t you tell them the truth?” Clifton asks me with a sneer.
I keep my expression impassive. “What do you mean?”
Maybe if I act like I have no idea what’s going on, he’ll remember that if he tells the truth, I tell the truth…but how did he find out? My head is swimming. I’m usually better at thinking clearly in a crisis, but I’m struggling now.
Zoe squeezes my hand.
“You know what I mean,” Clifton says.
“Aiyah!” Mom slams the photo album shut. “What’s going on?”
“They’re not actually together.” Clifton points at us.
I knew he would say it, but a part of me still can’t believe he did.
Mom’s gaze drops to our hands, clasped together on Zoe’s knee, then looks at my face. “Is he right? Why would you do such a thing?”
“It’s all my fault,” Zoe interjects.
I shut my eyes. I don’t like her taking responsibility for this, even though it was her idea.
“I asked Bennett to fake a relationship,” she says.
Mom frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“Clifton and I dated for a while, but then I came home early one day and found him in…well, a compromising position with my roommate. A very compromising position,” Zoe emphasizes. “Trust me, we didn’t agree to an open relationship.”
Mom’s gaze swings to Clifton. “She was your girlfriend, and you cheated on her?”
Clifton shrugs, as though it’s no big deal.
“What’s an open relationship?” Mom asks.
Nobody answers her question.
“In retaliation,” Clifton says, “Zoe stole my phone, and I guess she contacted Bennett and asked him to pretend to date her. She wanted me to be forced to confront her at family gatherings, I suppose.” He rolls his eyes. “Except I found out the truth.”
“How?” Zoe whispers.
He smirks. “You took your boyfriend to a cidery that I told you about, one I’d visited with a friend.
When I mentioned my suspicions, he said he’d seen the two of you there, and you were talking about your so-called relationship and practicing physical affection.
He thought he must have been mistaken about what he saw and heard, which is why he didn’t mention it before. But it all makes sense.”
Shit.
Clifton’s not wrong, but it hurts to hear him say that. His words make everything between Zoe and me seem so cheap, which is the opposite of how it feels. The very opposite.
She won’t want anything to do with me after this, and I can’t bear it.
“I don’t understand,” Dad says. “This sounds like a drama.”
Clifton nods. “It does, but it’s real.”
“Why would you go along with it?” Dad asks me.
I pinch my brow. “You and Mom were hassling me because I don’t date—”
“Wah, I wouldn’t put it like that,” Mom interrupts.
“Well, you were concerned. I thought if I could introduce you to a girlfriend…”
It sounds horrible when I say it out loud. Why would I do such a thing to the parents who have been so good to me?
I guess that’s why Clifton is telling the truth: he doesn’t mind bringing himself down if it brings me down, too.
God, what a mess.
“You see?” Clifton says. “He’s not so perfect after all.”
“I never claimed to be perfect,” I say.
He rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, sure. You’ve always been the favorite. Dad didn’t even go to my high school grad—”
“What the fuck?” Zoe explodes. “Bennett’s fiancée had just died!”
“He told you about that? I wasn’t sure he would. Background info for your act, I guess.”
“I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Bennett is a much better man than you are, and even though it began as a ruse…” She strokes my knuckles.
I still. After everything that’s transpired in the last ten minutes, I didn’t expect this. I expected Zoe to walk out of my life and never talk to me again. But why would she say this unless she’s seriously thinking about staying with me?
“Oh, that’s cute,” Clifton says. “You started sleeping together, didn’t you? I admit I found the whole thing baffling when I first saw you two at Halloween. Sure, Bennett’s lonely, but you didn’t seem like his type—you know, since he has a big, fancy career and you’re…well.”
“Clifton,” I growl, vibrating with anger. “Watch what you say.”
He can insult me, but Zoe? That’s another matter.
Clifton looks at me, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I guess you really like sl—”
I put him in a headlock before he can finish that sentence. I don’t know how I move so fast. Instinct, I guess. Fueled by white-hot fury.
“Bennett!” my mom cries. “Let go.”
No, my little brother deserves to have my arm around his neck. He deserves to be punched in the face as well. Too bad I didn’t do it fourteen years ago, in this exact room.
“Don’t you dare insult her again,” I say through clenched teeth.
Despite his precarious position, there’s a flicker of a smile on his face. He wanted to piss the crap out of me. He enjoys seeing me lose my shit in front of our parents.
He’s an asshole, and I’m consumed with rage.
I tighten my grip.
My father jumps to his feet, and Zoe follows. They try to pull me off Clifton, but I keep holding on like everything depends on it. The bastard still looks too smug for my liking.
“Please,” Zoe begs. “He’s not worth it.”
It’s the pleading note in her voice that makes me hesitate, that makes me feel something other than anger.
Maybe I don’t need to finish what I started. What will I gain from it?
I finally drop my arms and retreat to the couch.
“Leave. Now,” I roar at Clifton.
He shrugs his shoulders. It seems a little too casual for someone who almost got choked out a moment ago, and I grip the couch cushions so I don’t leap up to attack him again.
Clifton walks out the door, leaving me to deal with everything. But before I can speak, the smoke detector goes off.
“Aiyah!” my mom says, rushing to the kitchen.
I jump up and take the batteries out of the smoke detector on the main floor. When I sit back down, only Zoe remains in the living room.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.
“What do you have to be sorry for?”
“It was all my idea, and I’m probably the one his friend overheard.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.”
As I stare into her brown eyes, which regard me with concern, I feel an overwhelming rush of affection…and fear. I haven’t felt so out of control in over a decade, not since the months after Ginny died, which was the last time my father had to pull me off my brother.
I hate feeling this way.
In fact, in the last fourteen years, I’ve done everything I can to avoid it. I’ve thrown myself into work, at first using it as a much-needed distraction from my grief. I’m known for being even-tempered, and now, my whole body is shaking and I’m close to lashing out once more.
The life I managed to scrape together after Ginny’s death? I fear it’s falling apart, and I can’t afford to come undone like that. I can’t.
Images flash through my mind, reminding me of what I was like. Consumed by negative emotions, a horrible cocktail of despair and fury and so many other things. Getting through each day? It was agony, and I refuse to become that person again.
The idea fills me with terror.
My mother re-enters the room. “Most of the food is okay. Let’s eat.”
Hard to believe she’s talking about food right now. It’s incomprehensibly ordinary, and I feel like anything but my ordinary self. My stomach is churning, and I want to flee, but instead, I head to the dining room and force myself to swallow some chicken.
Zoe is quiet on the drive home, and I don’t blame her. That was an unwanted spectacle. I’m furious with my brother, but I’m also ashamed of my own behavior.
To my surprise, after we step inside the door, she reaches for my hand.
“I need coffee,” I say.
“I’ll have some, too.” Her voice is a little brittle, but she’s trying to be upbeat.
We head to the kitchen, and I start making coffee with the beans she gave me for my birthday. I can’t believe that was just over twenty-four hours ago—it seems like much longer.
Once the coffee is brewing, she takes a seat next to me and reaches for my hand again, much to my confusion.
I think of all the things that happened at this table. Conversations in the middle of the night. Carving jack-o’-lanterns. Eating French toast stuffed with peanut butter.
And soon, she’ll be gone; she’ll be no more than a memory.
“We’ve had some good times together, haven’t we?” she says.
I nod.
“Would you want to make this real? Keep seeing me after I move out, I mean.”
I’m such a mess that it takes me a moment to make sense of her words.
She seriously wants to continue our “relationship”? Sure, it’s exactly what I wanted a few hours ago, but recent events have completely changed my mind. This is too dangerous.
There’s a shaky—yet hopeful—smile on her face, and it pisses me off.
I hate that she waltzed into my life and disrupted my careful routine and made me so vulnerable. I hate that I now have a strange fondness for googly eyes and llamacorns. And I absolutely hate that I need to let her down, but it’s the only option.
She made me think I could have more, and I can’t forgive her for that.
For the final time, I savor the feeling of her skin against mine.
Then I pull back.
“No,” I say at last.