Chapter Sixteen Ben
For what feels like a full minute, Ruby and I sit in the dark silence. The hum of the air conditioner has faded and the television screen is utterly blank. There is nothing but the sound of our breathing and the vague warmth of her presence on the other side of the bed.
“This isn’t good,” I whisper.
“This is creepy,” she answers.
Using my hands to feel around me, I rise from the mattress and inch toward the door. I stub my toe on the wheel of my suitcase in the process, causing Ruby to snicker softly from the shadows.
I open the door and poke my head out into the hall. Like a bunch of groundhogs coming out of hibernation, a few other people emerge halfway from their rooms. The hallway is lit by strips of dim emergency lighting along the floor. They must have a generator, then. Unfortunately, it seems to only be able to power the bare minimum of safety requirements. The fire exit signs remain lit, but the glow of the vending machines down the hall is nothing but shadows.
Someone flashes a bright light at the mouth of the hall.
“Excuse me, everyone!” I recognize the front desk attendant’s warm yet no-nonsense tone of voice. “Please remain calm! We have another generator that we are powering up at the moment, which should help to keep the temperature control system running throughout the night. However, all other electric services are unavailable, I’m afraid. We will be handing out flashlights in the lobby for use inside your rooms. On behalf of Motel Monson, I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Not your fault,” someone mutters. “Darn storm…”
In response, someone else chuckles.
I lean back into the room and speak in the general direction of where Ruby is sitting on the bed. “I’m going to go grab us a flashlight.”
“Okay…”
I step out into the hall and, along with a handful of other guests, make my way to the lobby thanks to the guidance of the emergency lights. It’s late enough that most people are probably asleep by now and likely haven’t even noticed that the power is out. All this activity will likely wake a few of them up, though. Not that it matters to one of the guests, who immediately starts berating Martha for a refund. I roll my eyes and open my mouth to tell him to give the woman some space, but Martha sharply reprimands the gentleman before I get the chance.
I accept a simple plastic flashlight and a packet of thick glow sticks—the sort of thing that might be in a hurricane survival kit. Which is the sort of thing I know only because I once had a nanny who was absurdly paranoid about natural disasters. That was a different nanny than the one who let me roller skate down the stairs.
I return to the room, glad that the generator is at least keeping the keycard lock functioning. I flick on the flashlight and duck inside. Ruby has crawled under the blankets in my absence. Her blonde head peeks out over the top of them. She squints when I shine the light in her direction and I mumble a quick apology.
A moment later, the air conditioner gurgles back to life. It’s weak, but hopefully it can keep some of the persistent humidity out of the air while we sleep.
“I guess we should just go to bed now,” I say, shuffling over to my cot. “I’ll leave the flashlight right here on the nightstand in case you need to get up in the middle of the night.”
“Sure.”
The cot creaks and groans as I lower myself onto it. I get tangled in the blankets for a minute and debate just sleeping on the floor, but I don’t want to wake up with a cramp in my back that will make the rest of the drive back to New York painfully miserable.
There’s absolutely no way that I’m going to ask to share the bed. Sitting on it with Ruby while we watch a movie is one thing. Sleeping in it with her… even if I stayed on top of the covers… I don’t hate the idea, if I’m being honest. She knows I think she’s beautiful. She certainly knows that I’m attracted to her, given the way things went during our day at the bookstore last year. I’m not going to hide the fact that I wouldn’t accept whatever morsel of intimacy Ruby is willing to offer me.
I like her.
I’m not supposed to like her, though.
Because, again, our positions in the company makes it totally inappropriate.
I see the glow of Ruby’s phone in my peripheral vision as she reports, “The rain is supposed to stop around four or five in the morning.”
“That’s good.”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying what we’re both probably thinking. Raining or not, the roads will still be a disaster. Floodwater doesn’t magically drain when it stops raining. Not to mention the damage caused by the rain. Plus, there are probably hundreds, if not thousands, of fallen trees thanks to the wind.
At the very least, the good news is that I won’t be navigating through a torrential downpour on our way down to the city tomorrow.
“Oh,” Ruby murmurs a moment later. She’s still looking at her phone. “There’s an email from the company.”
“Really?”
“Class is cancelled. Wow. That never happens.”
It’s true. Classes and rehearsals at the NYC Ballet are only cancelled in extreme circumstances. Basically, only if the city itself is shut down. Given that there’s a shelter-in-place order currently active for the entire metropolitan area, I’m not surprised to learn that they aren’t going to force their dancers to arrive bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow.
However, there’s no doubt that rehearsals will begin on Wednesday as originally intended.
“That’s fantastic,” I say. “So, you won’t be missing anything.”
Ruby sighs. “Yeah. I guess.”
Silence follows. I stare up at the dark ceiling. The windowpanes cry out for mercy against the force of the gale. The glow of Ruby’s phone fades away, and I hear the sheets rustle as she turns over.
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. I should be exhausted after the day we’ve had. It’s not that the cot is uncomfortable—I’m not as fussy as Ruby would probably think. It’s just that my mind is too crowded with thoughts of her to focus on something like sleep. As if my brain is thinking, Why be unconscious and clueless when you can stay conscious and know that she is right here beside you?
A few minutes later, there’s a frustrated sigh from the bed. More rustling as she turns over. I remain quiet.
Then, again, less than a minute after the first sigh, a second one comes. I hear her punch the pillow as if to make it more comfortable.
More silence.
Just when I think she might have finally been able to fall asleep, she starts tossing and turning again.
I clear my throat softly. “Are you okay?”
She sighs again. “Sorry. I know I should feel tired, but my brain won’t shut up.”
“Same.”
“This sucks.”
I nod against my pillow, realizing too late that she can’t see me. “Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
She snorts loudly. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
A momentary pause. Then, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” Maybe I say it too quickly. Maybe I’m too eager to spill the entire contents of my heart for this girl.
“What’s the deal with your family?”
My chest tightens. I wasn’t expecting that.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Sorry if that’s nosy of me. I know you said you have three older siblings and that your father isn’t exactly a sweetheart… I mean, families aren’t perfect. But, to me, the Hawthorne family always represented this amazing ideal. Rich and philanthropic and cultured. I guess I was surprised when you told me you don’t exactly fit in.”
“Oh.”
“Not that it’s any of my business,” she quickly adds.
“No, it’s okay,” I reply. I mean it. Clearly, I’ll do just about anything for Ruby. After all, I volunteered to drive her back to the city knowing exactly how much she despised me. Of course, I just wanted the chance to prove her wrong.
Now, it feels different. I know she doesn’t hate me and I should be satisfied with that. I can move on with my life.
I don’t want to move on, though. I want to tell her everything about myself. And I want her to tell me everything about herself.
I want her. It’s more than physical attraction. She’s always been beautiful. I always knew that. It’s obvious. Anyone can look at Ruby and agree that she’s maddeningly gorgeous.
Now that I know her better—and now that I know I already started falling for her once before—I think I might be at risk of drowning in this sensation.
There has to be a way that we can be together.
Not that she wants to be together, I remind myself.
“Ben?”
I let out a breath. I realize I’ve been completely silent for a full minute.
“Sorry,” I say with a chuckle.
“You really don’t have to answer. I’m sorry. I’m totally prying.”
“It’s fine, really. I’m just trying to figure out how to answer.”
Ruby shifts in the bed. “Were you and your father always at odds with each other?”
“Not really,” I admit. “When I was little, he was my favorite person. He raised all of us to be appreciators of art, you know? So, we’d go to museums and operas and plays. The symphony orchestra and the ballet… it was great. Basically, everything I did, whether it was pretending to understand Magritte’s art or learning how to appreciate four-hour operas, was to make him proud.”
“It’s funny. You must’ve been a precocious little brat.”
A breathless laugh flutters past my lips. “Yeah, I was. All my siblings were.”
“So, your father spent a lot of time with you?”
“That’s the thing. He only spent time with us if we were attending an arts event. We hardly ever saw him even at mealtimes, but we’d sit beside him at a Broadway performance. Or, when we were old enough, we’d tag along to fancy benefit dinners or cocktail hours at other donors’ houses. There was none of that typical father-son bonding. No throwing the baseball back and forth in the yard. No lessons on how to change a tire.”
At that, Ruby laughs. “Thank god for Greg the emergency roadside service man.”
“Thank god for Greg, indeed.”
Ruby sighs pensively. “So, your father wasn’t around unless he was bringing you guys out to appreciate the arts?”
“Basically. He traveled all over the place. London. Rio. Singapore. Sometimes, he’d be gone for weeks at a time. Hence, the nannies. As I got older, I started to feel more spiteful about it.”
“Your siblings didn’t, though?”
“Not really. Maybe they’re tougher than me. I don’t know.”
“You’re plenty tough.”
I snort. “Didn’t I admit to you earlier today that I’d like to be a poet?”
“Poets are tough!”
It’s hard not to smile at the way she’s now so eager to defend my honor against my own commentary. She doesn’t want me to feel bad about myself.
We’ve made a lot of progress. Probably because we’ve lived about a thousand different lives today.
“Anyway,” I sigh, “I guess I just started to pull away from my father when I was in high school. My sister and brothers were all in college or doing something else impressive at that point. It’s hard not to feel like an afterthought when your oldest brother is assistant curator at the Whitney by the age of twenty-seven.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah… exactly.”
“What about your mom?”
I let out a long exhale and roll over onto my back. “She died when I was two.”
“Oh.”
“A pulmonary embolism. Totally unexpected. I guess she was fine one minute and then just… died. Just like that.”
“I’m so sorry, Ben.”
“Thanks. I don’t remember her at all, though. It’s hard to grieve someone you never met. Like, I know I should be sad about it, but it’s hard when the only reason I know what she looked like is because I’ve seen photos of her with my older siblings.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“It’s fine. Really.” It’s true. Maybe it should be difficult for me to talk about my mother, but it never has been. “Anyway, I think that’s another reason why I feel a little disconnected from my siblings. They all remember her and I don’t.”
“I guess all your party-boy stuff makes sense now.”
“Ruby Sullivan, are you therapizing me?”
She giggles. “I’m just trying to understand you.”
Like an idiot, my breath catches. “Why?”
“Because I’ve spent the past eleven months of my life misunderstanding you, and I’d really like to correct that mistake.”
“Right. So, it’s just your perfectionism at work.”
There’s a rustle of movement and then something soft smacks against my face. A pillow. She threw a pillow at me.
I grin into the dark and chuck it right back at her. My eyes have adjusted to the dark at this point, but she’s still nothing more than a vague shape a few feet away from me.
“Hey!” she shouts playfully. “Are you trying to injure one of the NYC Ballet’s premier dancers?”
“Never,” I promise. “Are you tired yet?”
“Kind of, but not fully.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your family? It’s only fair.”
Ruby huffs. “There’s nothing to tell. You know my grandmother is a nosy old lady with magical powers, but everyone else is normal. My parents retired to Montana a few years ago. Honestly, I had a really easy childhood. No complaints.”
“You and Amy always got along, then?”
“Pretty much. I mean, we fought occasionally like any sisters do, but we’ve always been close. She was always way more social than me. I’m pretty sure I was born anxious. The universe gave me anxiety as a free side dish to go with my overall existence. So, the rules and rigors of ballet were comforting to me. It was something I could control. Something I could be perfect at. Something that made my head go quiet for once.”
“That’s interesting. It makes sense.”
“Yeah…”
“Yeah,” I echo.
A couple minutes of quiet pass, during which, I wonder if Ruby has finally fallen asleep. I’m starting to feel the exhaustion of the day washing over me at last too.
I close my eyes, then hear a soft, “Hey, Ben?”
“Hmm?”
“Sorry for being a brat. You know, at the rehearsal dinner. And the wedding. And in the car. And, like, an hour ago.”
“You can be a brat to me anytime you want.”
A quiet laugh. “Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Ruby.”