Chapter 16 Bennett
Bennett
I think I knew I was officially fucked the minute I decided to leave the alumni dinner to drive her home. That was the moment when this became too real for me.
And now I’ve had too much time to think over the last few days as I sat in bed with her. For the first half of the semester, I had somehow convinced myself that I agreed to marry her out of guilt and sometimes even out of spite. But the truth of it all has slowly risen to the surface.
When she asked to marry me, I was angry because it was everything I wanted except that it wasn’t real. And now that I have her in my bed every morning and every night, I’m just desperate to soak this all in for as long as she will let me. So yeah, I’m fucked.
As I’m about to walk into the Osei Health and Fitness Center, my phone rings. I almost swipe out of the screen when I see it’s my mom FaceTiming me.
I duck under the awning and out of the rain to answer.
“So, he answers his phone,” she says. My mother is in a salon chair, her deep brown bob separated into foils. She’s calling from her laptop; based on the way her eyes travel across the screen, she’s currently reading something in a different window.
“Hey, sorry,” I tell her. “I was under the weather and—”
“Yes, it must have come on quickly. Lacey said you seemed to be fine and then you just disappeared.”
“Is that why you’re calling?” I ask.
She sighs and her eyes focus on me. “No, actually, I was calling because Whitney said you declined her calendar invite to join me in New York this weekend.”
“Yeah, I’ve got some studying to do.” And I don’t want to leave Clover for that long.
She eyes me wearily and sees straight through my bullshit.
“You know,” she says, “taking over responsibilities little by little will be much easier than suddenly and all at once.”
I give her a silent stare and she shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure whatever debauchery you’re planning on getting up to will be much more fun than a mother/son bonding trip.”
“A bonding trip?” I laugh dryly. “Is that what you call business trips now?”
“Oh, Benny, you know there’s always time for business and pleasure. We could see a show and go for steak and fries at that little French place you like and—” She stops herself when she sees that I’m unconvinced. “Okay, okay, I tried.”
“I’ll see you when you get back, though.”
“I hear that Clover is at Wexley this year.”
My spine stiffens at her mention. “Is she?”
She frowns slightly as her stylist tells her it’s time to rinse. “I know you’re off campus, but I just … I didn’t want you to be caught off guard if you saw her—”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I tell her, my throat bobbing with the truth. “But thanks.”
After a quick goodbye, I walk inside and drop my gym bag off.
“There he is!” calls Julian as I head toward my friends. “I was starting to think you were going to no-show on us.”
Tex hooks up the barbell on the rack above him and sits up, straddling a bench press. “He lives.”
I leave my phone on the padded mat next to the rowing machine before setting the tension to my preference. “It was a busy week.”
“Don’t play coy with me, young man,” Julian says as he drops down backward into the machine next to me and uses the front half as a backrest and the seat as a footrest.
“You rowing reverse cowgirl today?” I ask.
Julian’s eyelids flutter as he relaxes. “You know I don’t sweat unless under duress.”
Tex takes up with the hand weights in front of us. “He’s just here pretending to spot me so he can wear the new workout clothes he bought.”
Julian motions to his purposefully tattered and cropped black hoodie and sweatpants.
“It’s Balenciaga.” Tex mumbles something about consumerism, but Julian just smiles like he’s being flirted with.
“And that’s not the only reason. I’m also looking for a muscle mommy or daddy to take me home and toss me around a little. ”
“Any luck?” I ask.
“No, but I’ve heard that the women’s lacrosse team had a leak in their workout facility, so I’m hopeful that they’ll end up here in the peasant gym. Did Clover throw herself at you for nursing her back to health?”
“That’s not why I did it,” I tell him, my tone defensive.
As he watches us in the mirror, Tex starts in on his bicep curls. When we first met him last fall, the guy was borderline scrawny. Over the last year, though, Tex bulked up and he went from shy and awkward to strong and certain. “She feeling any better?”
“Yeah, she seems to be back to herself this morning.”
Tex and Julian share a look in the mirror.
“What?” I’m not enjoying their whole silent-communication thing.
“You just seemed very worried for her is all,” says Julian.
“Of course I was.”
Tex nods slowly.
I pull the handle toward me with a grunt. “What are you two trying to say?”
Julian shrugs. “Well, based on our observations, you’ve been celibate since you two got married—”
“That’s just being respectful.”
“So, the marriage is fake, but the infidelity would be real?” Tex asks, getting right to the point.
I shrug because if I open my mouth, I’ll say something ridiculous, like that our marriage is far from fake to me.
The two of them share another look and Tex gives a short nod.
“Our official diagnosis is that you have a crush on your wife,” Julian informs me.
“You’re down bad, son,” Tex confirms.
My silence lasts for a minute too long, but it’s all the confirmation they need, and fuck it, they’re right.
Julian’s eyes go wide. “You two aren’t playing house anymore, are you? This ish is the real deal!”
I shake my head, but I know I’ve been caught.
“I don’t hate waking up to her every morning, okay?
And she said I have a cute butt. But it doesn’t matter.
Even if she does want me, she could never forgive me.
Every time we fight or every time she looks at someone else, I’ll wonder if she’s thinking about what a piece of shit I really am. ” I look to Tex, and then to Julian.
“I might have filled dear Tex in on the whole catfishing debacle,” Julian tells me. “Sorry.”
“No, I think I’d rather you did. Better than reliving it myself.”
Tex drops his weights into the rack and turns around. “I know you’re not that guy anymore, man, but damn, I can’t blame her for holding on to that kind of damage.”
I yank the rowing bar so hard the whole machine rattles. “Thanks.” I definitely do not mean it.
“She might surprise you, though,” he continues.
Not in my fucking dreams. Even if Clover could ever forgive me, I could never bring myself to accept.
I don’t deserve that. “Doubtful,” I say.
“We’ll sign the divorce papers after finals.
That’ll give her enough time to get her housing situation figured out, and then she’ll find some other guy who didn’t totally fuck her over. ”
“I did see her walking out of the art building with Tate the other day,” Julian says quietly, almost like he’s admitting it against his will.
“Yeah, I saw her at a party with him earlier in the semester.”
“Tate Farris?” Tex asks over his shoulder.
I nod. “I reacted … poorly.”
His expression darkens and he curls his bicep with enough force that I wonder if he’s picturing Tate’s neck snapping in the crook of his elbow.
Last year, Tate lived down the hall from me and Julian.
He slept in the dorms as a formality but spent most of his time at 1919 Hemphill, which is essentially a frat house for a fraternity that you can’t just decide to join.
The house is owned by the Carmichaels, an old Wexley family.
They bought the place back in the sixties for their twins to live in while they were in school.
The boys invited their closest, wealthiest friends to join them and the house immediately became iconic for its exclusive and oftentimes lewd parties.
As the first male Graves in my family to attend Wexley in decades, and with one of Tate’s former stepfathers being a Carmichael, me, Julian, and sometimes Tex got into the habit of escaping there as well.
It was a relief to be out of the dorms. There was plenty of alcohol, drugs, and willing sexual participants.
Tex and Julian stopped going after we heard a rumor about a scoreboard in the basement, which lists each of the residents with a number beside their name of how many first-years they’ve hooked up with.
You had to be escorted down to the basement by a resident, which is why it was just a rumor.
It didn’t help that both Tex and Julian found Tate to be a dick.
I asked Tate about the scoreboard, but he swore it was nothing more than a story.
I was invited to move into the house for the following fall semester. I said yes, which triggered a huge fight between me and Julian.
I stopped sleeping in our dorm altogether and started crashing at 1919 Hemphill.
Then one night I walked in on something I wasn’t supposed to see. But thank fuck I did.
She was a freshman and he was a junior. Nothing had happened yet from what I could tell, but she was so out of it that she couldn’t even tell me her name.
Why sleep with someone who is that comatose when you’re in a house full of people who just want to get laid?
You couldn’t walk in a straight line without finding somewhere to put your dick.
I was furious with the guy in question and Tate, too, because he hardly seemed to care, but most of all, I was pissed at myself. I’d fucked up all over again.
I got the girl into my car and was able to get into her phone to call a few friends she’d recently texted.
I went back the next morning and snuck into the basement while everyone else was still asleep. As real as the bones in my body, there it was. The scoreboard. I got into it with Tate when he threatened to sue me for backing out of my rental agreement. I told him to fucking try.
Beside me, Julian crosses his arms, dropping all the sarcasm and playfulness. “You can’t let him near Clover.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.” I’ve gotta change the subject before I throw a dumbbell through a window.
It’s not just the thought of her with Tate.
It’s the thought of her with anyone. I can still feel her body relaxing into me as I kneaded the shampoo into her scalp.
The smell of that conditioner, too. Fuck, I’ve already bought six more bottles online, because I can’t tolerate the thought of her running out.
I would have never done anything with her in that moment, but being in the shower with her even while I was still clothed had me so painfully hard.
Maybe I really am no different than shitbags like Tate.
Tex watches me in the reflection of the mirror with his jaw set. At least if I do something rash, I can count on these two to help me hide the body.
After a few more reps, I try to lighten the mood for my own sake. “Did you know girls only use a couple tampons a day?”
“No way.” Julian shakes his head. “I for sure thought it was at least a box a day.”
“They should be changed every four to six hours,” Tex tells us with certainty. “To avoid toxic shock syndrome.”
I duck down to wipe my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt. “That sounds like a garage band from Portland.”