up to Big House shortly after sunrise, exhausted but still unable to get any real sleep. My mother is in the kitchen with the Trio. They are quiet as I walk in, and I get the distinct feeling that it’s only because I’ve entered the room, that any conversation they’d been having ceased at my entrance. Nina watches me with big eyes, looking like she’s going to speak but then thinks better of it. Christie looks away. Mary attempts a smile. My mother hands me a cup of coffee, full of sugar and cream so it’s a light brown, the only way I can drink it. I take a sip. It’s hot.
I shouldn’t be like this. I went twenty-one years without knowing he existed. I’ve spent the last five focusing on one day at a time. I’ve relied on no one but myself. Yes, there is this little family that stands before me, watching, obviously waiting for me to say something, anything to explain away the bags under my eyes, the hangdog look on my face. But even with them, I’ve been alone. Granted, the lonely island I have become is by choice. So why am I acting like such a goddamn pussy? Why do I care so goddamn much?
Because he’s gotten under my skin. He wormed his way in and I can’t figure out how to get him out. I’m haunted. I’m haunted by memory. I’m haunted by the scent of his skin against mine, the scrape of his stubble against my cheek. The way his mouth moves, the way his heart beats in that impossible, improbable way. That feather in the bag on my back. The way it feels like silk under my fingers. The way it’s blue. I need—
No. No. I don’t need. I don’t want to need. Fuck this. Fuck him.
My mother is the first to break the silence. “You getting any sleep?” she asks, even though she knows the answer already.
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice more rough than I’d like. “I’m fine,” I try again, clearing my throat. It doesn’t sound any more believable.
“Haven’t seen Cal around,” she says carefully.
“He’s back in California,” I mutter, taking another sip of coffee. “Went home for a bit.”
I don’t miss the shared glance between the sisters.
“When is he coming back?” Mary asks.
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“It looks like it matters to you,” Christie says. She sounds dubious. “Benji, what’s going on?” my mother asks.
I set the coffee mug down on the counter, ignoring the way it sloshes over. “It’s nothing,” I say, trying to keep from snapping at them. “He’s not here, he’s gone. So why don’t you just stop with the questions. I didn’t know you guys cared that much about him. I’ll be sure to send him up here should he decide to make an appearance again.” I glare at each of them before I spin on my heels and walk out of the kitchen, heading for the front door.
I’m being childish, I know. It’s rude. They’re just worried about me. But I can’t take it. I can’t take their pity, that look on their faces, the one that says poor Benji. Poor, poor Benji. It’s the same look I’ve gotten over the past few days, more and more people coming in to ask about Cal, more and more people getting turned away in my increasing frustration. For the short amount of time he’s been here, he’s certainly affected a lot of people, and I hate him for it. I hate him for leaving me alone to fend against them all myself. That fucking ass—
A hand latches on to my arm as I am about to descend the porch steps to the Ford. The touch is familiar and I sigh. She’s the only one who hasn’t said a word. I don’t turn because I’m worried I’ll snarl at her too.
“Benji?” Nina asks carefully.
“What,” I say, defeated.
“He’ll come back, you know.”
It hurts to hear. “Oh?”
“Yes. And you should know that better than anyone.”
I shake my head. “It turns out I don’t know a whole lot, Nina. Not anywhere near what I should.”
“Do you care for him?” she asks. It’s the second time in only a few days I’ve been asked this question and my answer is the same. I nod. “Then you know enough,” she says, sounding far wiser than I ever could. “If you care enough for someone, then you give them the time to know what they need to do for themselves.”