Ben looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do, the scene in the kitchen flashing before his eyes. Why would he set himself up for another terrible encounter?
I moved closer, trying to figure out how to explain how important it felt to rectify our awkward first meetings, to begin to all move forward. Michelle was going to have as much power as I handed her, and I was done handing her any.
Ben shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“If we’re going to make this work, we need to make things right. We need to all be on the same page.”
“Michelle is on her own page.” Ben took a breath in, as if he didn’t know how to explain it, as if he didn’t want to explain it. “Isn’t tonight going to be hard enough? I don’t want spending time with Michelle to be another hard thing.”
“Maybe this is one thing that doesn’t have to be,” I said. “Let’s just decide that.”
He looked skeptical, but he nodded. “Okay, then. Whatever you want is okay.”
I smiled. “Good.”
He smiled. “Good. I’ll call her now.”
Then he moved closer, kissing my neck, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Well, not right now.”
People Who Screw Up
Bobby stood by the kitchen table. He was drinking the green drink he had most mornings, the green color that made it hard for me to look at, let alone ingest.
Bobby was in his suit already, the newspaper open in front of him—the only indications of the fight the cut by his lip, his bruised hand.
Even though he heard me walk in, he didn’t look up. He sat down, turning the page of the newspaper.
“Beautiful day for a harvest party,” he said.
I took a seat beside him. “It is.”
He turned to the back of the first section, reading the sports rundown. “Dad was just here,” he said. “He wants to wait on Block 14. Have the family pick them together after the harvest party, like usual.”
He motioned toward his green drink. “You want some?” he said.
It was an offer on the other side of what he wasn’t giving away: any information on how he was feeling. It was the last thing I wanted, but I took a sip of the thick mess of it so he would feel like I was on his side.
He smiled. “Pretty good, right?”
I motioned toward his suit. “Where are you going?”
He took the drink back, gulped down the green. “I’ve got to go into the city for a work thing,” he said. “I have a lunch, but I’ll be back in time for the harvest party. Don’t worry.”
Bobby started gathering his things.
“I’m already running late,” he said, standing up. “I should go.”
“Can I at least drive you there?”
“Didn’t I just say I was late? If you drive, who knows when we’ll get there.”
I started to argue, then I remembered the last time I had attempted to drive one of my brothers somewhere.
He reached for his briefcase. “Just say it already.”
“Say what?”