Thinking Out Loud: A Romantic Comedy, page 15
His feeling of responsibility for someone else’s actions, when he clearly can’t control them, stem from his experience. We can’t control another person’s decisions and these kids will still continue making their choices, eventually dealing with the repercussions. But if they are smart enough to make a phone call, rather than make a poor choice and risk a tragic accident, Benny will be there for them.
“And usually, it happens one time. A lecture from Mr. B and a phone call to a parent is enough for them to realize they made a poor decision. But we have a handful of students who continue making poor decisions. Those are the ones who don’t call me anyway, and the ones who refuse to hear me out when I try to reason with them.”
He looked defeated at that moment.
I knew exactly who he was talking about: Ethan, Travis, some of the football players, even sweet Charlie Henders. They just want to rebel and eventually their poor decisions will catch up to them. But I’m sure, as teachers, you can’t help but feel a little responsible. You’re pouring your heart and soul into your work, trying to shape the young minds of the next generation, hoping they will come behind you and change the world.
And Benny is someone who will do whatever it takes to provide his kids that chance—the chance to change the world. Even if it means calling him in the middle of the night.
I guess he really is a Benny. Just an all-around wonderful guy.
Who brings the dip.
“Hello? Earth to Ellie!” Kate snaps her fingers at me. “Are you going to talk to him?” she asks, bringing me back to our conversation.
Blinking at her. “I have no idea! We haven’t had time.”
“You haven’t had time to talk about your feelings?” She crosses her arms at me. “It’s like a two minute discussion!”
“Pretty sure that kind of conversation needs more than two minutes of my time, and I haven’t had it. Neither has he!”
“Ugh! You’re just stalling!” She storms away.
Dolly Parton nuzzles my hand for pets. I am stalling a little bit.
I’m afraid of the inevitable rejection because a relationship with Benny isn’t allowed.
“I really haven’t had the time, Dolly,” I whisper.
With how busy we have been at work the last few days, we hadn’t really had an opportunity to revisit the discussion of us dating. It's college acceptance week and I'm on high alert for the seniors. The reassurance factory wheels were turning as a plethora of students stormed into my office to scream and cry over their acceptance freak outs, or worse . . . their rejection turmoil. I didn’t realize the brevity of these decisions and how I responded to them would affect the student’s mental state. Sarah had been accepted to Columbia, contingent on maintaining her grades and completing a few summer classes to graduate early. She was ecstatic, but her anxiety was on the verge of panic at the realization that she would have to move to New York before she was eighteen. Garrett Connors had received multiple rejections and was not himself at all, refusing to meet with me to discuss a plan. Birdie was accepted to a few four-year colleges and could care less about it if she didn’t win prom queen. Students were in and out of my office all day, having these discussions, and all I wanted to do when I got home was crash on the couch.
“You have to be their guide, help them figure out next steps,” Emma would tell me.
And I am.
I am elbows deep in application reviews, admissions emails, and Google searches on how best to support these students. I haven’t felt so consumed with a client's success in such a long time.
The last time I felt any urgency on figuring out a plan for a client was when I had a new mom who was four months postpartum, off her medications, and dealing with intrusive suicidal thoughts. I spent weeks calling inpatient hospitals and working with her social worker to develop a plan for respite care and medication management to ensure the safety for her and her new baby. It was grueling and exhausting, but the adrenaline kept me going. That and the small signs of improvement she made each day fueled me. Finding a routine that suited her and her family, seeing her a few months later an entirely different person. An energized mom, a healthy baby and happy marriage, were the rewards I got to witness.
Did I ever think I would feel any kind of adrenaline like that as a high school guidance counselor? Definitely not.
With the mom, it was literally life and death. At the end of it, I had to accept that the outcome was out of my control and all I could do was provide support and structure. Hoping and praying they would take my recommendations. They did, thank God. But that’s not always the case. And with these students, more often than not, they are refusing my recommendations. They’re children, and they want what they want. Yet, I feel this urge to plead with them to let me help them, for them to just listen to me and do what I say. The continued rejection of my advice has left me feeling incompetent and like I’m unable to help them.
Surely if what I had to say was even remotely sound they would take it to heart and put it to use . . . right?
Dolly pawed at my hands as my petting slowed.
“What do you think?” I ask her as I scratch behind her floppy ear.
What is with these kids? Why do I feel so inept at handling these teenage life crises? And why does it feel like I have to figure it out? Is it an ego thing?
Or do I . . . actually care?
My head is spinning, and Dolly is panting—blowing her dog breath across my face as I pull out my phone.
I need to work through these thoughts with someone.
“Back to the party.” Kate storms back in. “Don’t you dare bail on our Halloween costume! I refuse to be a Thing by myself!” Dolly Parton jumps off the couch and trots to Kate’s side as she sits on the floor, staring at me with defiance.
I chuckle. “You won’t be a Thing by yourself!” I promise her, but deep down I am dreading this costume idea. I would rather suffer and be the third Munchkin of the Lollipop Guild with Emma and Steven than be a Thing.
Something about them freaks me out, maybe the blue hair, or creepy nose. At least with the Guild I can have an excuse to stuff candy in my mouth all night and avoid idle chit chat with tipsy pirates and slutty nurses.
I begged the girls to go as the three Sanderson sisters, but nope. Steven wanted to be a thoughtful husband and do a couple’s costume.
“Good! I would hate to embarrass myself like that . . .” she says, shaking her head. “Thing 1 without Thing 2 is just humiliating.” She laughs as she lays back on her living room floor.
“Yes . . . because of all the things encompassing that costume, that’s what would be embarrassing, nothing else.” I roll my eyes and lay back onto her fluffy rug with her.
“But seriously, what are you going to do about Benny?”
Gazing up at her ceiling, I avoid the question and start counting dots of popcorn ceiling.
I get to thirty-seven when she nudges me. “Answer me!”
Thirty-eight.
Thirty-nine.
Forty.
“I’m talking to him tonight, alright?”
“You are?” She throws herself over onto her stomach. “What are you going to say?”
I keep counting. Forty-five.
“I’m not sure. I have to talk to him about some of the kids first, then if we—”
“I swear if you say ‘if you have time,’ I will smack you!”
Pausing, I look at her. “If we . . . get to it . . .”
“You are ridiculous! Why are you stalling? What are you so afraid of? You like him, don’t you?” She’s talking fast, and sitting up now. “Of course you like him, who doesn’t like Benny! You would be lucky to have him! Hell, he’d be lucky to have you!”
“Thank you,” I whisper as she continues her rant.
“You guys just look so cute together! And everyone sees the way you look at each other, I bet even Mr. Clinton notices and he’s practically blind! Literally . . . a bat. Worse, a bat who needs glasses! And Benny is wonderful.” Her voice gets louder, and Dolly starts to run back and forth around the couch matching her energy. “He will do anything for the people he loves! Anything! Don’t you want a man like that? I want a man like that! Why on earth is there so much hesitation?” She throws her arms up in the air and groans.
I hadn’t asked myself why I was stalling or if that’s what I was even doing. But I know there is something inside me resisting moving forward. The other night, with the fire, and the wine, and the coziness of his body . . . I was so infatuated with him in the moment that I just blurted out my thoughts . . . more than coworkers. Who does that?
But now—in the daylight—with no cozy-under-the-blanket-hand-holding, I don’t have anything clouding my judgment. And the truth of the rules still remains.
We are not allowed to date.
Kate has stopped her rant and is looking at me as serious as she ever has. “Ellie, seriously. What is it?”
I sit up. “I haven’t liked someone in a long time. A really long time.”
“Since Liam?” she asks.
“Before that.” I pause, looking back on the feelings I had for Liam—the surface level relationship we had and the inability to accept we weren’t compatible. On paper, it seemed easy and expected, like we were so similar that it was ridiculous to look for anyone else.
But I did love Liam.
At least, I’m pretty sure I loved him.
I wouldn’t have jumped in front of a bullet for him though.
And there were times I refused to back down just because I didn’t want him to win and created more conflict. We were more against each other than we were for one another, viewing the world from the same lens but believing our own approaches were the best option. It was a selfish love, the love I had for Liam. But I’m pretty certain it was still love.
“You didn’t like your fiancé?”
“Not entirely.”
We both laugh.
“But you’re still angry at him for the wedding thing?”
“Oh for sure. Do you have any idea how much money I lost?”
She starts to play with the tassels of her shaggy rug—a bright yellow and white gingham print rug with fluffy tassels sticking out in different directions. Her bouncy dark curls fall to cover her face when she asks, “Why would you agree to marry someone you don’t like?”
She isn’t looking at me. She knows this is a boundary I have avoided crossing with my new friends here, and I have a feeling she doesn’t want to upset me by trying to get too personal.
Letting out a sigh I say, “We were both convinced we were too broken to be loved. I thought he was the best choice I had at a life with someone—that we were the best choice for each other. He would always ask, who could love people as dark and twisted as us?” My voice cracks. “And I believed he had a point, if no one would love someone like me, maybe I could force myself to love him. And I think he did the same.”
"Did it work? Forcing yourself?"
"Mostly. I did love him . . . in a way."
“Do you really think you aren’t lovable?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Who wants to love someone broken?”
“We’re all broken in some way! You’re a therapist, you of all people know that!”
“True, but who wants to love someone refusing to fix themselves? Someone who is so broken, they would rather fix other people than address their own issues?” I stare at her, driving my point home. “No one.”
She frowns at me. “I don’t believe that.”
“I have yet to find a single person on this planet that loves someone like that.”
“I know a person.” She smirks.
“Chill out! It’s not that serious!”
Is it though? Are my feelings for Benny serious feelings? Are his?
“If it’s not serious, why would you ask him to be more than coworkers?” She air quotes with her hands. “Why entertain the idea of something not serious?”
“Impulse?” I wince at my own absurdity, of course it wasn’t impulse. It is a thought that has been festering and building in my brain for months.
“Whatever! Don’t lie to yourself, and don’t lie to me. I deserve better! We deserve better,” she says, throwing her arms around Dolly and hugging her tight. Dolly licks her face, then runs away to grab one of her squeaky toys.
“Why does it even matter? I won’t be here much longer anyway! There’s no need to get worked up on dating Benny when I know we have an expiration date.” I feel the quiver in my voice building. Refusing to let it break, I stand up. “All of this has an expiration date! I won’t be here after the term!” My voice is getting loud and harsh. “I’m going back to my old life, my old job, my old clients! The dirty city . . . the loud subway . . . the lonely house with the expensive rent. The place where a dark, twisted, broken person like me belongs!”
My body is trembling as I fix my eyes on my feet. I stand there, feeling the yellow rug tassels with my toes, holding my breath. Refusing to look up, I blinked back the tears, letting one fall to the rug. I hear the rustling of the rug as Kate stands up and walks over to me, wrapping me in a hug.
“You belong here, with us.”
Dolly trots over and paws at both of our legs. I laugh and sniffle as I hug her back, holding Dolly’s paw. I want her to be right, but the reality that I’m not cut out for the job is hovering over me like a black cloud. If I couldn’t help these students, why would they even keep me here?
“Thank you,” I say, sniffling again.
“Please talk to Benny. At least tell him how you feel. No man likes a girl playing with his emotions!”
“You’re right.”
“And then date him, please! The man needs a companion.”
She releases from our hug and walks into her kitchen. I stand there, kicking at the rug tassels, giddy butterflies filling my stomach as I daydream about dating Bayani Divata.
The butterflies scurry away as reality pulls me back down to earth.
The rules.
“Ugh. I can’t date him,” I call to her in the kitchen. “I can’t tell him any of this! It’s against school board rules!”
She frowns at me from around the open refrigerator door. “Good point.”
Laying back on her pink modular sofa I frown back. “So, what’s the point?”
Walking back into the living room, eating a dairy-free ice cream bar she says, “Well, I would suggest just date until you leave at the end of the term, but I’m refusing to accept that you’re leaving. So that’s out of the question.” She wipes the corner of her mouth. “Plus, Benny couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. You’d last a day before you both got fired.”
“Like I said, there’s no point.” I throw my arms over my face and moan. “Why did I have to go and have a crush on my boss?”
“Ironic, huh?” she says, consuming more fake ice cream. “Don’t therapists have to maintain boundaries or something?”
I glare at her. “Yes.”
“Seems to me a boundary has been crossed, eh?”
“More like obliterated!”
She laughs at me as I scream into one of her giant purple throw pillows. Her living room color palette is a bag of skittles and she has no shame about it.
“I can’t believe I let this happen. I’m unbelievable,” I mumble under the pillow.
“Inconceivable!” she shouts.
“INCONCEIVABLE!” we shout in unison.
Dolly Parton howls.
Chapter seventeen
Ellie
“What’ll it be?” Sam asks, smacking on his gum and clicking his pen to write down my order. Sam was a burly guy, with a less than welcoming demeanor—his bald head shining under the fluorescents of his diner.
“I’ll take the special, plain, with coffee.”
He snags the menu from my hands and saunters off. “You’re gonna have to try something other than waffles eventually!” he calls over his shoulder.
“Just keeping it consistent,” I reply.
He grumbles at me and heads to the register, mouthing my order to himself with a snarl. I giggle and look down at the table. A plexi-glass table with business cards and flyers shoved in between the layers.
Jodie’s Salon, Open Monday - Thursday
Carol’s Signs, Online Orders Only
Three Sisters House Cleaners, Available 24/7
Glendale Baseball Camp Happening in Two Weeks
I trace my hand over the glass, picturing each of the businesses in this corner of the city and felt the smile tug at my cheek. We were inside city limits, one of the largest cities in Oklahoma, but for the last twenty years, the ten blocks surrounding the high school had established itself as Knight Town, Home of Glendale High School.
“I wouldn’t let Jodie go anywhere near my head, if I were you.”
I look up from the cards and see Devon standing by my booth, coffees in hand.
I smile. “Bad experience?”
“She gave me a high top perm for prom last year.” He rolls his eyes, setting my coffee down. “May I?” He waves to the empty seat across from me.
I nod to the seat. “You seem like someone who can pull off a perm though.”
“Lucky for her sake, I can. But save yourself the trouble. Unless you wanna leave lookin’ like a poodle, I’d go to the city.”
“Noted”—I pour cream into my coffee—“So, when did you start working for Sam?”
“Since I beat his nephew’s face in.” He takes a sip of his coffee.
“Making amends, I see?”
“Mom made me.” He shrugs. “Said if I wanna act like a man, I may as well work like one.”
“Understandable. How are you liking it?”
“It’s dumb. Wipe tables, wash dishes, pour coffee. What is there to like?”
“Getting a paycheck, perhaps? Building your resume?” I ask optimistically.
He nods in response, looking out the window.
I wait a moment, giving him an opportunity to continue. When he doesn’t, I ask, “What can I do for you, Mr. Johnson?”
