Cider House Fools, page 30
“About me being the only straight guy in the group.” His voice lowers. As if anyone can hear what we’re talking about over the laughter and loud buzz of the busy bar. “I don’t see how it’s going to work. I’m…I’m the wooden block in a bag full of marbles. I can’t join in the activities. That’s not how I’m built.”
I can’t help it. A laugh bursts out of me mid swallow. By the time I’m done choking and coughing and manage to swallow my beer, I know exactly what to say to him. “Listen, I’m no expert in poly relationships, but I’m pretty sure the two most important things are communication and everyone getting their needs met. For me, Bennett having her heart’s desires fulfilled is top of the list. I’m willing to bet that is top of the list for you too. Bennett loves you Smith. She probably already knows that’s a hard limit for you. We are all going to need time alone with her. When it’s your turn I’m sure Whittaker and Balthasar and I will find something to get up too.”
“But is that dynamic fair to her?” Poor bastard. He looks so confused.
“Look, I think you’re making this harder than it has to be. I think Bennett will love the three of us developing a relationship and it won’t bother her at all. She isn’t a jealous person. She’s aware of how short and precious life is. If that’s what your worried about, ask her Smith.” I lift my ass off the stool and reach for my wallet.
He grabs my arm. “What does that mean Franklin? What are you getting at?” Fuck. I let too much slip.
“I can’t say anything else. Like I said, ask her Smith. Talk to her. It won’t matter how we all work if the two of you don’t work first. And I’d start at the beginning.” I toss a twenty on the table and head for the rest room. When I come out he’s still sitting in the exact same position I left him in, his face lost in thought.
Chapter twenty-seven
December
Bennett
As soon as we get home, I head for my room, citing the need to change, but really I wanted to call my mom. My entire body deflates with relief when she answers after the first ring. “Hi honey. I was going to call you. You beat me to it.”
I want to unload. I want to tell her all about the things that are going on in my personal life, but my tongue feels twisted in knots of selfishness. Mom is grieving too. She loved Gran like a mother. We all loved Gran immensely. Whittaker, Smith, and Balthasar were practically raised by her. She was a dominant female figure in their lives and had a great deal of influence shaping the men they became. And here they all are, catering to my pain and my needs as if I wasn’t the prodigal granddaughter.
I press the speaker button and toss the phone on the bed so I can talk while I slip into a pair of pajamas. “Balthasar, Whittaker, and Franklin took me shopping today. We bought all the toys and most of the groceries to make Gran’s luncheon. Smith and Franklin are at Plowed right now checking out the smokers. Everything is coming along.”
“I can’t believe her service is in three days. What can I do to help?” I can see her sitting on her couch, knees tucked up, clad in something elegant, like pink silk pajamas, swirling an expensive cabernet in a fancy, long stemmed, wine glass. Sometimes I can’t believe that I was produced by such elegant woman.
“I don’t know? Maybe spread the word? I haven’t put much thought into….” A loud smack echoes through my chilly room as I facepalm. “Oh my God. I didn’t think about an obituary. I am awful.”
My mother laughs softly. “Honey, the obituary went out after we made the arrangements at Van Zantwick’s. Obits are part of the service.”
I frown. “I don’t remember talking about what it would say.” I perch on the edge of my bed, lifting my heels up to the frame and resting my elbows on my knees.
“That’s because it was already written. Your grandmother wrote it herself. It’s the thing to do these days if, well, you know your time is coming.” My eyes fill and I can’t stop the whimper that escapes. “Bennett, sweetheart, stop. There is nothing to feel guilty about. I’ve been wasting a lot of energy doing that myself for not telling you. And if I’m completely honest, I’m still a little mad at her for making me promise not to. She didn’t want you to go through it a second time. She wanted you to run your restaurant and become a success, and that’s exactly what you’ve done. She was proud of you honey, but she had a full life. Don’t presume because you weren’t here her days were empty.”
“But I could have come home. I’ve left my restaurant to celebrate her life when I should have left it to spend the end with her.” I sob quietly, not wanting anyone to hear me. I need this time to myself to talk to my mother.
She sighs heavily. “Bennett, everyone should have the opportunity to go out into the world and make a life. I don’t know how to make you understand that none of us were sitting up here in Michigan feeling resentful that you chose to make a life in Pennsylvania. Do you remember when Teneta left? Were you mad at her?”
“Absolutely not! I was proud as hell of her. It was a blow to lose her, but she was ready to open her own place.” I think of my fiery little sous chef and the amazing Ethiopian place she and her wife have on the outskirts of Philly.
“So why are you racked with all this guilt? I don’t agree with Gran that it was right to hide her cancer from you, but Bennett, it was aggressive.” She exhales, and the next thing she says comes out with a tremor. “She knew you’d drop everything and rush to her side. I think she was starting to change her mind, that maybe it wouldn’t be the best thing for you to hide the cancer, but then she died in her sleep and damn it I’m grateful she went the way she did. She could have suffered a great deal more had the cancer dragged out.”
“But I should have been here. I would have wanted to be here mom,” I croak, a hot torrent of tears flooding down my face. “She died alone.”
“I refuse to believe that. I refuse! Your grandfather and your dad were right there waiting for her. She wasn’t alone Bennett. Now wipe off your face and tell me exactly what in the hell you’re thinking getting involved with those boys again when you have every intention of going back to Pennsylvania.”
“What? How did you…?” My eyes flap open, and the tears evaporate instantly from my flaming cheeks.
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. It’s Stayman sweety. The Ryerson boys are no longer following their routine. Whittaker Schultz is leaving the house and shedding his hermit shell faster than a Shetlands sheds. I’d like to hear it from you because honestly, the stories I’m hearing around town are wild and I’m starting to have trouble fielding them.”
“I, I um, I…” For a split second I wish we were still talking about Gran, but then my heart spasms. The poor organ is going to glitch right out of my chest it’s so overfilled with grief for Gran and rekindling relationships with four…. Oh God. I just got what I wanted, and I take it back. I can’t talk to my mother about the four men I’m having sex with!
“Tell me, how is Franklin dealing with all this? Because I say that man has been in love with you for years. Brian thinks Balthasar is more his type, but I say—”
“We are both his type, mom,” I blurt and then freeze when she gasps.
“Well fuck me,” she breathes. “That’s going to be fun. You lucky little shit.”
“Mom! Oh my God! Who are you? These are real people’s lives and feelings at stake here.” I grip the edge of my bed. My mother has ripped the metaphorical rug right out from under my feet. I appreciate her candor and acceptance, but I have no clue how to respond. Honestly, I thought she’d have a problem with it. This one hundred and eighty degrees from the reaction she had the first time she figured it out I was in a polyamorous relationship in my teens.
“Being the only straight arrow in the bunch is going to be hard on Smith. He’ll turn surly if you allow any jealousy to brew. What are you going to do?” I can hear her tapping her left index finger against her lips. I know my mother. Her brows are probably pinched tight as her brain explodes with scenarios that are not for her to worry about.
“Mom, stop. I can’t…I don’t even know how to respond to all of this! And Smith isn’t the only straight arrow in the group.”
“You’re right, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to discount your sexuality,” she drops the apology like a swirl after a signature. She’s practically cooing, letting me know she’s got my whole love life figured out. How in the hell does she know which way Whittaker swings? Has he branched out from Balthasar? The implications drive home how much I have to catch up on with them. We’ve all had years to become adults with full lives and secrets we’ve earned the right to keep. My brows comes together as I frown. Do I have the right to stick my nose into their lives like that? “Bennett, honey, are you still there?”
“Yeah. Mom, I have to go.” I stand up and stare at the full-length mirror on the back of my door. The woman staring back at me is frowning. She has bags under her eyes. And she definitely needs new pajamas.
“Lots to talk about tonight, hm?” she sings in a teasing tone.
“Okay that’s enough for one night, Madame Melanie. One more comment and I’ll tell you exactly where you can put your—”
“Night Bennett! Love you,” she sings. The phone disconnects.
“—crystal ball.” I finish, my punchline drowned out by the dial tone.
I push the door open and storm out of the hallway into the kitchen. “Whatever you’re doing stop. We need to…talk.” The only person in the kitchen is Whittaker. He’s loading up the coffee pot, and I know without a doubt he’s been out to the barn to care for the animals. Damn it. I should be doing that. That isn’t his responsibility. He has his own place to care for. “Where’s Balthasar?”
“He went home. Thought we could use the time.” he casually says, not bothering to turn to look at me. “Stop worrying. I don’t have any work to do at my place Bennett.” How the fuck does he do that? He’s always been able to read my mind. He pulls two mugs down from the cupboard. “Sit.”
I almost say refuse. As much as I usually love his ability to read my mind, tonight his talent makes me feel belligerent. Adding a please onto his command mollifies the childish urge to refuse. I pull out a chair and watch him walk to the refrigerator and dig around for some creamer. “I’m sure you are used to fancier coffee than this. You’ll have to teach me how to make what you like now.” He pulls out a chair and sits down. Damn him and his broody, square jaw. And those eyes. Like tropical water over white sand. You think they can’t possibly hide anything until you realize they’re deceptively deep and you can’t swim. He slouches over the chair, completely relaxed, content to say nothing while I shift in my chair, clanking my spoon against the side of my mug to stir in the apple pie flavored creamer. I bet his ass knows exactly what I want to ask. I stare back at him, daring him to speak first.
“I don’t like talking Ben, but I can’t let you walk out of my life again without letting you know how much I want you to be in it. And you can’t make that decision until I catch you up on what you missed.” His eyes never leave mine, but my skin prickles as if they are sweeping over my entire body. That’s what he does. He stares at me from the inside out. He boils my blood, heating me up from the inside out without a single touch. Fucking Whittaker Schultz. He could make Mother Teresa’s panties wet. I want to leap into his lap and use sex as a way to avoid having a hard discussion but that’s not fair. I asked him to talk, so I owe the curtesy of my full attention. What he wants to say merits polite, PG behavior. He taps the table, startling me out of my mental self-chastising. “Later, Goldie. I promise I’ll make every inch of you feel good later…if you still want me.”
Fuck me. I clear my throat. “I’m listening,” I manage.
“I was married. She left me because I couldn’t give her what she needed. I looked her in the face and promised to give her everything, even though I knew deep down I couldn’t. I lied to myself, and in doing so, I lied to her. I damaged a fine woman who deserved better.” He shuts his mouth and I watch his five o’clock shadow ripple over the length of his jaw. His shoulders are rigidly square, even though he gives off the appearance of being lazily slouched in the chair. He’s like an alligator lazily floating beside the riverbank. And I need to dip a toe in.
“Was she an adult?” I ask, biting my lip.
His eyebrows shoot up, his lips parting a little. “Of course, she was. Jesus, Bennett.”
I sigh. “Let me try a different tack. Do you blame me for your decision to marry her?”
“That’s stupid. It makes no sense.” Most people would take his sharp, snapped response as rude. But I don’t. Because he’s Whittaker. Like he said, maybe I know him better than I know myself.
“Then why do you hold yourself responsible for her choice?” I hold a hand up to stop him from interrupting and speak as gently as I can. “She may have been naïve, and you might have been lying to yourself, and in turn, her, but Whittaker, don’t tell me she didn’t know. If we listen to our gut, we know. When it was all said and done, did the two of you talk? Really talk?”
“There was nothing to say except to apologize, and she didn’t want to hear it. I tried.” His eyes are tortured, and my heart breaks for both him and his ex-wife.
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m willing to listen. Lord knows I have plenty of shitty, short-lived relationships we can discuss if you’re interested. If I’m being honest, mine didn’t work for the same reason yours didn’t.” I grin ruefully and shrug. “Maybe we are just a couple of real assholes. At least we’re on the same page.”
“You’re not an asshole,” he retorts vehemently. “I don’t think I’ll ever deserve you, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my days working my ass off to get there.” His eyes liquify my insides. I swear I can feel myself dripping off the chair into a gooey puddle. I know without a doubt that he never lied to her. She didn’t hear him. She couldn’t have, because no one speaks Whittaker Schultz’s language like I do.
I long to whisper the tender assurances he needs to hear, but didn’t we just talk about what happens when two adults make false promises? How can I be his when everything I’ve worked for is fifteen hours away? I squeeze my hands into fists until my nails dig into the tender flesh of my palms. The urge to lie is strong. I’m desperate to spin him a feel-good line and soothe the future hurt that is already brewing inside of him. But I owe him the truth. No matter how hard it is to swallow, no matter how much it hurts. He’s earned it. “You’re right. You don’t deserve me. You deserve better. You should be with someone who doesn’t run and hide. I left you behind. I assumed you wouldn’t leave the farm when I should have asked you. I was obsessed with my own future, my own situation.” I pause, clearing my throat. “I wanted to escape Stayman and make something of myself before I…” I shake my head and press my lips together. I know my nostrils are flaring, and my eyes are getting red, but I’m determined not to cry. “I have sins to confess Whittaker. And my restaurant isn’t just mine. I haven’t talked to Franklin, but, It’s not my decision alone to make.” I blurt everything out in a jumbled mess, hoping he understands everything. I can’t just decide to abandon my responsibilities for selfish personal reasons. I scooch to the edge of my chair; my body ready to bolt to a hasty exit the second he agrees with me.
He gets up. Looming over me, his broad chest blocks everything else from my view. His icy, winter fresh scent fills the air and makes me shiver. He steps over my legs, grabbing the ears of the chair, lowering his weight into my lap until he’s effectively trapped me. His thighs bulge against his worn jeans as he supports most of his weight. His head slants to the side as he studies me.
My panties literally dissolve. I sniff delicately, wondering what fuzzy pajama pants smell like when they’re on fire.
“I know Bennett.” His eyes are boring into me. Panic rises like a high tide. “I understand about the restaurant. Franklin will be on board for what Smith has built you here.” I press a hand to his chest, ready to push him off me. I swallow hard. “Tell me Bennett, what is this terrible secret that has you tongue tied? Out with it.”
The kitchen door bursts open. Smith and Franklin come through the door. Faint traces of beer tickle my nose as Smith kicks off his boots. Franklin stands still in the doorway, staring appreciatively at the sight in front of him. I bat my eyes at him, pleading for help. “Are we interrupting, or can I get in on the show Magic Mike?” He grins at Whittaker.
Smith snorts. Whittaker nails him with a dirty look. “Bennett was about to confess her sins,” he tattles, barely budging an inch as I struggle underneath him. Smith growls, taking an instant dislike to the way Whittaker is dominating me.
“Get the fuck off her Whit. She doesn’t look interested.” He lifts an eyebrow, staring until Whittaker releases the chair and stands up. I slide off the chair. Crossing my arms over my top, I pray my nipples haven’t poked a hole in the thin fabric of my ratty, broke in tank top.
The four of us stand and stare awkwardly around the kitchen table. it’s obvious to both Smith and Franklin they walked in on a heavy conversation, as obvious as the fact that I am done with it. The four of us stand awkwardly, staring at each other. Franklin nods encouragingly. “Smith, I very much enjoyed our night together last night. Whittaker, I would like to spend the night alone with you tomorrow.”
My heart leaps in my chest as Smith cracks a small smile and Whittaker nods yes. “Good.” I say, my cheeks heating at ridiculous I know I sound. “Tomorrow Franklin and I will be at the VFW cooking all day. I hope to see you both then.” I uncross my arms and drop my hands to my hips. No, that makes me look angry. Which I’m not. I wring my fingers together, then drop my hands. Finally deciding on one hand on my hip, I lift the other, beckoning them forward with one crooked finger. “Kiss me goodbye?” I ask hopefully. And they do. Both kisses are tender, sweet, and chaste, but they leave my heart racing.
I watch both men as they pull on their boots and jackets and exit the house. “Thank fuck. Does this mean I get you to myself for the night?” Franklin’s face is lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.
