Marriage Matters (8 page)

Twelve

“H
ello, hello,” June chirped, throwing open the door. “So happy you both could make it!”

Kristine exchanged an amused glance with Chloe. June said this every Thursday, as if spending the evening together was optional. June had started the tradition when Chloe started college and the three had spent Thursdays together ever since.

Typically, they did something tame but on occasion, June liked to shake things up. She’d signed them up for bungee jumping, belly dancing and stand-up comedy. Once, they’d even stalked Oprah’s penthouse. Kristine wouldn’t be surprised if she said, “Come on, girls! We’re getting matching tattoos.”

Tonight looked like an art night, as the table in the dining room was piled high with scrapbook pages, family photos and stickers. Chloe rushed past it and toward the antique hutch stocked with snacks. Shoving a handful of chocolate-covered peanuts into her mouth, she said, “The best part about Thursdays is the snacks. I should probably go on a date with a dentist, not a psychologist.”

June’s eyes widened. “Date? Did you say date?”

Chloe popped a piece of sea salt caramel in her mouth. Then she pointed at her lips as though to indicate they were too busy chewing to say another word.

Kristine laughed. “She loves to torture us. Don’t worry, Mom. You’ll get it out of her.”

June slid on a pair of reading glasses with pink frames, exactly like the ones Kristine had picked up at Walgreens two days ago. Great. She was turning into her mother.
That
should help her relationship with Kevin.

“Hundreds of years ago,” June read from the notebook where she stored her research for their Thursday nights, “Englanders invented Commonbooks to record their memories. They’d decorate a page with letters, pictures or whatever to call to mind a particular moment in time. Tonight, we will create a page to represent our lives, using these . . . thingamajigs to do it.” She waved her hand at the table. “Who knows?” June shut her notebook and beamed. “Maybe, with time, we’ll keep adding to our book and our story.”

Kristine sifted through some of the pictures June had set out. There were a couple of cute ones, especially of Chloe when she was little. And a few with Kevin, that just made her feel sad.

“So.” June reached for a pink scrapbook page. “Chloe, tell me about my future grandson-in-law.”

“It’s just a date, Grandma.” Chloe groaned. “There’s nothing to tell. Besides, it’s not going to work out.” She crumpled a napkin and grinned. “I called him an asshole when we first met.”

“And he still asked you out?” June eyed her from over the frames of her glasses. “It sounds like . . . what’s his name?”

“Geoff,” Chloe said. “With a G.”

“Geoff with a G is
clearly
in love with you already.” June applied glue to a pink felt flower and pressed it onto her page. “I predict marriage and children by the end of the year. You did catch that bouquet.”

“So did you,” Chloe pointed out. “And Mom.”

Kristine shook her head. She didn’t like to think about the bouquet. Even though June had insisted that she save a handful of baby’s breath and keep it for good luck, the whole thing made her uncomfortable. If another marriage was supposed to be on the horizon, what did that say about her and Kevin?

When Kristine didn’t say anything, Chloe turned her attention to the window. “Grandma, your neighbor’s outside. Working away.”

“La di dah.” June made a face. “I’ve been thinking I should call the police and report him.”

“Why would you report him?” Chloe asked. “Are his sunflowers back?”

Kristine laughed. “I forgot about that.”

Last summer, Charley’s sunflowers had grown in so strong and so tall that they shaded a twenty-five percent area of June’s garden. Yes, June was certain of this figure. She measured it.

“Laugh all you want.” June sprinkled some pink glitter across her page. “But I think it’s important for you to know that if anything happens to me, it’s because I’ve finally confronted that terrible man.”

“You told him off?” Chloe asked, taking a seat at the table. “Maybe he’ll ask you out.”

June’s hand froze midair. “I simply cannot think of anything worse.”

“Midterms,” Chloe said as Kristine blurted out, “Inventory audits.”

June thought for a moment. “Menopause.”

The three of them reflected on this.

“Oh!” Chloe pointed at Kristine. “Mom. When were you going to tell us
your
big news?”

Kristine fidgeted. “Big news?”

“Uh,
Rome
?” Turning to June, Chloe said, “She won a trip. Can you believe I had to learn this from Dad?”

Kristine gave a nervous laugh and explained about the essay contest. She focused on her art project as she talked, placing travel stickers in a neat pattern on her page, wondering how long it would take for—

“I assume Kevin will be joining you?” June asked.

Ten seconds. Not
bad.

“Um . . .” Kristine reached for an outdated copy of
National Geographic
and started flipping through the pages. “He’s thinking about it.”

June blinked. “You’re going alone?”

“With an employee.” Kristine tried to keep her voice casual, already knowing that her mother would not approve. “Ethan wrote the winning essay, so . . .”

June peered at Kristine. “You’re traveling with a man?”

Getting up from the table, Kristine walked over to the snack table. Reaching for a brownie, she said, “I’d like Kevin to come. He might. He’s thinking about it.”

“Dad hates to travel,” Chloe said. “Almost as much as Grandma.”

“I do not
hate
to travel,” June said. “I just prefer to stay in Chicago. Everything I need is at my front door.”

There was a loud crash outside and everyone jumped. Charley was standing next to the fence, dumping yard waste into a trash bin. Seeing an opportunity to change the subject, Kristine said, “You didn’t tell us why you want to report Charley to the police.”

After a long moment, June turned her attention to the window. “I don’t know. I just don’t trust him,” she said. “If I end up missing, he’s buried my body in the garden.”

“Well,” Chloe said, “you always say he doesn’t know how to buy a decent fertilizer.”

Kristine laughed. “I wish you liked him. He seems like such a nice man.”

“Exactly,” June said. “They always seem nice. Until.”

“Maybe you just need to be a better neighbor,” Chloe said. “Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about it.”

June bristled. “I am a lovely neighbor. I raise the value of our neighborhood just by . . . just by staying alive.”

“You’re a lovely neighbor?” Kristine said. “Oh, okay. Have you . . . shoveled his snow?”

“Raked his leaves?” Chloe asked. “Baked him some cookies?”

The two of them cracked up. Chloe laughed so hard she pounded the table. The colorful little decorations June had so carefully collected jumped like jumping beans.

June pressed her lips together tightly. “I hope that one of these days,” she said, “I’ll have a family that takes me seriously.”

Chloe squeezed her hand. “If I were you, Grandma, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Thirteen

B
en rushed into the bar. From his rumpled T-shirt, jeans and baseball cap, Chloe could tell he’d just gotten out of bed. She felt bad for waking him but the things June had said about her date with Geoff had freaked her out. If this date really was a big deal, Chloe needed Ben’s input . . . bad.

Peeling herself out of their typical booth, Chloe pushed her way through a small crowd of people. She stumbled into Ben and pulled him into a tight bear hug. “Oooph.” Her face smashed into the soft material of his T-shirt. He smelled spicy, like someone who’d just woken up.

Chloe gazed up at him with adoration. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Um . . . are you drunk?”

After leaving June’s, Chloe had raced to the bar and downed an entire vodka soda. “I’m not drunk . . . I’m just not as alcohol tolerant as I used to be.”

Taking his large hand in hers, Chloe led him back to their booth. There was a Sam Adams waiting for him and a fresh vodka soda waiting for her. Moisture had beaded up on the glasses of both drinks, and Chloe reached for hers, taking a hearty sip.

“I don’t remember you ever being alcohol tolerant.” Ben slid into the wooden booth. “The first time we ever got drunk together, you punched me in the face.”

Chloe laughed. “You totally deserved it.”

The first time Chloe and Ben had ever tried alcohol was in the eighth grade. She was supposed to be at basketball practice but when it got cancelled, she called Ben. He swiped three bottles of Woodchuck Cider from his parents’ fridge and sneaked them over in his blue backpack. After drawing the shades on the window and locking her bedroom door, they took a seat on the bed. Ceremoniously, Ben passed Chloe a bottle. They’d clinked the necks, then took their first nervous sip. Ben raised his eyebrows, as though he liked it, but Chloe thought it tasted like rotten apple juice. Not wanting to seem like a wimp, she drank it anyway.

The alcohol made her sleepy, so instead of sharing the third bottle of cider like they’d planned, she snuggled up next to Ben and dozed off as they watched a movie. She awoke to the sensation of his hand under her shirt, feeling her right breast.

Chloe remembered this moment of her life in vivid detail. She could still see the pattern of the leaves on the ceiling, from the big tree just outside her window. She could smell the cider on her own breath and the powder of her deodorant as it burst into action. And she could remember everything about the way Ben’s warm, rough hand felt as he slowly explored her body.

Even though this moment wasn’t the first time she’d been touched by a boy—Jake Rogers had felt her up at a movie, brushing his thumb over the fabric of her lacy bra—this was the first time it had happened on bare skin. It was also the first time Chloe actually felt something. At Ben’s touch, strange sensations coursed through her body, particularly a longing between her legs.

When Chloe finally turned to look at Ben, the mattress shifting under her weight, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. She was surprised to find him staring at her with an intensity that went far beyond anything that her thirteen-year-old, hormone-tortured mind could handle. So, Chloe did the only thing she could—she drew back her fist and punched him in the face.

Ben yelped like a golden retriever, yanked his hand out of her shirt and bolted, totally forgetting his backpack. Chloe refused to give it back until he swore to never do anything like that again. True to his word, he hadn’t.

Studying him now, Chloe grinned. “Did I really wake you up?”

Ben looked at his watch. “It’s one thirty in the morning. Take a wild guess.”

“You should turn off your phone.” She had learned that lesson years ago, when June went through her insomnia phase. Because Chloe was in college, June assumed it was more than acceptable to call her at any hour of the night, letting the phone ring and ring until she picked up.

“I’m not going to turn off my ringer,” Ben said. “What if you’d been in trouble or something?” Taking off his baseball cap, he ran his hand through his blond curls and gave a loud yawn. His teeth were big and white, even in the back of his mouth. Ben had never had a cavity, which was incredibly annoying. Chloe seemed to have one every time she went to the dentist.

“Actually, I thought you
were
in trouble.” Ben put his hat on his head and leaned back in the booth. “Why else would you call me in the middle of the night?”

“I
am
in trouble.” Chloe gave an awkward laugh. “Today, in a
Twilight Zone
turn of events, that mean psychologist guy asked me out on a date. And . . .” For some reason, she felt nervous, like Ben was going to scold her. Like she’d done something wrong. “I said yes.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “You did what?”

She cringed. “Yeah.”

“Right . . .” He scratched his head. “This is the same guy that you called an asshole?”

“Yup.”

“The same one that you moped about for two days?”

“The very same.”

Ben put his head in his hands. “Chloe.”

“I know, I know . . .” And she did
know. Dr. Gable had been horrible when they’d first met. “I like him.” She plucked the lime out of her drink and dropped it onto her napkin. It made a wet spot that slowly expanded out and across the paper. “I’ve had a crush on him since he spoke at our school.”

“Yeah, but come on.” Ben grabbed the napkin and wadded it up. “Since when are you into guys who are mean to you?”

“It was a misunderstanding. He was nervous, I was nervous . . .”

Ben took a drink of beer, not saying anything. He pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes.

“Look . . .” Chloe touched his hand. “The man wears ascots. He can’t be that bad.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say . . . ?”

“Ascots.”

“Huh.” Ben sat back in the booth with a thud. “Ass-cots,” he said, drawing the word out. “This guy sounds like a douche. I can guarantee he’s not good enough for you.”

Considering the fact that Dr. Gable was thirty-six, owned his own practice and knew how to rock a pair of green sweatpants, Chloe couldn’t help but disagree. Still, she’d called Ben here for a reason.

“I knew you’d say that.” She took a deep breath. “But I need your help. I haven’t gone on a date in forever. I need you to coach me.”

Ben snorted. “Give me a break. You don’t need any coaching.”

There was a wooden bowl full of wasabi-covered peanuts sitting on the table. Ben scooped up a few and popped them into his mouth. His eyes scanned the bar, as though trying to figure out exactly how he’d been conned out of his cozy bed.

“Ben, I’m serious.” Chloe’s cheeks colored slightly. “I haven’t gone on a date since undergrad.”

He stopped chewing. “Come on.” Thinking, he rubbed his hand against the blond stubble lining his jaw. “No. That’s not true. You were seeing—”

“I’ve hung
out
with people.” Ben had met more than a few of the guys who had traipsed in and out of her life. “I just haven’t gone on an official
date. I need you to give me a crash course.”

Instead of laughing in her face, Ben’s bright blue eyes searched hers. “Huh. I think you’re being serious.” Plucking the straw from her drink, he twirled it between his fingers as though deep in thought. Finally, he popped it between his lips like a toothpick. “Okay.” Adjusting the rim of his baseball cap, he gave her a sly look. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh, thank you,” she cried. “Thank you so much.” Embarrassing herself on the date with Dr. Gable would not be nearly as likely with Ben’s help. Eagerly, she pulled out a notepad from her purse. Pen poised, she said, “Go for it. I’m ready.”

Ben burst out laughing. “What are you doing? You’re gonna take
notes
?”
He reached out and touched her pen as though to convince himself it were real.

“I’m a student.” Chloe snatched the pen away. “Of course I’m going to take notes.”

Ben pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes. “Darlin’,” he said. “You don’t need to take notes. I’m not going to tell you how to go on a date. I’m going to show you.”

“Show me?” she said, surprised.

“You’re going on a date. With me.”

Well, that was a whole different ball game. Chloe considered the idea. It was very Eliza Doolittle. She imagined Ben teaching her how to walk across the room, pronounce certain words and, at the end of the night, engage in a proper kiss. At that thought, she blushed furiously.

It was rare that Chloe allowed herself to think of Ben as a guy but considering they were sitting in a low-lit bar, sitting so close together, it was hard not to. He looked good, as always. In fact, she had to admit, he looked downright sexy.

“No,” Chloe said, crossing her arms. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Ben leaned forward. His arms flexed slightly as he reached for another peanut and popped it in his mouth. “You scared? Afraid I might try to”—his eyes grazed over hers—“kiss you at the door?”

Chloe felt an involuntary flutter in her stomach. “Don’t be stupid.” She shifted in her seat. “I’d—”

“Punch me in the face.” Ben finished the sentence for her, laughing. “I know. Alright,” he said. “There’s nothing to be scared of. We’ll do it tomorrow.” Catching her horrified expression, he clarified, “Do it, as in, we’ll go on a date tomorrow.”

Just as Chloe was about to insist that it was a stupid idea, that she never should have suggested it, an image of the good doctor strolled through her mind. Calm, self-assured . . . and for some reason, wearing an ascot covered with grinning alligators. It would be much smarter to make a fool out of herself in front of Ben instead of Dr. Gable.

“Alright,” Chloe agreed. “I’m in.” Reaching for her drink, she clinked it with Ben’s. “Proof as to just how desperate I am.”

“Ah,” Ben said, looking like a wounded playboy. “Here’s your first dating tip: Never tell a guy that you’re only going out with him because you’re desperate.”

Chloe grinned. They sat there in silence, watching the people around them. There was a couple over by the bar making out like they were the only ones in the room. Taking a long sip of her drink, she wondered how long they’d known each other.