I figured she was going for another dozen. Instead, she headed for the counter filled with cutlery, straws, and coffee complements. She grabbed a few things before giving the display case a meaningful glance. She was thinking about another dozen. I knew it. When she returned to the table, she produced a plastic knife and cut the Bismarck down the middle.
"Eat that and explain this issue with your boys again," she ordered, wagging the knife at me.
"I mean, there's not an issue per se," I said, picking up my half of the Boston Crème. Damn, I loved me some Boston Crème. Cake, donut, scented candle, you name it, I wanted it. There was nothing better in the whole world than chocolate, cake, and pudding in one bite. "There's just these two guys and they're both…I don't know. They're botharoundright now."
"Do you want them around?" She wiped her fingers clean and reached for her iced tea. "Based on everything you've said recently, it seems as though you find them amusing. Right?"
"Amusing is one way to put it," I said with a laugh. "First there's Rob, and I really like being with him. I'm not sure what it is but he's—he's funny and smart and easy to be with and I like all of those things. I like them so much. When we first started chatting, it was as if we'd known each other forever. I never have to explain my humor to him and there were never awkwardoh shit what did I saymoments. He has some issues from his ex-girlfriend and they're rather significant, but—but he looks at me like he wants to listen to everything I say."
Andy nodded, setting her tea down. "It sounds as though you really like this dude."
"I do. He has some shit to work through but so do I. When you're in your thirties and single, everyone is fighting the ghosts of exes past."
"You're not wrong," Andy said, her gaze dropping to the seven donuts remaining in the box. "Then what's the story with Ben? Why is he in the picture if Rob is the model of fucked-up perfection?"
"He's in the picture because he owns the house across the street from me," I replied.
"He's the fixer-upper?"
"Him and the house he bought, yeah," I replied. "Andy, you'd freakin' die if you saw the way he was reno'ing that place. Electrical and water both on during demo. No permits to speak of. He was laying tile on subfloor. No mortar board in sight."
"My god," she whispered, lifting her hand to her mouth.
"I know, right?"
"Yeah, that's tragic," Andy replied. "But this Ben, the bad flipper, does he look at you like he wants to listen to everything you say?"
"N—" I started to respond but stopped myself. I didn't know how Ben looked at me, not really. "I don't think so. I'm not sure."
Andy crossed her arms. "What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I mean, I am not sure about him," I replied, enunciating every word. "Every time I see him, I have to yell at him about something. First it was the tile saw at two in the morning, then it was him crashing my lunch date with Rob, and then it was him fucking up everything he touched at his house."
She poked at the remaining donuts. "Sounds like a lot of work. Sounds like every guy you've ever dated before. One in particular."
I reached into the box. Me and sugar, we were going down today. "I see how you're drawing that comparison but Ben is just bad at home improvement and I have no patience for that shit. He's not a couch-dwelling, dog-stealing, no-motivation, self-centered man-baby."
"Well, I'm pleased we're not dealing with another man-baby," Andy replied. "But he still sounds like a lot of work."
"You're right," I conceded. "And I'm not one hundred percent certain he's not hanging around and dropping suggestive comments simply because he likes playing the game."
"Ugh, no," Andy wailed. "Not a game-player. We're not twenty-two anymore, thank you."
"Believe me, I know. That's one of the reasons I'm not sure about Ben," I confessed. "I'm not sure what he really wants. I'm not sure what would happen if I stopped going to him, you know?"
"I don't. Explain," Andy said, cutting a s'mores donut in half.
"The first time I met him was when I went across the street in the middle of the night, a supermajority of my boobs out, to complain about his tile saw. Then I went back and literally fixed his issues and listened to his problems. Aside from running into him when I was with Rob at Flour, I've always made the gestures."
"Does he text you?" she asked.
"Not really," I replied. "I assume that has something to do with fighting fires but I've only received"—I held up my finger as I scrolled through my phone—"three texts from him. One telling me he was on his way to the house the weekend we met there, one thanking me for helping him at the house, one asking if I wanted to show him how to hang drywall."
"A drywall date," Andy deadpanned. "Adorable."
"But the thing is, when I'm with him, he seems…I don't know. He's always an asshole but he's not a jerk if that makes sense."
"Makes sense. I know assholes who aren't jerks. Several." She reached for her tea and gestured at me with the cup. "You have to do something with these guys."
