With the next book club on the horizon and opening at the Bean with Roderick all week, the days passed in a haze of busyness while I constantly thought about Ben.
He hadn’t stopped into the Bean for an Americano, or texted or called. There had been nothing from him. His face, his palm running down my arm sending shivers up my spine, his breath hot on my neck—so many memories of him were on repeat in my mind.
My pulse beat at a frantic pace as I worried if he was okay with all of this. I assumed he was done with me, which hurt more than being cast out from my social circles in New York, or my parents turning their noses up at me.
By Friday, I was so upset, I decided not to go home between my shift and the book club. I sat in the back of the Bean, moping and going over last-minute details. My hand shook so much while I was applying pale pink eyeshadow in the back room of the Bean, Roderick told me, “Snap out of it, Murph. Go get your guy. Period. Stop drowning in your own misery.”
This made me laugh. At the very least, opening with Roderick granted me some much-needed laughter and a lot of home-baked sweets. I had a little extra curviness to my hips.
“I have to get through this first. Apparently, reps from Essie and one of the big publishing houses checked out our posts on the blog from the last time, and they want to sponsor a book club.”
Plopping into a chair, Roderick sighed. Wow, that’s big-time. You’re really doing it. You may not fly private, but you’re still making it big,” he teased.
I shook my hairbrush in his face. “Quit it.”
Looking down at my hands, I was pleased that my pale pink and blue nail polish had survived my coffee shift. I was ready to tackle book club.
But stopping thinking about Ben, not so much.
Walking out into the Bean, I spotted a crowd gathering in the corner. Everyone was dressed in watercolor shades of pink, blue, and lavender with copies of the bookTo See Youtucked in their arms.
Gigi had arranged the special cupcakes on one of the tables, and even Zara had gotten in on the fun, making pink-foamed lattes behind the bar. It was hard not to absorb the positive vibes filling the Bean, but then I saw Brenna, and my mood dropped like an elevator in a shaft.
It had been over a week since I’d seen or heard from Ben, and almost two weeks since I had dinner with the Rooneys. Seeing Brenna hurt like losing a toenail right before wearing high heels. I know, because I lost one once before attending a fundraiser.
“Hi, Murphy.” Brenna bopped over to me, smiling like nothing was wrong.
“Hi,” I managed to choke out.
She beamed at me. “This is so cool. Just like you said, but better. Way better. I’m so glad I came.”
“Thanks. It’s something. A little twist on the mundane. A break from reality.”
“This might be the most fun Colebury has ever seen,” Brenna said, swinging her arm out around her. “Usually on Fridays, I lay on the couch, exhausted from the week, mentally preparing myself for working on the weekends. But Branson deserves it. I need to work for him, you know?”
I nodded, not sure what she was driving at. “He’s a good kid, and you’re a good mom. Seriously, one of the best I know.” I felt uncomfortable, not knowing what good could come of this conversation, but I needed to get back to the book club.
“He gets into some trouble. It’s expected, but he’s a good kid. But I don’t want to talk about Branson. I really did come here to check this out, but I also wanted to chat about Ben.”
Lowering her voice, she stepped closer. “I need him to let go of this obsession he has about taking care of Branson. It makes me feel like I can’t do it, and I’m his mom. Plus, Ben’s done enough. For the last month, since he started seeing you, he’s been happier and seemed to be finally living his own life, giving me some space. The last week, though, I’ve seen and heard from him too much. All his opinions on Branson and what he should do, where he should be aiming to go to college, what he shouldn’t do. Ugh, I can’t take it.”
Brenna grabbed her forehead and met my gaze. “I’m sorry. You don’t need me to dump this on you while you’ve got an event going on. But know this—you need to call Ben and try. He needs you. And honestly, without you, he’s going to run himself ragged trying to run my life. So,please, from the bottom of my heart, please go talk with him.”
The words clogged in my throat. “I’ve tried, but he won’t talk with me. Ben is such a good guy, one of the best, but he doesn’t want me.”
I knew she believed in her brother, but she was right. Ben needed his own life, so she could have hers. But there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Brenna gave me a fierce look. “You need to fight for him. This is Ben we’re talking about. He’s always been a bit unsure of where he stood with people, at prep school and Harvard and then back here. He’s always been an outsider, and when he feels that way, he makes himself more of an outsider by stepping back.”
I nodded. “Surprisingly, I understand this because ... well, never mind. We have history, Ben and me. Also, you should know that I’ve been nearly squeezed to death by family before, and not for all the right reasons like Ben is doing to you. But either way, it hurts like a bitch. Pardon my French. Ben means well,” I said, defending the guy who hadn’t talked to me in over a week.
“It does, though. Being squeezed hurts like a bitch. And I know Ben has a good heart, but sometimes it’s too good. Now, come on. Let’s go eat cupcakes and talk about romance books. That’s way better than this, but promise you’ll go see him.”
I didn’t promise anything, but I felt my head nod.
Then Brenna looped her arm through mine, and I noticed how skinny she was, her bony arms hidden under a silky lavender blouse. She needed to take care of herself. I imagined life was hard for a single mom to a teenage boy in rural Vermont, but Brenna didn’t strike me as the type who complained. I took all of her in with her chocolate-brown leggings, tan ankle boots that were scuffed and worn yet stylish, and her hair in soft waves.
“Do you know Scott?” I couldn’t help but ask on our way toward the cupcakes.
