I’m not sure how I feel about it.
“Benny, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He nods, looking immediately hurt. Something sharp flashes across his face. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I thought maybe it’d be a bad idea. Never mind. It’s okay.” He looks away from me, suddenly withdrawing. I feel like he’s pulled into himself and disappeared, and the feeling fucking guts me. He puts both hands on the wheel and turns on the ignition.
“No,” I say. “That’s not what I mean.”
I reach out and hold his arm firmly.
“Turn off the truck. I want to meet your parents. I would have liked to dress a little nicer, and I would have brought them something. Flowers, cookies, I don’t know.”
He turns his head slightly, his warm brown eyes searching my face. “It’s okay. I probably fucked this up. I should have asked you. I should have…” He groans. “Willow, I’ve been fucking up everything in my life lately.”
I don’t know what Benny’s been going through. The stress with Mags might just be a part of it. We’ve spent so much time having fun, having sex, and talking about surface-issue stuff that I can see there are ways he might need something more than that. He needs a girlfriend. A relationship. I can’t be that for him. I won’t be staying, but I can do this. I can meet his parents. If it brings him one ounce of peace today, I can get through it.
“Come on,” I say, opening the door and jumping to the curb. “You promised me a tour. There’s no better place to start than here.”
He climbs out of the SUV, clicks the locks, then holds my hand as we walk up to the front door. The air around us is heavy. This feels important. I’m meeting his parents. The guy I’ve been hooking up with for two months.
Am I his girlfriend?
What will he say to them?
I don’t have a ton of time to wonder because he unlocks the door with a key and holds open the screen for me.
“Shoes off, if you don’t mind,” he says, removing his boots once we’re in the front hallway.
I slip out of my runners and hand him my jacket, which he hangs on a hook by the door. Then, we walk inside.
The Bianchi family home is dark, like maybe his parents are still asleep, but Benny doesn’t seem too worried.
“Ma. Pops,” he calls out, motioning for me to follow him. The second we walk into the living room, I see Benny’s demeanor change completely.
He’s smiling, and his whole body seems to relax. The gorgeous brooding brown eyes go soft, crinkling at the corners.He runs a hand through his hair and smiles at me. Beaming. He’s happy, and he seems very happy that I’m here too.
This is what it looks like to go home. This is what home feels like.
A wave of longing, disappointment, and regret washes over me. I’m suddenly certain this is a terrible idea.
My knees buckle, and I brace myself. Benny knows that I lost my parents and spent a year in foster care. But we’ve only talked about the easy stuff. The fact that my foster family was used to younger kids, so my bedroom for my entire senior year of high school was Barbie-pink and filled with dolls. He knows I taught myself to cook that year because my foster parents both worked and hated cooking.
My parents had never been great at consistency, so I had always had an interest in cooking. But spending hours alone after school in my foster parents’ kitchen is where I fell in love with food. I could chop, read recipes, and tweak them based on things I knew I preferred. That year was life-changing in good ways, but what I never shared was how lonely it was. How I felt closer to YouTube cooking show hosts and social media chefs than I did anyone in my life.
Food has always meant home to me, not any one place. Family has been the friends I choose, not any one person or group of people.
But walking through Benny’s parents’ house, I can see into the life that formed this man. Framed pictures of Benito and his siblings hang on the walls and cover end tables. Artwork scribbled by the Bianchis’ grandkids wallpapers the entire fridge. Benny walks through the first floor, petting two dogs who both look too old to bark at me, a stranger who no doubt smells like Benny.
He heads toward the back of the house and flips on the kitchen lights. “You want something to drink?” he asks. “Glass of water?”
I shake my head. It’s surreal walking through the quiet space. The dining room table is exactly what I’d expect. A long table has a couple of leaves that extend the length to fit the twelve chairs that surround it. A table runner goes down the middle, and a basket of fresh oranges and apples sits in the center.
Benny fills a glass of water and motions for me to sit at the table. I take a seat, and immediately, my mind fills with images of the many years that he has eaten meals here. Spent time with his parents, his sister and brothers. A longing and a sense of loss hit me so hard, it’s as if someone has stolen the air from my lungs.
“This okay?” he asks, smoothing my hair back from my face. He’s standing beside me, sipping a glass of water.
I’m not okay, but I nod. “Are they home?” I ask. Maybe they’re out. Maybe this is just a tiny little baby step into Benny’s world. Maybe we’ll leave and I’ll never have to put all the pieces together. I’ll never have to see all that I’ve missed out on in my life right here in front of my eyes. I won’t actually have to meet the people who make this house a home.
Benny nods. “Ma’s probably sewing upstairs. I’ll go check if they don’t come down in a minute.”
