He nodded. “No problem. Good luck with the tests. I can look after the house and hang onto the dogs as long as you need.”
I pointed at him. “Hey, now. I know you have puppy envy. I see what you’re doing here.”
He put his hands up in an innocent gesture I didn’t believe for a second.
The Jeep sat idling outside, so I didn’t linger, saying a quick goodbye to him and my boys before bracing the chill of the morning once more. I backed out of his driveway, took the big hill down into town, and then started the long journey south out of Maine. Mom and Dad’s flight touched down in Logan at three, so that gave me plenty of time to get there. I left an hour earlier than necessary to factor in rest stops and the odd chance I hit traffic on the interstate.
The first hour went by pretty fast, my mind preoccupied with all the things I still needed to do today: the drive ahead, picking up myparents, checking into our hotel rooms, trying to find somewhere to grab dinner, and mostly, the conversation I needed to have with them about my depression and anxiety. I focused hard on that, planning out what to say and trying to predict how they’d react. It was better than fixating on the reason we were meeting in Boston in the first place.
My phone rang around eight, Ella’s name flashing over my screen. I paused the podcast I had on and picked it up.
“Good morning,” I said.
She answered with a loud yawn. “Hi, sorry. Good morning.”
“You just wake up?”
“God, no. I’ve been awake since four.”
Yikes, even earlier than me. “How come?”
She was quiet.
“Ella?”
“Just thinking about you. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Better than yesterday.”
After our quickie in her bathroom, we spent the rest of the afternoon on her sofa, wrapped around each other, not talking much, binge-watching TV and playing with the dogs to distract ourselves.
“That’s good,” she said.
“I think deciding to do this relieved a lot of stress I hadn’t even been aware of.”
“I get that. Some of the worst anxiety I’ve ever had was when something big loomed on the horizon. Like when I decided to stop painting one-offs and start selling stationery. Oh, God, sorry. I know it’s not nearly the same as what you’re going through, but I-”
“I know, Ella,” I said, softening my tone as I cut her off. Her voice had started to take on that slightly panicked edge it got when she worried she’d said something offensive or offhand, and I’d learned from experience it was best to stop her before she started in on herselftoo hard. “You’re just trying to relate. It’s understandable. I’d do the same thing if our roles were reversed.”
She exhaled heavily. “You are so frigging sweet, do you know that?”
I grinned. “You might have mentioned that once or twice.”
“I mean it, Ben. You give me the adult, sexual version of cute aggression.”
“Is that even a thing?”
“Sexgression? No, that sounds predatory. Cuteousal?”
“Ella, I’m trying to drive here,” I said, laughing. “What the fuck is cuteousal?”
“Cute arousal. Duh.”
“Too bad you’re not here to show me what cuteousal looks like,” I teased.
Her tone turned low and sultry. “Oh, I’d show you, all right.”
An image of her pretty little mouth wrapped around my dick flashed through my mind. And now I was driving with a semi. I checked my speed and slowed down some. It would be really fucking awkward to get pulled over right now.
