“I’ve been paying attention, Red.” He winks, pushing a slice of cake toward me.
I take a bite because I don’t know what else to do. “Mmm, damn that’s good,” I mutter, unable to control my reaction.
“Great. Have as much as you want. Then I’m going to go to the grocery store and pick up something to make for dinner tonight. Any preferences?”
“You’re making me dinner?” I ask, surprised.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to go out in public, so I’ll bring dinner to you. And you need to open your presents.”
Eyeing the bags he’s arranged on the counter with trepidation, I tell him, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know.” He punctuates the statement by taking his own bite of cake. “Fuck, thisisgood.”
“Did you think I was lying?”
He doesn’t respond, instead pushing the first present toward me. I slowly remove the tissue paper to reveal new Irish coffee candles. The exact same brand that I already own and love. “Figured you’d need some replacements soon, all the baths you’ve been taking.”
“That’s… that’s really thoughtful. Thank you.”
He nods before nudging the second present my way. This one is a little bigger which makes me nervous. I unwrap it andfind a sweatshirt. It’s light purple, but other than that, pretty unremarkable. “A sweatshirt… in July. Thank you?” I can’t help the way my voice goes up at the end so it sounds more like a question than a statement.
This is exactly why I don’t like opening presents with people.
“It’s a sensory sweatshirt,” Ben explains. “It’s a heavier weight material and there are built in stress balls in the sleeves. I may or may not have been targeted by an ad on social media.”
Underneath his cocky exterior, Ben looks almost… shy. Like he’s not sure how to interpret my reaction. Honestly, I’m not sure how to handle these feelings either. I can feel the telltale flush creeping up my neck and my eyes feel oddly prickly. No one has ever bothered to accommodate me the way Ben has ever since he learned of my diagnosis.
Popping up from my seat, I start to pace the floor. Ernest senses my agitation and hobbles over to press against my legs.
“Cole?” Ben questions.
“I’m fine. I just need a second.” I bend down so I’m eye level with Ernest. He pops up onto his hind legs, his one front leg pressing into my shoulder in a way that grounds me. Emotion, even a positive one, can be overwhelming sometimes and, even though he isn’t actually trained to be, Ernest has proven to be an excellent form of therapy.
“I’m sorry if I was overstepping,” Ben whispers.
I take a few deep breaths before I respond. “I’m not used to people… knowing me. Caring enough to take the time.”
“That’s really shitty, Cole. I’m sorry that’s been your experience.” He comes around the counter and sits next to me on the floor, both elbows propped on his knees.
“I’m not under the illusion that I’m an easy person to be around. It takes a lot of work to have any sort of relationship with me.”
He shrugs. “I think you’re the easiest person in the world to be around. Everyone else can fuck off, that’s completely fine with me.” When I look up at him, he’s smiling. “I’d rather keep you all to myself anyway.”
“Don’t say shit like that.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Because I don’t want to like you.”
He hums in response. “Ready for another present?”
“No.”
“I think I’ll give you one anyway. Stand up?” he pleads, so sincerely I actually listen instead of arguing with him.
I start to stand and he follows, but he stays down on his knee instead of getting all of the way up. Then he’s reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a small, square box.Thenhe’s opening the box to reveal a ring. It’s set on a delicate gold band, but the stone in the middle is an obscenely large black gem with three triangular diamonds framing it on either side. I watch this all happen as if I’m an outside observer, completely detached from the situation.
Because there’s no fucking way Benoit Bardot is proposing to me right now.
