Chapter 14 - Cleared Wasn’t Repaired
Ben and I started meeting once a week.
Not dates.
Nobody was allowed to call them dates.
The first was coffee after Noah's library program.
The second was lunch because Noah fell asleep in his stroller.
The third was with a counselor.
That one Ben called:
“Extremely romantic.”
I told him to shut up.
The counselor asked:
“Are you trying to reconcile?”
We both answered differently.
Ben:
“I don't know.”
Me:
“Not yet.”
She smiled.
“Close enough to work with.”
We talked about the loan.
The brooch.
My mother.
Vanessa.
The night I told him to leave.
Then things that had nothing to do with jewelry.
Ben used work as proof he was useful.
I used calm as proof I was reasonable.
He hid until problems were solvable.
I waited until I was furious, then demanded total honesty in one conversation.
Neither of us enjoyed hearing ourselves described accurately.
After one session we sat in his truck outside the office.
He looked at me.
“Do you wish we'd known about the brooch then?”
“Yes.”
“Would you have stayed?”
I thought.
“I don't know.”
He smiled slightly.
“Three years ago that answer would've destroyed me.”
“What about now?”
“Still not my favorite.”
Fair.
“What would you have done?”
“If Eleanor told you the truth?”
“Yes.”
Ben watched traffic.
“I probably would have acted vindicated.”
“You would've been unbearable.”
“Absolutely.”
“Then?”
“I would have tried to make the fact I didn't steal erase every other thing.”
There.
“And if I didn't let it?”
“I probably would have called you unfair.”
“Sounds accurate.”
“Yeah.”
He rubbed his thumb against the steering wheel.
“Being cleared isn't the same as being repaired.”
I looked at him.
“Did your counselor give you that?”
“No.”
“Suspiciously good.”
“I contain multitudes.”
“You contain invoices.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“I’m sorry I made you choose whether to trust me without giving you the information trust required.”
My throat tightened.
I nodded.
“I’m sorry I used Mom's certainty because I didn't want to make my own decision.”
Ben looked at me.
“You did make it.”
“What?”
“You asked me to leave.”
“Yes.”
“Don't give Eleanor everything.”
That stopped me.
He continued:
“She manipulated what you knew.”
“Yes.”
“But you still made the decision.”
“Yes.”
“You had reasons besides the brooch.”
“Yes.”
That hurt and helped.
No rewritten marriage.
No alternate universe where one sapphire saved us.
I looked through the windshield.
“What do you want now?”
Ben took time.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“I want more.”
“Define more.”
“More conversations.”
“Safe.”
“More dinners.”
“Dangerous.”
He smiled.
“Maybe one night where Noah eats pasta and we don't exchange him in a parking lot.”
My throat tightened.
“That sounds like a date.”
“No.”
“Suspicious.”
“Family logistics with carbohydrates.”
I laughed.
Then:
“Not yet.”
Ben nodded.
“Okay.”
No sulking.
No argument.
No asking when.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
“Very mature,” I said.
“Don't ruin it.”
He drove me home.
At the curb, he asked:
“Sunday?”
“For Noah's pickup?”
“Yes.”
“Four.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Olivia.”
“What?”
“When you say not yet, I’m going to assume it means exactly that.”
I looked at him.
“Not yes later.”
“Right.”
“Not no forever.”
“Right.”
“Just not yet.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
May you like
“I'm practicing.”
So was I.
