Totally and Completely Fine(72)

“Do you miss yours?” I asked.

Ben turned his gaze forward. “There are things I miss about it,” he said.

“The beach?” I asked. “Never-ending sunshine?”

“I miss my mom’s house,” he said. “It had been her parents’， so she’d grown up there too—all these generations of Akinas—that was her maiden name—in one place. It was a tiny thing, barely two bedrooms, but it held a lot of memories.”

“What happened to it?”

Ben made a face.

“My father.”

I didn’t understand.

“He’s a developer,” Ben said. “When mom died, the house went to him. They never divorced, but never really lived together either. He keeps threatening to tear it down and build something bigger and then sell it. He’d get a lot for it—beachfront property, you know.”

“But he hasn’t sold it yet?”

“We made a deal,” he said, and held up his hand, his thumb and finger measuring about an inch. “And I’m this close to fulfilling my end of it.”

I wanted to know more, but Ben shifted in his seat.

“Tell me about Spencer,” he said.

I blinked. “What? Why?”

I hated hearing Carl’s voice in the back of my head.

“Because he’s important to you,” Ben said.

The use of present tense was what got me.

Without warning, tears began flooding my eyes. I put my face into my hands and sobbed.

Ben said nothing, he just rubbed my back, soft, slow circles between my shoulder blades.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d lost control of my emotions like that. When they’d completely taken over.

“I’m sorry,” I said, once I’d gotten ahold of myself.

“Why?” he asked. “You miss him.”

I nodded. “But it’s been three years,” I said. “I realize I should be over it. Over him.”

Fucking Carl. He’d really gotten under my skin.

“I don’t think you ever get over someone who died,” Ben said. “I don’t even think you get over grief. You go through it.”

I sniffed.

“My mother died sixteen years ago,” he said. “I miss her every day. I hope I always do.”

“It doesn’t make you sad?”

“Of course it does,” he said. “But why is sad such a bad thing? It’s normal, right?”

“What if you’re mad?” I asked, thinking about how I’d felt after my dad died.

“I think that’s normal too,” he said.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

“I lied before,” he said. “About that pint of Guinness being my first drink.”

I tilted my head.

“The night before my mom’s funeral, I drank an entire bottle of wine. Because I was mad. Mad at my mom, my father, everyone, everything,” he said. “The next day I was so sick that I couldn’t stop throwing up. Could barely stand upright during the memorial.” He gave me a wry smile. “My father was furious and refused to speak to me. It was the only good thing that came from that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

It was dark outside, and I could see the stars from the windows of the car. That was one thing about Cooper that I never stopped loving—its sky at night. How small it made me feel. How insignificant and at the same time miraculous we all were.

“Why don’t I drive you home?” Ben asked.

“Okay,” I said.

The house was dark and quiet, just one light on in the living room. Mom had probably dropped Teddy off a few hours ago—I was watching her tonight.

I didn’t want to go inside.

I turned to Ben, about to ask if we could go to his place, when his hand came up, cupping my cheek, thumb against my jaw.

“Good night, Lauren,” he said.

The kiss he gave me was unlike any of the others. It was brief and sweet. Like the kind of kiss that you might share on a first date. I closed my eyes, leaning into it, but he pulled back before things could get any more interesting.

“Good night,” I said, got out of the car, and went inside.

Chapter 38

Then

The more famous Gabe got, the less connected we were. He was constantly on the move—going from set to set, project to project. We saw more of him in the tabloids than in person. He even got married in Vegas and we found out about it via People magazine. Mom was pretty pissed about that. Even after Gabe said it was more a mutual arrangement than actual love.

“What does that even mean?” she would ask me.

I could only shrug. Gabe now seemed to operate in a different world than we did—different rules, different expectations. It was better not to ask too many questions.

There wasn’t any big moment of forgiveness, but things between Gabe and Spencer eventually settled back to how they had been before. Whenever I asked Spencer what had happened, if Gabe had apologized or he had apologized, I always got some vague nonanswer.

“We dealt with it.”

“It wasn’t really a big deal.”

“I’m over it, and he is too.”