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I unwind to sit, facing him, grateful for the gauze he’s placed over his arm yet again. I’m such a wimp.
“Tea’s ready.” Ben’s mom appears in the doorway with a small porcelain pot and two mugs, which she sets on the table that rests between our lounge chairs. “You two need anything else?”
“We’re good, Mom. Thanks.”
With a smile and a wave, she leaves us alone.
When I first met her in that doctor’s office, I saw her as methodical and a bit desperate, which was understandable, given her son’s situation. Now, in her home, I’m getting to see a caring side of Victoria Gerhard, which is disarming. It’s a new experience, receiving a glimpse of a devoted mother. Instead of letting resentment darken my reaction to her kindness, I decide to enjoy her nurturing while I can.
“So, movie or book?” I reach into my bag to tear off another piece of the feathery, sweet bread and pop it into my mouth after throwing out my question.
“Definitely book. I’ll read first while you eat. We can switch when you’re done.”
As Ben flips through the pages to reach the point we last left off at, I pour us some tea. I’m sending out a silent prayer that it’s not chamomile. Not that I don’t like chamomile, but that’ll send me straight to sleep, which is kind of rude when you’re attempting to entertain someone.
The simple earth-colored mug warms my hands as I lift it to my nose. The subtle scents of green tea and jasmine tease my senses.
Ben bought my favorite tea to go along with my favorite food. I don’t know what inspired him to get all this for me and then to have this soft sofa chair placed here. The idea of someone spending money on me has never been at the top of my list for picking out friends. But he gets major points for remembering exactly what I like.
“You ready?” Ben is wearing his glasses today. That, paired with the thick book in his lap, makes him resemble a sexy professor.
Big brains are high on my attractiveness list. This guy won’t stop hitting my buttons.
Best to just push past it like I’ve been doing even if I have to struggle harder each time.
“Read on.”
12
BEN
The next few weeks turn into a sort of routine with Holly coming to my Thursday and Saturday treatments to read to me. Though it normally turns out that we read to each other. Speaking for three hours straight is bound to dry out her throat, so I tend to take over halfway through.
For the first time, I start looking forward to my treatments, something I would have thought was impossible. I just wish she could come to all of them. But the Monday night ones are too late when she has early class the next morning, and Tuesday afternoons, I’m hooked up during her second job.
“Do you like your internship?” I ask my question as she hands over the novel for my turn at reading.
We finished Hitchhiker’s Guide last week, and now, we’re halfway through The Princess Bride.
By her wide eyes, I think I’ve surprised her. Slipping my finger in between the pages of the book to mark our spot, I give her my full attention. Reading is great, but I want to have her stare at me the way she focuses on the pages.
Holly shakes her head. “No. It’s boring, and it only pays minimum wage. But working in an accounting firm, even if I am just answering their phones and taking notes at their meetings, looks good on a résumé.”
“For what kind of job?” I know that she’s working toward two degrees—BS in economics and an MBA.
“A managerial position. When I get done with school, I want to spend some time managing a work force before I look into running my own business.”
Interesting but not surprising. I have no trouble imagining Holly as the boss. I’d let her order me around any day of the week.
“What type of business?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet. Nothing big though. I want it to be compact and mine. Truthfully, my one-on-one time with Curt after my shift has been more educational than this joke of an internship. He shows me how he organizes his finances and directs all of us worker bees. We’ve discussed how he went about picking his location and his advertising strategies. I mean, you’ve seen how full the club gets. It’s like that every weekend, and he has special themes and events on the weeknights, so those pull in some steady business, too.”
“Would you want to own a club?” That doesn’t seem like the right fit in my mind, but if it’s what she wants, then I’ll bet anything that Holly can achieve it.
She shakes her head. “Oh no. Curt is a total night owl, loves working those late hours. That would drive me crazy if I had to do it for the rest of my life. No, I want something with relatively normal business hours. I mean, it doesn’t have to be nine to five, Monday through Friday. But I also don’t want to be getting to bed in the a.m.”
I nod but also cringe internally as I consider my future. My parents keep pretty normal hours now, but that’s because they’re well established. They’ve regaled me with stories from the trenches—when, as young lawyers, they slept in their offices because the big cases needed all the paperwork together or else the other sides could call foul. When they reminisce on their younger years, it’s with looks of fondness, as if they enjoyed that stressful period. All that I experience at the thought is dread.
