As I consider Benji’s front door, I wonder if fear is the reason I turned him down. I certainly felt something akin to fear the other night. It was a small miracle he let me leave.
Even though the kiss was a success, judging by the tent in his pants and the dampness in my own, I insisted on going home. He didn’t argue, and even stranger, changed his tune. I’m guessing one of the reasons he let me go was because he’d kissed his life assistant coach-slash-best friend and realized we were about to make a big mistake. I also think that sucks, which is at odds with the amount of relief I feel.
Do you think I need therapy?
One more shoulder roll, and I walk inside, steeling myself for seeing him. He’s not in the living room/kitchen area, no surprise there. Occasionally he’s refilling his coffee, but more often he’s in his office.
The house’s layout is absolutely perfect. If I had a billion dollars lying around—and didn’t have three boys living with me up until fairly recently—it’s one I would have chosen for myself. The living room is wide and open, outfitted with comfortable black leather furniture save for a deep red, tufted chair serving as a focal point. There are two paintings in the room, both abstract, with splashes of red and burnished gold crisscrossing the canvas. Painting was his birth mother’s hobby. I’ll never forget his fond smile when he told me they were amateur, but beautiful. The frames are handmade. By Benji. He sanded them until they were smooth, lovingly etched a design into the wood, and stained them.
My heart grew three sizes that day. I was twenty-two and not yet in love with him, or so I like to tell myself. The day I felt his sadness as he remembered his beautiful mother and admired her paintings, I’m pretty sure I toppled over Love Cliff like a heartsick lemming. But again, I had no time to react to it or entertain it. I was busy. And that was more than a convenient excuse. It was also the truth.
The attached kitchen runs the length of the living room. A countertop with barstools offers space to address the person on the other side of it like a bartender, like I did last year when Nate screwed up with Vivian and was moping at Benji’s house. I’m not sure Nate appreciated my help at the time, but he’s since apologized for being a buffoon. His word. I laughed and he smiled. You’ve seen him. How do you not adore a lovable teddy bear like Nate? Anyway, where was I?
Oh, right. The kitchen. Lights strung from wires spotlight the bar. The fridge and cabinets are shining wood and very modern. Off the kitchen are the patio doors, a patio covering, the in-ground heated pool, and a huge yard. A huge yard I could have been pacing rather than standing right next to the dang patio door so as to be overheard talking about Benji putting his—well, you’ve heard this. The side yard wraps around the house and opens to a large backyard with plenty of trees and garden beds packed with flowers. Mostly roses, cultivated by Lainey Owen.
I walk past the kitchen and down a wide corridor to the left. There are several doors, one leading to the basement. The downstairs is cool and inviting. The perfect place for a wine cellar, outfitted with lots of tall wooden racks for bottles and a double-sided wine cooler. A table and stools sit in what he called “the tasting room” during the few times he invited me to belly up. There’s also a gym down there, a pool table, and another room he rarely uses with two arcade games and a poker table. Other than the wine cellar, of which I am a semi-frequent regular, and the gym, of which I am a regular-regular, he doesn’t spend his free time down there.
Probably because like me, he doesn’t have much free time. Well, he doesn’t allow himself to have much free time. He’s a workaholic, and I suppose I’m guilty of that as well. As Manuel went off to college, and then Dennis, and now finally Timothy, I should have an increased amount of free time on my hands. I seem to have filled it with Things To Do. Usually those things are Benji-related. I like to be near him, and he always has things to do.
Now, I have no boys at home, tons of time on my hands, and plan to avoid Benji, which will leave even more time on my hands. I’m sort of scared of what that will look like. My house used to be a bustling throughway of activity and noise, but is now a cavernous, empty vessel. I considered talking to Lainey about being an empty nester. She went from three boys at home to zero. If anyone can give me sound advice, it’s her.
I wasn’t relieved when Timothy went off to college or when Dennis stopped needing me. Then there was Manuel, who took the role of oldest male in the house seriously. Like me, he grew up too fast. He’s independent and strong and appreciates how hard I worked to keep our family together.
As I pass various rooms in Benji’s too-big-but-freaking-beautiful house, I call myself on my bullshit of “not having enough time.” I have time to have a life. I made time to go on three terrible dates and shop for clothes over the last month. I found time to lounge around with Benji after, regaling him with tales from the dark side of my dating life.
Had I been lying to myself for years? Saying I didn’t have time because of housework or yard work? Doctor’s visits, college applications, workouts, repainting, changing the batteries in the smoke detectors… All those tasks were necessary, but did I turn life into a series of chores without allowing for the flexibility I so desperately needed?
Here I am, a third of the way (or less) into a life lived. Have I lived it well? I will never regret raising my brothers. I’d do it over again. But I’m allowed to have romance too, aren’t I?
And what is the real reason for my intact virginity? Did I truly “forget” about it? Did I slot it as unimportant? Or was there another, sneakier underlying reason for saving myself?
I walk through Benji’s office on the way to my own. He looks up from his laptop and sends me an easy smile. In an instant, I realize what I’ve been doing for the last ten years. I wasn’t “too busy.” I’ve been waiting for the right man to come along. A man who sends heat to both my cheeks and my nether regions. A man whose smile lights up the room and my soul. Granted, he isn’t the smartest choice—and makes no logical sense—but I know in my gut I’m looking right at him.
I’ve been saving myself for Benji.