Something snaps. Our eyes lock. It’s as if he’s trying to tell me something, and I don’t understand.
“If you’re speaking from your own experience, that’s relevant to you, not me.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I think you should go.”
“If you want me to leave, I will.”
I go to say yes, but my jaw locks, keeping me from speaking.
“But know this. I didn’t invite you tonight to hurt you. I invited you because I wanted you there, and because I wanted you to meet my family.” His frame sags as if defeated. “If that’s not a good enough reason, then I’m sorry.”
He makes it to the door, and his fingers grasp the handle.
“Wait. Stay. We should talk.”
He takes off his jacket as he comes back to the living room and sits down. I take the space beside him. He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t shuffle closer. Just leaves the emptiness there between us.
Neither of us looks at the other, both staring at the floor, not knowing what to say.
“Tonight was a shock.” My words come quite easily after a pause.
“I just didn’t think…” He shakes his head, guilt etched across his face. “I didn’t think,” he says firmer. “Back in the graveyard, when you came over, and I saw… I saw how you were… I just wanted to be with you.”
That hits. His invitation wasn’t done out of anything but concern. He wanted me close.
A blush highlights his stubble covered face. “I remember what it was like when Bex was in the middle of her treatment.” He swallows. “I’ve seen plenty of patients with the same. Having someone around is so much easier than being alone. At first, Bex was on her own. I wasn’t with her. I didn’t know it was even happening. And I saw how that affected her.”
He reaches for my hand, twisting our fingers together. “I promise you are never going to be on your own in this,” he says, “no matter what happens.”
What can I say to that? He wants to be there with me. It’s genuine. I know it is. His eyes are clear, honest. I need to believe him.
But I’ve lost so much before.
“You can’t make that promise. Nobody knows when their time is up. Trust me, it can end when you least expect it.” I pull my hand away from his. “I built walls for a reason, and this is why I don’t let them crumble. Because when somebody gets behind them…”
I catch the sob in my throat before the tears. They come anyway, hard and fast. Ben takes my hand again. I don’t stop him, even though deep down I think I should. But I don’t want to.
I’m caught between wanting the support and hating him for it. Hating that he’s been able to get to me in a way no one else ever has.
His hands are warm. Comforting.
“Antonia,” he says quietly. “I’m here. I’m going nowhere. No matter what this is.”
The tears break into sobbing. My body shudders. He gathers me up like a small child.
I haven’t done this in years, let anyone see me cry.
The only crying I’ve done in the last decade is in the shower on my own, and by the time I step out from under the water, it’s gone again. I’m back to being the hardened version of me.
“No,” I whisper. “Ben, I lost my three-year-old son.” His jaw tightens, eyes heavy. The weight in the room is unbearable. “If I lost him, I could lose anyone.”
He pulls me against his chest. Holding tighter. As if when he lets me go, I may disappear completely.
The painful, heart-wrenching cries have been cooped up for years. I’ve never let anyone hear them, and they come all at once. His chin sits on top of my head so I’m surrounded by him, safe as I cry.
There’s no judgment. No talking away the hurt. Just space to let out all the pain I’ve been storing for so damn long.
His arms are tight, fingers strong against my body.
He doesn’t speak. He just holds me. Like nobody ever has in the past.