On an Edge of Glass (28 page)

I smile, recognizing the song lyrics.  I roll my hands.  “And so on, and so on, and scooby dooby dooby.”

Ben laughs.  “Exactly.”

“Are we everyday people?”

“Well,” he says leaning over the console to reach into the bag of Skittles.  His hand brushes against mine and it’s like being zinged by a socket.  “We’re obviously too weird to be average folk.  You only like the red and purple Skittles and I only like the orange and yellow ones.”

I glance at the bag.  “What about the greens ones?”

Ben’s mouth quirks.  “Different strokes for different folks.”

Bacon is Breakfast Candy

You would think that showing up at Ben’s house at nearly one in the morning, and having his mom greet us by the front door while wrapped in a massive bright purple bathrobe with fuzzy slippers on her feet might be awkward. 

You would be right. 

              Lisa Hamilton is a shorter, softer version of her son.  Same gold and brown eyes and dark lashes under straight eyebrows.  Same narrow nose.  Same crooked smile.  Same epic dimple. 

After a hast
y and hushed introduction so that we don’t wake any of Ben’s younger brothers, I follow Lisa up a steep flight of creaking stairs bordered by a curling wooden banister.  Floral wallpaper that’s about ten years past its prime is stretched over the bottom half of the wall.  

Lisa
turns right at a braided wool rug that graces the upstairs landing.  She enters the second door and flips a switch as she rounds the doorframe. It takes a moment for my eyes adjust to the overhead light.  It’s a small room with one window facing east.  A room, which I very quickly realize, is Ben’s childhood bedroom.

A double bed covered in a thin burgundy quilt dominates the space.  Next to it is a small
painted table stacked with dog-eared paperbacks, a brass-plated lamp, and a small analog clock that’s shaped like a human head.  The clock face is where the mouth should be. 

The wall on the far side
of the room is covered in posters of bands that I’ve never heard of.  Some of the posters look vintage—browning and dingy in the corners with retro designs in a myriad of muted colors.  There’s a bulletin board suspended on the wall over a dark-stained oak desk.  It’s dotted with snapshots and musical programs and old concert tickets. 

             
Still gripping the handle of my powder blue rolling suitcase, hoping that I won’t tip over, I turn my head and look at Lisa.  “I—uh—I…”

             
She blinks at me.  Then something registers and she smiles purposefully.  “Benjamin is taking the rec room downstairs.  There’s an old pullout down there.”  She walks over to a small trunk under the window and pulls out a folded blanket and sets it at the foot of the bed.  “He thought you’d be more comfortable up here where there’s central heat and a mattress that doesn’t dip all the way to the floor.  I have to agree with him.”

             
This triggers something inside of me.  Ben shouldn’t be sleeping on some crappy couch while I’m up in his room.  How wrong is that?  This is his house. 

I take a step toward
the door, rolling my suitcase on two wheels behind me.  “Mrs. Hamilton—”

             
“Lisa,” she corrects me.

             
“Lisa,” I say.  “This is ridiculous.  Honestly, I don’t mind using the couch downstairs instead.  Ben should sleep in his own room.”  I take a breath.  “He didn’t even have to bring me along, and now his visit home is going to be ruined.”

             
Keeping her eyes on me, Lisa crosses to the door.  “Sweetie, if you think that sleeping on a pull-out for a few nights so that a pretty girl can be more comfortable is going to ruin Ben’s weekend, then you don’t know my son as well as I thought you did.”

             
I flush.  “Are you sure?”

             
“Yes, I’m sure.”  She allows me a few seconds to digest that then continues in a very business-like tone. “The bathroom is just down the hall.  It’s the first door past the stairs.  Towels are in the linen closet.  Now, try to keep in mind that it takes a few minutes for the water to heat up this time of year.  You know how old houses are.  Convenience takes a backseat to character and charm.”

             
I nod.

             
“Good, then we’ll get acquainted more in the morning.”  She dips her hands into the deep pockets of her robe and lifts her shoulders. “Get some rest.  There’s another blanket in that trunk over there if you get chilly.”

             
“Okay.”  It’s late, or early depending on how you look at things, and the day and the drive are finally catching up to me.  I yawn and place both hands flat on the bed.  “Goodnight Lisa.  And thank you.”

             
Just as the door is about to close, she pops her head back in and smiles at me.  “Ellie, I’m glad that Ben brought you home so that I finally get the chance to meet you.”

             
Awhile later, lying in bed and looking at the night sky through the window, I let thoughts of Ben swirl around in my head.  In this room, he’s everywhere.  In the music pasted on the walls and tacked to the bulletin board, and in the book choices left next to his bed.  The smell of him lingers on the handful of shirts hanging in the closet, and in the sheets of this bed.  I roll over, relishing the tiny thrill of the fabric sliding against my bare legs.

             
I lay my palm against the skin of my stomach.  Disappointment over my rejection from Columbia, and confusion over Ben are gradually burning away to something else.  Something new that tastes a little like hope.  I let the feeling tease me to sleep.

If it weren’t for bacon, I’
d still be dreaming.  Even buried under the quilt and the extra blanket, with my head stuffed into the pillow, I can smell it.

             
My stomach rumbles, protesting that I only fed it a meager dinner of gas station snacks topped off with some red and purple Skittles last night.   

             
Groggy, keeping my eyes half-shut, I grope around my open suitcase for a sweatshirt and a pair of socks.  I stumble into the hall and listen to the murmured conversation that drifts up the stairwell.  The volume of voices increases as I trip down the stairs, using my nose to follow the heavenly scent of bacon.

             
In a kitchen lit by morning sun, Lisa is standing at the stove.  I can tell by the way that she moves with surety, that this is her domain.  She adjusts the control knob on the stovetop and turns in my direction.  Her hair is up in a messy ponytail.  Loose brown strands fall haphazardly in front of her eyes.  The robe is gone—traded in for a simple blouse and a pair of worn jeans held up by a brown corded leather belt. 

Ben is
standing at the counter next to her, pouring a cup of coffee into an oversized mug. He smiles when he sees me walk into the room.  That small gesture warms me all the way from my head to my socked feet.  I wasn’t really sure what to expect this morning.  I half-wondered if Ben would regret his decision to bring me home. 

On the far
side of a blue-tiled kitchen island, is a set of large bay of windows that overlooks the backyard.  In front of the windows, there is an oblong table topped with a basket of fake flowers in an array of autumnal colors—red, wine, and deep purple.  All four of Ben’s younger brothers are around the table, eating and talking loudly.  The smallest one is up on his feet reaching for the salt shaker.  He’s wearing a dark blue baseball hat.

I’ve seen pictures of these brothers in Ben’s room
back at school, so I already know that the Hamilton boys look eerily similar, but I still have to laugh when they look up in unison.  All of the boys have matching faces and dark hair.  Ben smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Ridiculous, right?” He whispers
as he comes up beside me. 

After a quick hug that takes me by surprise,
Lisa hands me a ceramic plate piled with scrambled eggs, a croissant and three strips of bacon, and ushers me toward the table. 

Ben gestures to an open chair and I sit
.  Introductions are handed out.  I nod to each of the brothers.  Asher, Logan, Blake and Kyle. 

Asher,
second oldest, leans over and shakes my hand.  He’s seventeen, a senior in high school, and clearly the cockiest of the group.  I get the distinct impression that Asher is accustomed to having girls throw themselves at his feet on a regular basis.

“I’m varsity,” he informs me with a flirty wink.  “For both lacrosse and baseball.”

I nod my head and hope that I’m maintaining a distinctly impressed expression. 

“I’m sure that Ellie doesn’t care what sports you play
Ash,” Ben says grittily.  He sits down in the seat next to me. 

Asher flicks a challenging look at his older brother
. “I think maybe she does.”

They both loo
k at me.  I school my features to be non-committal and shove a piece of bacon in my mouth. 

Ben lowers
his shoulders and clears his throat.  “Asher, just stick with high school girls to flirt with, okay?  Trying to charm Ellie is just pathetic.” 

“Jealous much?” 
Asher puts down his fork.  “Anyway, you already told me that she’s not your girlfriend anymore, so what do you care if I flirt with her?  Unless you
want
her to be your girlfriend…”

Logan, fifteen and not quite filled out yet, looks ready to choke on his
bacon.  Ben narrows his eyes at his brother as he stirs sugar into his coffee.  Asher responds by stretching his arms back over his head so that we all catch a glimpse of his muscled stomach.

“Asher…”  Lisa says with that particular mom tone.

“What?” Asher complains.  “I’m just getting things straight!”

Lisa sets her lips into a thin line and urges the boys to finish up.  Unlike Ben and me, they’ve all got school today. 

“Enough, Asher.”

“Fine,” he mumbles.
“But whenever she’s interested, I’ll be here.”

When Lisa
goes upstairs to get her purse and keys, I lean toward Asher.  “You do know that I can hear you, right?  I’m sitting two feet away from you.”

Ben chuckles.

“What?”  Asher shrugs. “I just wanted to make it clear that
this
Hamilton brother is available if you’re inclined.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I say.

Five minutes later, Ben and I have successfully convinced his mother to let us clean up the dishes.  She cradles a pile of papers against her chest and pushes the boys toward the door.  

“Just so you know,” Kyle, the youngest, says
to me as he rounds the corner to the front hall.  “I play basketball.” 

Blake
, thirteen and clearly just getting out of the awkward acne phase slaps Kyle over the head.

“Dude.  What was that for?” Kyle picks up his hat from the floor and readjusts the strap of his backpack.

Blake bows his head low trying to hide his smile.

When the fr
ont door slams shut behind them, Ben and I look at each other at the same time and start cracking up.  It feels good to laugh like this.  To let all of the air whoosh out of my lungs, and feel the pang from it in my abdominal muscles.   

Eyes lit up and s
till grinning, Ben asks me, “What do you feel like doing today?”

It doesn’t matter.  I’m happy for the
first time in awhile—eager for the feeling of this bright sunshine that’s pouring over the two of us. 

“I don’t care,” I say.

Ben shakes his head.  “I don’t either.”

Greetings From Asheville

At noon, we’re bundled in warm clothing, trying to decide where to eat as we wind down a narrow street.  We pause in front of a green menu board set up on the sidewalk in front of a tiny café.  The building is outlined by a dark blue canopy.  There’s a small chime dangling from above the doorway that makes a delicate tinkling sound every time a patron sweeps past us.

Ben lowers his head.  H
is mouth is just a few inches from my ear.  “Does this look okay to you?”

I nod, but the truth is that
I’m barely paying attention to the specials written in cursive on the menu board.  My stomach is too full of butterflies to be concerned with eating lunch.

Even though I know that it’s not, today
feels
like a date.

I’m fully aware
that this whole weekend of visiting Ben’s family in North Carolina is a fluke—a sort roommate-in-crisis bonding experience.  If I hadn’t gotten the rejection letter from Columbia in Thursday’s mail, I’d be deciding what to have for lunch in D.C. right now, and Ben and I would still be barely talking.