By a Charm and a Curse(35)
“I think that’s why I want to leave so badly,” he says.
There goes that warm feeling, flying right out the door. What will this place be without Benjamin? But right on the heels of those thoughts comes the realization that nothing can be quite as bad as being transformed into this weird puppet girl. I’ll miss him–terribly–but I’d make it. And not only that, but I find that I want Ben to be happy.
“What do you want to do when you leave?” I ask. “Where do you want to go?”
For a brief second, the simple question has Ben silenced, making me wonder if this is the first time he’s ever been asked. The quiet stretches out around us, and he’s practically thinking so hard I can feel it. But finally he says, “I want to live on the coast.”
I laugh and give him a little jab with my elbow. “There’s a lot of coast in this country, you know. East or west?”
“West,” he says. The answer is quick, decisive, and I know he means it.
“Okay, West Coast.” I think for a moment, trying to imagine Ben without a tool kit in hand, driving to do something mundane like pick up groceries. “Well, you can’t go to California—”
“Why can’t I go to California?”
I roll to face him, careful to keep his arm around me. “I’m going to hazard a guess based off your relationship with the Moretti brothers and say that Cali is going to have a little too much ‘dude-bro’ culture for you to handle.” I squint at him, at the wool cap jammed on his head and the paint-smudged Henley stretching over his chest. “You’re more Washington state, or Oregon maybe.”
His arms curl around me as his gaze goes thoughtful. “Hmm. That could be nice.”
“Nice? You were pretty much made for the Pacific Northwest. You could wear flannel and build your own log cabin and paint window signs for all the hipster coffee shops.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out. You going to come visit me in my log cabin?”
“Only if you have wifi.”
He laughs, the deep rumble of it vibrating through his chest. I love that I made him laugh like that. I want to do it as many times as he’ll let me. This night is a shining jewel in a box that I want to keep forever. But it still has to end.
So Ben gathers up the trash, and it seems like he doesn’t know what to do with it as he tries to climb down the steps of the wagon. I laugh a little before taking it from him, crouching to be closer to eye level before handing the torn streamers and empty bottles to him once he’s on the ground. His fingers linger over mine as he takes the crumpled paper back.
If it weren’t for the curse and this stranger’s body, I’d kiss him. I’d close the last few inches that separate us and shut my eyes and press my mouth to his. I’d run my fingers through his hair, to see if it was fine or coarse, relish in the way it shifts through many shades of gold in the light. Let his breath mingle with mine in a dizzy swirl between us. Find out what he tastes like. If it weren’t for the curse and Sidney, it would be my first kiss, and it would be a wonderful one.
But I don’t, because why kiss him, if I can’t feel it? If he’d just be pressing his soft mouth against my unyielding one? And somehow, my kiss feels more dangerous now, like it’s a trigger. Ben should be safe, if I kiss him, but even so, I don’t trust myself, trust my traitor lips. Slowly, reluctantly, we pull apart. I sit down on the edge of the wagon so I can watch him go, and, even more reluctantly than when we pulled apart, Ben turns to leave.
It’s then we notice his mother has been watching us from across the alley.
Chapter Fourteen
Benjamin
Fury is a terrible, red-winged thing in the shape of my mother.
She caught me with Emma. And not only did she catch me with the girl she wanted me to stay away from, she caught me making moon eyes at said girl as I thought about kissing her. God. To make matters worse, I had to ditch Emma with no explanation. Though I bet Mom’s glare spoke volumes.
Mom’s silent as we walk through the rows of trailers. It’s like everyone could sense the coming rage and bunkered down in their homes. Not a word is said as she holds open the door of the Airstream for me. Then there is an abundance of noise. Cabinets bang shut. Doors open only to be immediately slammed. She’s a whirlwind of futile activity.
I sit down on the booth of the dinette. She’s pacing across the five short steps from where I sit to the door of her bedroom when I make the mistake of speaking. “I don’t get why you’re so upset.”
“Oh, oh no. Don’t you— That’s not…” Her words dissolve into an angry sort of growl.
“Mom, if you want to be pissed, fine, be pissed. But you have to tell me why.”
She sits on the opposite side of the booth, and I turn to face her. Her knees knock into mine.
“You want to know why this is a big deal?” she asks. She cradles her head in her hands and it’s a long time before she speaks again. When she does, she talks to the table and not me. “Tell me the story of why I joined the carnival.”
Is she trying to distract me? “I know why you joined the carnival, Mom.”
She raises her head to look at me. “You only know part of it. Do it. Tell me.”
I push my glasses up my nose and stare at her, but she’s not backing down. It’s in the hard, straight line her eyebrows make, in the way her mouth is pressed together.