Emily’s Diary – Entry 32

Reckless Honesty

What a morning to kick off my vacation! On Monday I got to wake up next to Ben in a glass-walled hideaway overlooking the gorgeous garden of a fabulous house. Once we'd surfaced a little, we took a nice, refreshing shower and then crawled back into bed to make sure the day got off to a proper start. Ben is still a god in bed.

He made a big breakfast, which we ate on the terrace to the sound of birdsong. The first half of it, anyway. Over coffee, idiot that I am, I figured we could talk about something a little more serious.

"Why does Cecília hate me so much? Or is it just the booze that makes her so rude to me?"

Ben's eyes hardened.

"She's just protective of me," he said curtly.

Protective? Of what, exactly?

"She's got a funny way of showing it," I said with an awkward laugh.

"That's just how Cecília is, end of story. We grew up together. She's always said exactly what she thinks. She's a bit loud, especially when she's had some champagne. You have to take her as she is. You can't hold a few sharp remarks against her."

"Like telling your new girlfriend she got to sleep with you first, nyah-nyah?"

A chill fell over the table.

"We've already been over this. You misunderstood. Or are you going to keep bringing it up from now on? What for?"

Baffled, I clung to the handle of my pretty, tall, thick-walled glass mug. Why was he so worked up? I hadn't said anything that wasn't true. The woman drinks, and when she's drunk she goes after people pretty viciously. Why act like I'd said something hurtful? I hadn't even mentioned her ugly, red, puffy eyes or her smoker's rasp.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed.

"No big deal," he shrugged.

I could tell it was very much a big deal. Another black mark against me.

"Try to understand. She's protective of me."

I had to know why he kept saying that.

"What do you mean, protective? Of what?"

He twisted his mouth to one side and spread his hands.

"No idea."

It was painfully obvious he wasn't telling the truth. I changed the subject instead.

"And that woman who was so incredibly nice to me," I began, laying it on thick so my deep respect for Plastic Face would come through, "why has she had so much work done on her face? Did the poor thing have some kind of accident?" I asked, sounding almost worried.

To show how little importance I attached to the whole thing, I didn't even look at Ben. Instead I pretended to scrape nonexistent sugar off the bottom of the glass with the slender long-handled spoon. I hope he hasn't noticed yet that I never take sugar in my coffee.

"Her husband, who's also a childhood friend of mine, makes a ton of money from his car dealership and other businesses. And she likes spending it. Cosmetic procedures are her hobby. She isn't hurting anyone. She really is lovely, with a big heart, as you saw for yourself."

I couldn't help thinking how handy all that wasted money would be for me. Still, it was a relief to know I'd clawed back a point by praising that woman to the skies.

"And the others?" he asked, curious.

Of course I answered honestly.

"The one with the black hair is a little odd. She doesn't seem very happy. At least, that's what I gather from the way she talks."

Ben tucked his chin and raised his eyebrows at me.

"The way she talks?"

"You haven't noticed?" I asked eagerly, like the stupid bitch I am. "Every other word out of her mouth is 'awful' or 'horrible.' She takes such digs at her own husband that I didn't know where to look," I giggled.

"Hm. Never noticed. She's actually my best friend's wife, by the way. They adore each other. I suppose you mistook some playful teasing for something else. And the fourth wife?"

"The one who looks like an old lady?" I trilled. "She's adorable too. Like a sweet little grandma."

I beamed at Ben in triumph. See? Every last one of his lady friends was just so likable. They had no bigger fan than me.

Ben tore a piece off the end of the seeded roll languishing in the bread basket. Taking his time, he mopped up the egg yolk that had run across his plate. He put the bread in his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring it. Then he took a sip of his honey latte and washed the bite down with it.

"I can't wait to meet your friends. Especially now that I know mine are all idiots. A bunch of drunk, carved-up, decrepit, grouchy bitches."

I sat there over my empty glass and crumb-covered plate as if I'd been slapped. The birds fell silent in terror.

"Ben, I—"

"It's fine," he cut in. "You don't like them. That's just how it is."

God, I'm such an idiot. What was the point of that? I felt awful. The best distraction I could come up with was to clear away the breakfast things, pull him over to the sofa, and climb into his lap. And afterward, I apologized. I meant it, too.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you. I have no right to talk about your friends like that—and believe me, I do like them. I'll admit I don't know how to handle Cecília's behavior, or the fact that you two used to be together. I mean, I'm supposed to make things work with your ex, and I've never been in that position before. I'll get the hang of it, but it'll take time. If you want, I'll stay home for a while when you see your friends. Maybe that'll be better for everyone."

He took a moment to think it over, still stroking my bare back.

"And I never stopped to think that having Cecília around would make you jealous. That was careless of me. I'm sorry."

On the one hand, I was glad we'd finally put it behind us. On the other, it stung that he still saw nothing wrong with the way Cecília acted. He'd simply chalked it all up to me being jealous. No one had ever pinned that label on me before.

We spent the rest of the day out on the water on the big, beautiful blue yacht. I don't know if he really kept it for my sake or if he'd never had the slightest intention of selling it. Maybe it doesn't even matter.

On Tuesday Ben left on a business trip, and I threw myself into giving the apartment a thorough cleaning to clear the way for installing the bar counter. I packed everything I no longer needed into a box and took it down to the trash bins in case someone else could use it. Since I was only running down to the courtyard behind the building, I didn't bother getting dressed. Tank top, no bra, ponytail a mess, I flip-flopped my way down the stairs. And on the way back, who should I run into? Grumpy, of course.

"That's a cute little set of wheels your new Prince Charming drives," he remarked, oddly.

I thought he was making fun of me, but his voice and the look in his eyes were completely different from when he dishes out his snide comments. I studied him closely, forgetting all about what I looked like.

"New?"

To me, that was the strangest part of what he'd said.

He shrugged, with a forced grimace.

"Before him there was that teeny little sporty guy, right?"

My blood ran cold.

"Are you keeping a diary on me or something? What are you, a private detective dressed up as a pharmacist?" I sputtered.

This time a mocking smile, clear as day, flickered across his face.

"You don't need to spy on someone to notice the men coming and going from her place."

Suddenly I didn't know what to think.

"Holy shit, Grumpy, I can't believe what I'm hearing."

His eyes went wide.

"Grumpy? What do you mean, Grumpy?"

My face burned so hot it hurt. Had I really just said that out loud?

"Nothing. Forget it."

With that, I turned on my heel and didn't stop until I reached the front door. I yanked it open, then let it slam shut behind me with a satisfying bang. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the all-caps notice pinned to the bulletin board: DO NOT LET THE DOOR SLAM! IT DISTURBS THE GROUND-FLOOR RESIDENTS!

Next time. Right now I'm pissed as hell.

On Thursday I had Mark and Sofia over for a casual dinner of toasted sandwiches, just so I could finally feel it: I was free, and I could do whatever I wanted with my time. They were surprised I hadn't made it Friday, when they could have stayed later. I told them I'd missed them too much to wait. Yeah, that would've gone over well: Ben's free on Friday, and there's no way in hell I want him meeting you.