Kristen Ashley - The Promise

She had a game going where she phoned when she knew he wouldn’t answer, primarily when he was at the restaurant, and her voicemail would say, “Just checkin’ in. Oh, it’s Frankie,” like he didn’t have caller ID or wouldn’t know her voice in the dark with a dozen other voices yammering at him, this happening fifteen years from now.

Or she’d say, “Just callin’ to let you know things are good. Like my job. Thinkin’ of gettin’ a dog. Hope you’re good. If you want, call me.”

Or she’d say, “Hey, Ben. Thought of you, had a minute, thought I’d call. You wanna chat, you know my number.”

He didn’t fucking call.

Nearly three months ago, he’d walked out of his bathroom, put on a tee, jeans, and boots, and walked out of his house. When he came home, it was empty.

No Frankie.

She didn’t come back.

She phoned.

But she left his house, left town…and she didn’t come back.

She wanted him in her life.

She wanted to be friends.

She wanted to stay in her fucked-up world with her fucked-up head making fucked-up decisions and living a fucked-up life.

And she could stay there.

He didn’t need that shit.

He stared at the cookies, thinking he also sure as fuck didn’t need her cookies.

But he kept staring at them.

I’m falling in love with you.

Those words assaulted his brain one more time, in a line of way too much remembering, and it was one time too many.

Twisting his torso, with a brutal arm slice, he sent the tin sailing across the room. It slammed with a loud metallic sound against the wall and cookies flew everywhere, landing and exploding in powdered-sugar puffs, the dough breaking and crumbling, exposing chocolate kisses.

Ben didn’t look at it.

He shrugged on his jacket, nabbed his keys, and his boots crunched into the cookies as he walked out the door.

The next day, he swept that shit out his back door, sending it flying down the stoop and into his yard.

He threw the tin right in his bin at the back of the house, along with the card.

And the birds had a Merry Christmas.

I paced my hotel room, phone in hand, biting my lip, freaking out, not knowing what to do.

I knew what I wanted to do.

But I didn’t know what I should do.

It was early March and I was in Chicago on a business trip.

My business done, I was in my hotel room, pre-going out to dinner by myself, but it was the dinner hour.

Benny would be working.

I’d quit phoning him in January. I did this because he’d never called back.

I tried to keep him. He just wouldn’t let me.

That was his play and I had no choice but to give it to him. I’d burned him badly. I did it because I was fucked up and had no idea how to get unfucked up. I just knew I didn’t want Benny to put up with my fucked-upped-ness, even if I couldn’t convince him he didn’t need any part of that.

I knew I’d made the right decision, but it hurt. It hurt not to have him that way, or any way, and it hurt to hurt him, but it was still right.

This time, I didn’t lose the rest of them. Theresa phoned and gabbed at me like I was still living with Benny and all was well. She never even mentioned it.

This was big-time shocking. I thought she was far more of a meddler than that, not to mention I knew from experience she could hold a mean grudge. But she didn’t breathe a word. She did say that Vinnie Senior said hi, or that he told her to tell me I needed to get back to Chicago and come by for dinner. So I knew Vinnie Senior was moving on without holding a grudge too, just doing it through Theresa.

Manny was a guy so he didn’t expend a lot of effort to keep in touch, but Sela did, thus, I knew Man wasn’t pissed at me. No way Sela would keep in touch if Manny was angry at me. Since she did, I knew that Manny gave her an engagement ring on Valentine’s Day. I also knew she said yes. And direct from Theresa, I knew she (that “she” referring to Sela, as well as Theresa) was ecstatic. It was going to be a full mass, I was going to be invited, and Theresa was planning on wearing a hat to the wedding.

This seemed weird to me, the rift cracking right back open between Benny and me and his family ignoring the breach.

But it was working. I loved having them back, so I wasn’t asking, nor was I complaining.

What I was doing was pacing, doing it knowing I shouldn’t make the call. Ben was pissed. I shouldn’t push him. I should let him stay pissed until he found a good woman, claimed her, built a home and family, and finally came to realize I did him a favor.

I turned my mind swiftly from that train of thought. Even knowing I was right, I couldn’t go there. When he found her, I’d find it in me to let him back in when he allowed it. I’d find a way to like her, even though I’d hate it. I’d find a way to take him the limited way he could give himself to me.

I’d find a way.

Which meant I should leave things be.

I knew it.

Still, I stopped pacing, bent my head, and lifted my phone. My thumb flew over the screen fast in order that my brain wouldn’t catch up and stop me.

I saw his name.

One last touch and I’d made the call.

I should disconnect.

I didn’t.

I put the phone to my ear.

I listened to it ring and closed my eyes.

I kept them closed when I heard his deep, easy voice saying the only words I’d heard him say the last five months: “Ben’s voicemail, leave a message.”

I heard the beep, opened my eyes, and starting blathering.

“Ben? Frankie. Listen, I know it’s been a while since I’ve called, but I’m in Chicago. Staying at The Belvedere. Business. But, uh…business is done for the day and I’m about to go out to dinner.” I sucked in breath and kept rambling. “I thought, maybe…well, I don’t think you would, but I still thought I’d call…see if you wanted to meet for a drink. We can talk. I don’t know, maybe work things out. I know you’re at work but after. I’ll wait. I’ll be in the bar at the hotel. If you wanna drop by, drinks are on me.”

Drinks are on me?

Oh God, I shouldn’t have made the call.

It was time to wind it up.

“That’s, well…it.” I closed my eyes and stupidly whispered, “I hope you come, Benny.”

I hit the button to disconnect and wished I’d never connected. I also wished I could erase the message. I further wished I could rewind my life back to high school and put out so at least I’d have a week or two of dating Benny.

But I couldn’t do any of that so I did what I could do.

I went to dinner alone.

Then I went to the bar at the hotel and had a drink. One drink turned into two, then three. Closing in on midnight, plenty of time after the pizzeria shut down for Ben to get to me, I left the circling men who’d either tried to come onto me or who’d drank and tried to get up the courage to come onto me—easy target, lone woman in a hotel bar, drinking.

I went up to my room and kept my phone close.

An hour slid by before I gave up.

I put on my nightie, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized, slid into bed, and turned out the lights.

I rolled to my side and settled in.

When I felt the single tear hit the side of the bridge of my nose and slide down, falling off and salting my lip, I touched my tongue to it. Then I reached out, hugged the unused pillow to me, and closed my eyes. It took a while, a long while, longer than normal, but I guessed you eventually got used to your heart perpetually breaking.

So eventually I found sleep.

***

I jolted awake when I heard a loud knock on the door.

I lifted up to a forearm in the dark, blinked away residual sleep, and the knocking stopped.

I listened.

Nothing.

Did I dream it?

The answer came when the knocking resumed—three firm, loud pounds.

I twisted, switched on the bedside lamp, and threw off the covers. I got to my feet and moved quickly to the door.

I looked out the peephole and stopped breathing.

Ben, head bent, and from what I could tell, both hands up. He was leaning into them, resting on the door.

This killed me. The man could be hot just leaning.

As I watched, he pulled back, then I jumped back when three more pounds came at the door.

Without thinking, not knowing what time it was, not considering the fact I was wearing nothing but a lilac nightie that was made of near-sheer, stretchy material in the body, had cups made of delicate, rosy-pink lace, the same lace skimming the just-over-the-booty hem, I unlatched the door and threw it open.

Ben’s head jerked when I did and I remembered to breathe, only to suck in more and stop doing it again.

We stared at each other.

It was me who pulled it together first, and this was only enough to say, “Benny.”

That unlocked his frame and he pushed in, through me, forcing me back two steps. I took two more when he grabbed the door, threw it closed, and flipped the security latch closed.

Oh God, I wasn’t sure how to take that.

On a new kind of rocky ground with Benny, tentatively I greeted, “Hey.”

His eyes narrowed in a scary way when he asked, “Seriously?”

I pressed my lips together.

I unpressed them when his entire face went scary, this being when his eyes did a slow scan of me in my nightie.