Free This Is What I Want to Tell You by Heather Duffy Stone Page B

this year, I said. I hadn’t anticipated all the guilt I was suddenly feeling. We had never attended church once in our lives and Lace had raised us without a suggestion of religious faith, but two years ago I’d answered a call for volunteers on a sign posted outside the church and Ben had become my unofficial mentor, teacher, maybe even father figure (I’m sure he knew about Molly). But that last part I might be imagining.
    Just glad to see you now, he said.
    Your sister? He nodded his head toward Carol, handing me a paper bag of bread.
    Yeah, I said. And her—my—
    Ben raised his eyebrow.
    My girlfriend. Keeley.
    Ben nodded.
    Let’s get this sliced, he said. He handed me a serrated knife and we stood side by side, hacking at the mostly stale loaves.
    Actually, I said, she’s my sister’s best friend too.
    Ben sliced.
    But my sister doesn’t really know about us—it’s like, it happened sort of unexpectedly, me and Keeley. I guess when you know someone for a long time, it’s kind of shocking when you start to see her in a totally different light. You know?
    Ben smiled.
    This is an important time in your life, he said.
    You mean—?
    I simply mean it’s an important time.
    Yeah, I said. I hoped he wasn’t talking about sex. I had the feeling he wasn’t but I couldn’t be sure.
    Anyway. My sister doesn’t know.
    I imagine that feels very difficult for both of you.
    Well, yeah. We’re—I think we’re figuring out how to tell her.
    Even though Ben didn’t say anything, even though he just nodded and raised one eyebrow at a time, I felt somehow better.
    Carol lined me and Noelle and Keeley up behind the service table. Lasagna, salad, bread. Noelle, Keeley, me. We didn’t say much, but Noelle and Keeley giggled into each others shoulders as the old men flirted with them and it was kind of nice to watch.

    Hey, how about I cook for you? he asked.
    We were tangled together on the couch, his face against my neck. I was as usual struggling to decide how far I could let this go. Wanted to let this go.
    Really? All the muscles in my stomach, chest, arms, every muscle seemed to flood slowly out into the couch. Relaxed.
    Yeah, he said. He sat up.
    Yeah, I snagged some stuff from the restaurant. I wanna try something.
    Okay, I said. I’d love that.
    He stood up, pressing down on my leg as he did. Then he stopped, looking down at me.
    One catch, he said.
    What?
    You gotta stay like that. No putting your shirt back on.
    I looked down. My stretched-out black bra, dotted with tiny gray lint pills. My skin was white-blue already against the cool air of the room.
    It’s cold, I said. Not to mention I felt ridiculous. Which I didn’t say out loud.
    Too bad, he grinned, walking away. You look hot, he said and walked into the kitchen.
    I sat up. The white skin of my stomach rolled just slightly over the waist of my jeans. I knew I wasn’t fat, but the waist of my jeans cut just exactly wrong into the skin of my stomach. I decided I wouldn’t sit down. In my socks and jeans and old bra, I padded into the kitchen.
    Parker had his head inside the fridge. He pulled out a few plastic bags filled with leaves and turned around.
    Okay, he said. He was smiling. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile that way. He opened the cabinet and pulled a giant book down.
    What are all of these plants? I asked, pointing at the tiny pile of plastic bags as he flipped through the pages.
    Herbs, he said, not looking up.
    And that? I touched the top of the book.
    My bible, he said. Suddenly he snapped the book shut, tucked it back in the cabinet and turned to fill a pot with water.
    You don’t need the recipe?
    Nah, I never use recipes. I was just checking something.
    I opened the cabinet door and looked at the spine of the book. Larousse Gastronomique was etched into the spine.
    I watched Parker pouring from a bag into the pot of water.
    What does that mean? I pointed at the spine of the book. I felt like a four-year-old.
    He looked up,