Part 22 (1/2)
ROSE.
”What the h.e.l.l was that?” Holly says to me once we're alone without my sisters and out of earshot of Ben.
”I have no idea. She probably wants to get her claws into Ben.”
”More like into you. That was definitely something personal against you, Rose.”
I don't bother responding to that, because I have no idea what to say.
Ben walks up and puts the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, and I plop in the pod and start it up.
”So where am I sleeping tonight?” he asks.
”You can take my spot in Rose's room,” Holly offers, hopefully jokingly.
Ben and I both laugh, and I show him to the back room, where my mother pulled out the couch and made up the bed. ”You want one of my dad's t-s.h.i.+rts or something?”
”No, Rose, I'm good. Thanks.”
”Okay. Well, if you want a change tomorrow, I can find something.”
”Sure.”
Before I walk out, I want to make sure he knows how much I appreciate his concern tonight. ”Uh. Ben?”
”Yes?” he asks, sitting down on the bed.
”Thank you again for coming tonight. I really...it was just so nice of you. Thank you.”
”I'm just glad you were okay.”
He smiles and the way his eyes smile with it, nearly knocks me off my feet. It's going to be harder to resist him than I thought.
In my room, Holly makes a big stink about how much Ben must like me because of how worried he was.
”He's just a really nice guy. He'd worry about you the same way.”
”Maybe,” she agrees, ”but I know for sure he's crazy about you.”
”He's crazy if he likes me, that's for sure.”
”Tell me what really happened tonight, Rose,” she says seriously now, sitting down on my bed, her paisley pajamas on her lap.
”Pretty much what I told you.”
”One sister doesn't like how you're behaving and you take off? I don't buy it.”
”Well...the rest of them agreed with her.”
”Rose. What's going on? You're perfectly healthy. You're f.u.c.kin' cute in your little leg. I swear, it doesn't affect how beautiful you are.”
”But it affects how I dance.”
”That's what this is, isn't it?”
I don't answer right away. First, I go to my dresser and pull out a pair of plaid flannels and a tee-s.h.i.+rt, and then I sit on the bed next to her and roll up my left yoga pant leg. As I unclasp my prosthetic, I say, ”The dancing is why I get depressed. I will never be what I was, and that makes me beyond sad...You can't even imagine.” I lay my leg on the floor and kick it under the bed. Then I show Holly what my leg looks like without the prosthetic. I slide the sock off, keeping my own eyes from looking. ”And this is why I can never date Ben...or anyone.”
Holly's quiet for a moment while she stares at my...thing...my leg. ”Rose. Why should this matter?” She touches my knee. The left one.
I look at her face in amazement. ”That doesn't gross you out?”
”Gross me...Rose, of course not. Why would it gross me out?”
”Because it grosses me out.”
She rubs my leg and hugs me with her other arm. ”Rose, you're beautiful. This-” she squeezes my knee ”-adds character. You survived, Rose. Be proud.”
Sometimes I wish I hadn't.
”But I don't get it,” Holly continues. ”Why don't you want to date Ben? What's your leg got to do with that?”
I hesitate to answer at first. ”Eventually...we'd have to get naked.” I shrug. ”I don't want him to see me like this...It's ugly.”
”It's not ugly. It's just part of who you are now.”
”One big ugly scar. That's what I am now.”
”Rose. A f.u.c.king delivery truck hit you, and you're still f.u.c.king gorgeous...not to mention alive. Again...be proud.” She pulls me into her arms. ”Maybe your sister was right. You should be grateful.”
I nod. Of course I should be grateful. But I'm having trouble getting there.
When we enter the kitchen in the morning, Ben, donned in a pair of sweats and one of my dad's t-s.h.i.+rts, is standing at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee.
”Good morning, sleepyheads,” my mom says to us from the other side of the counter.
”Morning, Mrs. Duncan,” Holly says. ”Smells good.”
”Thanks. Making the stuffing right now. Grab some coffee and a biscuit. Make yourself at home.”
”Thanks,” she says, all smiles.
Ben already has two more mugs he's pouring coffee into. ”Milk?” he asks.
”Please,” I say, grabbing the sugar bowl. ”Sugar?”
”No thanks.”