Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97151 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
He doesn’t finish his thought. “But…” I prompt him.
“But…I don’t care as much as I usually do.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I’m not sure what I mean. Maybe I don’t mean anything at all.” He’s talking in riddles, but I can’t help but think he’s got something he wants to say. Otherwise, knowing what I know of Ben, he wouldn’t say anything. He’d make some glib statement and that would be the end of the conversation.
“Why don’t you care as much as you usually do? Because you’re not into the project you’re working on?”
His knee begins to bounce. “One was connected to a live deal. The other was just renewing a connection I hadn’t seen for a while. And I saw a few other people and was able to catch up. It was a really good evening from a professional perspective.” He sounds frustrated, like maybe he doesn’t even know what’s bothering him.
“A couple of years ago, I would have come home after a night like tonight and been bouncing off the walls, dopamine whirling through my body like a twister…or maybe I wouldn’t have come home at all.”
Suddenly I feel awkward. “Maybe it’s because I’m here in your space.” I shift my chair back, ready to head back to my bedroom, but before I can stand, he reaches under my chair and pulls it back toward the table. “I guess I’m not going anywhere.”
“It’s not that,” he says. “This started before you moved in. I’m just not getting the same sense of satisfaction from my work.” He clamps his mouth shut like he can’t quite believe what he’s just said.
“That happens to us all.” I try to sound reassuring. I’m not quite sure how I can make this better. “No one can enjoy their job all the time. Most people never enjoy their job.”
“But that wasn’t ever me. I was always focused on my long-term goal.”
“Which was…?”
“Making myself indispensable to people. Being able to call in favors from anyone in New York.”
That’s an audacious goal. “And you’ve achieved that. You know everyone there is to know in New York. Well, not just New York…that’s why I’m here.”
“Right,” he says, but I can tell I haven’t helped.
“Maybe you need to set yourself a new goal. Athletes set themselves a goal, a personal best, and then when they reach that goal, they set another one. Maybe your problem is you’re focused on a goal you’ve already achieved. You probably just need something more.”
“I don’t need anything.” He glances around his apartment. “I have my money spread across various investments in all kinds of sectors, across the globe. I know I won’t be dependent on anyone for anything in my life. Nothing can break me now.”
A rush of sympathy courses through me and his words echo in my head.
Nothing can break me now.
I long to slide onto his lap and wrap my arms around the frightened little boy I can see in Ben’s expression. He’s witnessed broken. He’s lived broken, and he’s been running from it ever since. “You can stop running now,” I say softly.
His eyes narrow slightly.
“You’re out of danger,” I add. “There’s nothing chasing you anymore.” I think of my brother and wonder if he ever felt the same way. I’m so glad he found Sophia when he did. It gave him someone to pour his love and energy into.
“I know,” he says, almost shrugging off what I’m saying to him. But we’re past the point of pretending now.
“You can rest,” I say.
“I don’t want to rest.”
“Then you need a new goal. Something different to strive for.”
“That’s the answer, is it?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What is it that you want most of all now?”
He grins. “Other than another omelet?”
I shake my head and laugh. “You can’t still be hungry.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe that is the problem. I’m not hungry anymore.” His expression is puzzled. “But I don’t know where I’d start trying to find my appetite.”
“Restaurants?” I ask.
He chuckles. “You think I just need to keep eating and I’ll find my appetite? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not saying eat. I’m saying cook. Or invest. Or something. You seem to have a real connection with food and making food for people.”
He looks at me, a sense of vulnerability in his gaze, and I’m expecting him to say something more. But he blinks and it’s like windshield wipers clearing away whatever was there, his expression is back to the Ben I met that first night at Aurora and Deacon’s engagement party.
“Maybe I should launch an online course and teach people how to make omelets.” He stands and picks up his plate. This conversation is over before it’s finished. Ben has shut down.
I watch him disappear into the kitchen, but just before I’m about to head to bed, he reappears from the kitchen carrying a tray with two glasses of milk and a packet of cookies. “More Housewives?” he asks.