Page 646 of End Game

At least today.

Ben looks down at his coffee again. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are we just…” He gestures vaguely between us.

I resist the urge to tell him ambiguity is a poor communication strategy.

Barely.

“I am willing to talk to you.”

His eyes lift.

“That is not the same as trusting you.”

“No.”

“I am willing to see whether counseling and whatever else you're doing produces sustained change.”

He nods slowly.

“But I am not going to monitor you for the family. I am not responsible for determining when you've improved enough to make everybody comfortable again.”

Something passes over his face.

Shame, probably.

“Mom put you in that position.”

“So did Dad. So did you.”

“Yeah.”

“I won't do it anymore.”

He sits with that before he nods. “That’s fair.”

We finish our drinks.

There is no hug or handshake afterward.

Ben stands beside the booth and says, “Thanks for hearing me out.”

“I hope you mean what you said.”

“I do.”

I put on my coat. “That is a start.”

Nothing more.

He seems to understand.

My mother calls before I make it home.

I consider ignoring it, but then answer anyway.