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“What’s with the floor?” He points to a corner of the carpet that’s flipped on end.
“Oh, that!” I hustle over to the corner. “When I came here before, Amelia had these old hardwood floors. I was hoping she still did. So, the neighbor helped me pull up the carpet, and they’re still here. I’m thinking about refinishing them.” It’s a half truth and it runs from my mouth easily.
His lips sprout into a frown. “Huh.”
I haul the rug and pad up a couple feet to show him the floorboards.
“Hmm.”
“Come upstairs, I’ll show you my room.”
“Your room?” Ben’s brows raise before he follows me back to the living room and up the stairs. I tell him things I know about Dad and the house—the boys shared a room, they all shared one bathroom, the closets are minuscule. And Ben listens. It’s not as if I have a lot to share about the place.
I take him past the bathroom and to the second door on the right. “Here’s my room. Dad’s old room.” I open the door with the full intention to let Ben walk inside first. But… I forgot about her journal sitting on my bed. I hold in a gasp, push past Ben, who grunts with my shove, and hurry over to the book. Grappling, I snatch it up, along with her box, and set them inside the closet. Swallowing down a gulp, I say, “Just a few of her things.” I push the closet door closed, wishing I could lock it. But Ben doesn’t ask one question.
Thankfully.
I would have lied to him. I would have looked him in the eye—and lied.
Ugh. What kind of awful girlfriend am I?
With my heart thumping, I remind myself that I’m not a terrible human who lied to him just now. I didn’t betray him in any way, shape, or form. I didn’t have to.
I walk to the window, hoping my elm will calm me down. “This is my favorite part. Come here.”
But he sighs impatiently. “Livy—”
“Trust me.”
Ben trudges over, his arms dangling at his sides. He looks at me with a smirk that says he’s bored.
I lift the window all the way up. “You have to poke your head out.”
Another sigh, but with his hands on the ledge, he shoves his head out the open window and cranes his neck up to look at my tree. “Very nice.”
“Right? This is my favorite part of Grandma’s house.”
Ben ducks back inside and stares at me. “Grandma?”
“Yeah,” I say with the smallest of shrugs. “Amelia.”
His arms fold in a cross and he frowns. “You don’t call her grandma.”
I shrug. “Sometimes I do. What’s the big deal?”
Ben’s lips purse. “I’m just saying—”
“You’re saying what? That’s what she is to me, Benjamin. She is my grandmother.”
His cheeks puff. “In theory.”
My fingers pinch at my hips. “In reality. I haven’t forgotten the past, but I own this house now, and that changes things.”
“It seems as if you have forgotten the past. Or possibly invented a completely fictional past. She’s Dad’s mother, and he’s not behaving this way.”
“Well, maybe he should be. Maybe his only mother dying should have put a few things in perspective. Life is short. And he wasted any time he could have had with her. So did I. Clearly, I meant something to her, or she wouldn’t have left this house to me.”
Ben rolls his eyes, my speech not impressing him. Then without another word, he turns his back on me and walks out of the room. He heads straight for Amelia’s open bedroom door. The second I realize it, I dash from my seething spot until I’ve passed him and blocked his path.
