He threw tiny foil-wrapped chocolate eggs everywhere, onto the grass, front walkways, flowerbeds and gazebos, and rang a tiny handbell as he went. It was just enough to spool up talk in the neighborhood, among the youngest set, that the Easter bunny was real, because they all saw the same thing when they got up to see what was making that strange sound overnight.
This year it was not Lochlan in disguise.
***
What seemed like three nights was actually only one since we flew in overnight on Thursday and then out again on Saturday evening. I am so ridiculously underslept right now I have taken to gritting my teeth as I answer what are seemingly innocuous questions disguised as blistering irritants to my very being.
Ben took me shopping when we had a little free time on Saturday afternoon. He stood and smiled benignly while I tried on impossible shoes and scandalous lingerie and dresses that I'm not sure I could wear out of our closet for their sparingness. He bought everything he liked most and as we were leaving, my hand in his, with his other hand holding all of the bags, he said all of it could only be worn for him. I stopped in my tracks and just stood there looking up at him because he's never been one for rules or quiet derision and here it all is suddenly, far from home, a familiar format to him, a foreign concept to me.
He shook his head as if to clear it, giving my hand a squeeze, changing his expression to one of silliness abruptly, suggesting a bath and some room service later in the night. I nodded, still sort of frozen when he started to walk and I fell all over myself as I was pulled along with him. Abruptly he stopped again and turned to face me, rightening me at the same time. He laughed softly, looking shy and confused and so much like the Ben I fell in love with that I melted and ran into the sidewalk grates into the subway tunnels below.
Don't...
Don't what? I am trying to keep my hair out of my lipgloss. I fail. It whips into my eyes and he takes his hands and smooths my hair down, keeping them there.
Don't let me make you feel bad for missing him.
I duck out of his hands, turn and walk fast. I want to be out of this wind.
***
We pull in just before eleven Saturday night and I stand shivering as Ben helps the driver unload our things. He makes no move to tell me to go in ahead of him and I make no move to go in on my own. I am just watching him, so at ease with suitcases and strangers and his old routines. Finally it's us and he loads my suitcase on top of his and pulls them both easily with one hand. His other hand slides around my neck, pulling me in against his shoulder. He stops me and asks if I had fun.
I nod and he smiles. Actual fun?
I start to shake my head and all the composure I held so carefully all week spills all over the front walk.
It sucked, didn't it?
Yeah. Too much work. My shaky breath makes him laugh sympathetically and he nods. I know, little bee. We'll make it up. Maybe we can plan harder with a little more time and do something later on in the spring.
I am waiting. I nod politely. We won't. Ben is a huge homebody now. And I'm not all that far behind him, except when I am strung out feverishly from cabin closeness and wanderlust. Those times the sickness is horrible and the rest of the time I am completely fine. And he is as mercurial with his monopolization of my time as he is with everything else.
Go.
Hmm?
Go see him. Tell him we're home. Peter Pan needs his Wendy.
Which one are you, Ben?
What?
If he is Peter Pan, and we already know Caleb is Captain Hook, then who are you?
I'll be Tinkerbell. Plotting to have him to myself. He wagged his tongue but instead of being funny it was sad.
I know who you are.
You do?
Yes. You're Mr. Barrie. You're the one writing this story now.
Hope clouded his brown eyes into a pale tan reflecting the sand at the bottom of the cliff.
Ben, have you read Peter Pan?
I saw the mov-
Did you read the book?
No. Why?
Their relationship is as ambiguous as all hell. One minute she is his mother, the next they argue like siblings. She loved him when she was a child but it's never fully explored. It hasn't played out properly.
He leans over and kisses my hair and shoves me away at the same time, while he whispers Exactly. His face is grim but he flashes me a dismissive smile anyway and he turns and hefts the bags up the steps. When he gets to the top, he turns back to look at me and he nods toward the garage. I turn to look and see Lochlan. He is helping New Jake with something on the bike. The worklights they have set up blind me.
I sigh loudly to highlight my own frustration and turn on my heel to head across the driveway.
“Wendy," Peter Pan continued in a voice that no woman has ever yet been able to resist, "Wendy, one girl is more use than twenty boys.”Touché, Mr. Barrie. Touché.
― J.M. Barrie