I shook my head, but maybe . . . could we be? “Maybe that’s why this hurts so much?”
“That’s likely, honey bear,” she said, moving to the arm of the chair where I was sitting so she could run her hand down my back. “Look, it’s not your parents’ actions Ben’s blaming you for. That much I know about him. He doesn’t judge people about where they come from.”
“I know that all too well,” I said.
“Sounds to me like it’s your problem to solve. Ben believes in the good in all people, especially you. Maybe he doesn’t get why you can’t see all the best parts of you and break away? I know I can’t understand it. You’re amazing, Murphy—giving, caring, warm, and real. You need to see the good in yourself and stand up to your parents, which it sounds like you did.”
Fresh tears broke out at her words. “All my life . . . my family, the other kids at Pressman, college friends and coworkers at Columbia, nobody made me feel like I was filled with good. Thank you, Hunnie.”
She pulled me in for a giant hug—something else no one ever did for me—and held me tight.
“Now, you need to strategize how you’re going to get your guy back. Maybe some honey and a paint brush and no clothes?” She winked again, adding, “Gigi can give you some tips.”
I smacked Hunnie playfully on the shoulder and stood. “Let’s get through book club before you dive into all your sexual suggestions. I need some time to think about this. Obviously, it’s my responsibility to make things right.” I sniffed back snot and salty tears, trying to compose myself. There was no question my skin was blotchy as hell.
“Attagirl. Now, something came to mind when I mentioned lemon-basil honey. You know what that is?”
With Hunnie, I had zero ideas. “Should I be afraid?”
“No way, girl, you should be happy. I was thinking hot toddies made with lemon-basil honey.” She stood and was whipping up a batch of her creation within moments of mentioning it. “By the way, what did you think of the rose-petal honey?”
And that was Hunnie, right back to business as if I hadn’t just had an emotional meltdown. I needed to catch a dose of her joie de vivre.
“It’s perfect,” I said, “and you know it.”
This made her laugh and give me a bow.
“Keep mixing,” I barked at her from the velvet chair. “I’m going to need several hot toddies for the liquid courage to even think about getting Ben back.”
32
Murphy
With the next book club on the horizon and opening at the Bean with Roderick all week, the days passed in a haze of busyness while I constantly thought about Ben.
He hadn’t stopped into the Bean for an Americano, or texted or called. There had been nothing from him. His face, his palm running down my arm sending shivers up my spine, his breath hot on my neck—so many memories of him were on repeat in my mind.
My pulse beat at a frantic pace as I worried if he was okay with all of this. I assumed he was done with me, which hurt more than being cast out from my social circles in New York, or my parents turning their noses up at me.
By Friday, I was so upset, I decided not to go home between my shift and the book club. I sat in the back of the Bean, moping and going over last-minute details. My hand shook so much while I was applying pale pink eyeshadow in the back room of the Bean, Roderick told me, “Snap out of it, Murph. Go get your guy. Period. Stop drowning in your own misery.”
This made me laugh. At the very least, opening with Roderick granted me some much-needed laughter and a lot of home-baked sweets. I had a little extra curviness to my hips.
“I have to get through this first. Apparently, reps from Essie and one of the big publishing houses checked out our posts on the blog from the last time, and they want to sponsor a book club.”
Plopping into a chair, Roderick sighed. Wow, that’s big-time. You’re really doing it. You may not fly private, but you’re still making it big,” he teased.
I shook my hairbrush in his face. “Quit it.”
Looking down at my hands, I was pleased that my pale pink and blue nail polish had survived my coffee shift. I was ready to tackle book club.
But stopping thinking about Ben, not so much.
Walking out into the Bean, I spotted a crowd gathering in the corner. Everyone was dressed in watercolor shades of pink, blue, and lavender with copies of the book To See You tucked in their arms.
Gigi had arranged the special cupcakes on one of the tables, and even Zara had gotten in on the fun, making pink-foamed lattes behind the bar. It was hard not to absorb the positive vibes filling the Bean, but then I saw Brenna, and my mood dropped like an elevator in a shaft.
It had been over a week since I’d seen or heard from Ben, and almost two weeks since I had dinner with the Rooneys. Seeing Brenna hurt like losing a toenail right before wearing high heels. I know, because I lost one once before attending a fundraiser.
“Hi, Murphy.” Brenna bopped over to me, smiling like nothing was wrong.
“Hi,” I managed to choke out.
She beamed at me. “This is so cool. Just like you said, but better. Way better. I’m so glad I came.”
“Thanks. It’s something. A little twist on the mundane. A break from reality.”
“This might be the most fun Colebury has ever seen,” Brenna said, swinging her arm out around her. “Usually on Fridays, I lay on the couch, exhausted from the week, mentally preparing myself for working on the weekends. But Branson deserves it. I need to work for him, you know?”
I nodded, not sure what she was driving at.
