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1
As well traveled as he is, Beth realizes pretty soon that Benny can’t cook for shit. Not saying that she’s Betty Crocker, but she at least can fry an egg.
“It’s the pan, I’m telling you.” It’s his excuse every time they have to dump breakfast and start something else.
On one of her shopping trips, she stumbles into the Home section. She normally would have not bought anything, seeing as she is miles away from home, but a glossy red set of pans claims to be on discount, and as she eyes the eggs on the display, she makes up her mind.
It’ll make their mornings easier and will finally let her have a good goddamned egg. He can use them when she’s not around too, she reasons.
“Here.” She places the set on the counter. Breaking the cardboard holder, she separates the three pans. “You can use the other two for whatever you want, but you’ll use this one to cook my eggs tomorrow. Or was the pan an excuse?”
She eyes the purse of his mouth and fights a smirk.
“It might be the spatula,” he drawls.
2
She had started to think Benny Watts was actually a hooligan when she woke up one morning and saw him sweeping the stairs.
“The downside of living below street level is the dust,” he’d told her.
Beth could think of five other downsides without much trouble, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.
So she starts helping him whenever he cleans.
She sweeps the entrance and taps the dustpan in one of his trash bags for him to carry them up and out. Of course the wind will eventually carry the dust back down, as she points out, but apparently he has a cleaning system set up, so once she finishes, she throws the broom up at him to let him stay in shape as he sweeps the street while she has her morning smoke.
That’s how they end up breaking his only broom.
She miscalculates her throw and instead of Benny, the wall catches the broom, sending it flying down the stairs. The sound of breaking wood is louder in the hollow walls of the basement.
“Jesus, my hand was literally right here!” Benny exclaims in annoyance.
Beth glares. “You could have moved down a little.”
“Or you could take another sip of coffee before you decide to join the land of the living. Now I have to go back and get the trash.”
“Benny, you have seven bags to choose from. I’ll go get the dustpan.”
A few hours later, she goes out and comes back with a new broomstick and a new dustpan; one that has one of those long handles attached.
“My back is starting to hurt from bending down. You’re welcome. Also, I tested the broom. It’s supposed to be resistant.”
“Is it you-proof?”
“Ha ha. Funny.”
3
The to-go cups are charming the first few times but she gets tired of them and then of his chipped mugs soon enough.
“Do I have to start giving you money every time you go out?” Benny questions with a frown once she sets a bag in the kitchen.
“It’s just a contribution,” she dismisses, pulling the little set of cups she found. They’re white, with tiny crisscross patterns in the middle and down the handle. They reminded her of the design of one of his sets. “This way I can actually choose one as mine.”
“They’re all the same,” Benny states the obvious as he inspects the mugs.
Beth rolls her eyes and goes to wash them.
4
She gets tired of bruising her legs on the bathtub pretty quickly too.
She will finish her shower, wrap the towel around herself, part the curtain and step outside, and without fault, her foot will slide on the floor.
If she’s lucky, a quick hand on the wall will be enough to stabilize her.
If she’s not, let’s just say that when a few days later they go to bed together, it isn’t the first time Benny sees some skin.
Yellowish bruises spot her legs and one or two greenish ones around her knees.
She sighs, already knowing she’ll browse the Bathroom section of some department store.
Benny just raises his eyebrows when she crouches by the bathtub with a plastic bag some days later.
She slaps a rubber mat on the floor, sliding a foot out of her sandal to try it.
“You have to be dripping wet or it won’t work,” Benny taunts from his place behind the board.
“Keep talking and that’ll be the only wet you’ll see.”
5
Once she starts sleeping with him, she notices he doesn’t sleep with a lot of pillows.
For a few nights, she doesn’t even notice, too worn out by the time she finally falls into slumber.
Throughout the night, he uses one of the two flimsy pillows on his bed, leaving the other one to her. Occasionally, he’ll use her shoulder, and that seems like enough to him.
Not to Beth, who is used to having at least four other pillows to sleep with. One of the things Alma taught her.
She tries pulling one of the pillows in the living room to the bed, but it eventually gets placed back. It’s too thick for her head and not soft enough for her face. Besides, Benny says she’s disrupting his living room set.
So, she browses the now-familiar Home section and squishes some pillows until she finds two that she likes (and the sales lady stops throwing her looks).
She finds Benny three aisles away. “I’m ready.”
He eyes her arms and rolls his eyes. “How much are those?”
“They’re for me.”
“I know, but they’re for my bed.”
She flushes, throwing a look over her shoulder. “And for me to use.”
He rolls his eyes again but his lips twitch. “Okay. I’ll get this, then.” He takes a dark green blanket from the rack he was looking through. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you shivering.”
Beth shrugs, silently pleased. “You could’ve kept the place warmer.”
He gives her a leering look. “Okay, I’ll make you warmer when we get home.”
He smirks when she flushes and looks over her shoulder again, but she doesn’t let him know her flush is also because of the casual implication of his place as their home.
+1
Benny doesn’t buy things as much as he does things, but he doesn’t know that means way more to Beth.
She loves the way she doesn’t even have to say anything; whenever he’s staying with her, he notices when things aren’t working or if something’s missing.
Little things like fixing the blinking lightbulb in the bathroom or the uneven leg of her new coffee table.
Once, she wakes up to the sound of her lawnmower and she looks out her window to see Benny Watts working his way through her front yard.
She whistles. “Now that’s a sight for sore eyes.”
He laughs, pausing for a moment. “I noticed the grass was a little long.”
“Yeah, I hadn’t called the kid I usually hire. I guess I won’t have to, now. Thank you.”
“You can thank me by starting on breakfast. I’ll be done in five.”
She goes in, pulls the eggs out, frying bacon on another pan, and gets the bread out for toast. She startles when he enters the kitchen.
“Apologies, ma’am, didn’t mean to scare you. All done in the front, I accept payment in cash only,” he drawls in a fake southern accent as he washes his hands and splashes water on his face.
“Oh, I don’t have any cash on me,” she says coyly, buttering the bread.
“No? Well,” he slides his arms around her waist, pressing into her from behind. She’s already laughing, but when he speaks, his mustache tickles. “I guess we can arrange something.”
“Benny.” She grins, squirming as he presses sloppy kisses to her neck and jaw. “Benny, the bacon.”
“I’ll get more later.” He finally reaches her mouth.
He makes good on his promise, and after eating a bacon-less breakfast (because they let it burn), he comes back from the store with food and a new set of mugs for her.
“I thought you might like it, it looks like your other set.”
She never mentioned why she doesn’t really use the green set, the one that has the cup she won’t wash lipstick out of, but she feels immensely grateful for him in that moment.
She ignores the growing lump in her throat and hugs him. “I do. Thank you.”
He doesn’t say anything but she knows he knows. He rubs her back and says, “you’re welcome.”
Beth supposes his presence in her life is his most invaluable gift for her. She can’t go in a boutique and find a Benny section or replace him when he breaks. No, she just happened to find him in a small lobby in Cincinnati. The little trinkets they can leave in their homes are like marks they have carved in each other’s heart. Beth quietly hopes he leaves a million more.
Bonus:
Beth experienced having to sit on lumpy pillows, mismatched chairs and blankets for five weeks. So, the first time she comes back to the basement, high on her to-do list, after some… other stuff, is getting that place a couch.
“You can whine all you want,” she tells a sullen Benny. “But I’m getting you one. It is inevitable.”
After redecorating her own house, she knows buying a new one from a furniture boutique would place a dent in her bank account, so she scours some second-hand shops until she finds a sturdy, black lined couch. The fabric is soft and buttery, and not opaque enough to reveal its past-life. The only thing Benny requested was for someone to not have died on it.
She thinks it’ll match the basement just right. Once she makes the downpayment, she ropes Levertov and Wexler into helping them carry the thing for the seven blocks to Benny’s.
“So?” she asks, setting the last pillow on the couch as Benny tries it on, wiggling around and rubbing his hands on the soft material.
“Well, dear,” he says with an accent, “I think you were right.” He takes her arm and yanks, making her land next to him with a squeak. “You’re kind of inevitable.”