ME: I look like Jack Skellington.

BEN: You have a broken mirror. You look like a princess.

ME: Thank you.

BEN: You're welcome.

A few minutes go by and I think we're done texting, so I pick up Gone Girl but keep the phone next to me. "My throat was clenching and unclenching like a heart," is all I keep reading. I can't get to the next sentence, because I'm hoping so much that Ben texts back. Maybe I should just text him and say, "You can come up."

Fortunately, I don't have to make such a ridiculously easy decision that I'm nearly incapable of making, since my phone dings again, and it's Ben.

BEN: So. Is tomorrow good?

ME: To visit?

BEN: No. To fly to Naples.

ME: lol. Naples? Did you just tell me to go to h.e.l.l?

BEN: What? No. Why?

ME: Doesn't Finabala or something like that mean go to h.e.l.l?

BEN: lol. It means go to Naples, yes, which essentially means go to h.e.l.l. But that is NOT what I said AT ALL. BTW, you know Italian?

ME: Just some bad words.

BEN: I don't believe that. Then again, you are friends with Holly.

ME: Who do you think taught them to me?

BEN: Ah. Anyway, can I visit YOU tomorrow?

ME: Do you know where I live?

BEN: I was hoping you would tell me.

ME: Ok.

BEN: Thank you. Is noon okay?

ME: Yeah. Noon is good.

BEN: Good. Now I just need your address.

ME: 83 Brown Road BEN: Great. I'll GPS it.

ME: Good luck. It's in the boondocks.

BEN: 83 Brown Road, Boondocks. Got it. ;) ME: lol BEN: Goodnight, pretty lady.

ME: Goodnight, Ben.

I set my phone aside, lie down on my pillow, and smile at the ceiling.

Ben wants to see me.

Ben knows what I look like, and he still wants to see me.

I can't keep myself from feeling warm inside, and I fall asleep, for the first time since early June, with a smile on my face.

I'm a shattered mess this morning. Everything in my closet is too big, which makes me look even frumpier than I am now, and I can't get my hair to do what I want. My sister Beth is lying on her stomach on my bed, and she's cracking up while I have an adolescent nervous breakdown.

"Calm down, Rose. He obviously already likes you, so don't try so hard."

"Easy for you to say...you don't have a hideous zipper covering the left side of your face."

"Rose. He's seen your scar. Yet he's still coming. He saw you at your worst. Something tells me that you could be wearing a potato sack and have no hair, and he'd still come."

"Right."

"Rose, wear your jeans and your ivory American Eagle sweater. You look nice in ivory."

My stomach hurts. How do I make myself look halfway normal?

"And wear those cute red cowboy boots you have."

"My boots?" I look at her like she's crazy. "I've only ever worn sneakers with this thing."

"They fit the foot to your size, right?"

"Yeah, but those boots were tight to begin with. I don't know if I'd feel comfortable walking in them."

My sister bites her lip and gives me one of those, "I'm sorry" head-tilts. "The sneakers will look cute, too," she says, the sound of her voice indicating she feels bad for bringing it up. "I'm sorry, Rose."

Pulling the sweater out of my antique dresser, I tell her not to worry about it. Then, when I turn and face her, I whip the sweater at her leg. "Get out now. I need to get dressed."

Beth sighs, disappointed at the change. Before my accident, my sisters and I always dressed in front of each other. If one of us was taking a shower and the other had to use the bathroom, we'd just walk in on each other. But now...Mom told them they need to respect my privacy and not walk in on me. I'm just not ready for anyone to see my leg. I can barely look at it myself.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, my chest pounds, and my stomach ties into knots. I try really hard to keep from crying, but I scream for Beth instead.

She comes running into my room, hysterical. "What? What's the matter?"

"My face." I'm holding my face with my fingers, wishing that I could wake up from this pathetic nightmare.

Beth looks at me through the mirror, her hands on my shoulder, and says, "Your face is beautiful, Rose."

"Stop lying. I need you to cover this."

"I'm not lying." She leaves my room and comes back a minute later, holding her makeup pouch and the chair from her room.

She pulls her seat up next to mine, places the makeup pouch down on my vanity, and rummages through it. "I'm not gonna cover it too well, cause that'll just look phony, and he already knows you have the scar."

"So what're you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna lessen it. Take the red out. Downplay it."

"Just make me look like I'm not wearing a Halloween costume."

She slips her fingers through some strands of my hair. "It's not as bad as you're making it out to be, Rose. It really isn't."

Her fingers tap lightly on my cheek as she spreads concealer along my scar.

"Now I'm going to put a light foundation over your whole face to blend it all in."

"Will it be noticeable?"

"The scar or the makeup?"

"Both."

She laughs. "Neither will be," she a.s.sures me as she pats loose powder on my cheeks, chin, forehead, and nose.

"Now what're you doing?" I ask as she comes at me with a pencil.

"I just wanna line your eyes."

I back away. "Please don't. I just want the scar covered."

"Okay. But let me do your hair."

"Nothing fancy."

Beth stands, grabs my brush, and runs it through my hair. When she's finished, it's hanging long with a few strands pulled back, hippie-style, and secured in the back with a small b.u.t.terfly clip.

"You look beautiful, Rose," my sister says from behind me now, staring into the mirror with me.

My hand naturally reaches for the scar, and instead of seeing an ugly red zipper, a flesh-colored scratch sits in its place. "Wow."

"Looks good, right? Now stop touching."

"What if it...comes off?"

"There's not that much on, Rose. Your scar is not that bad. It didn't need much."

"But..."

"It's not going to come off," she rea.s.sures me. "Now come on. I heard a car pull up."

Oh my G.o.d. "Oh my G.o.d," I breathe out loud.

"Rose. It's not like you haven't had boys come over. Come on. Nothing's changed."

Everything's changed.

18.

BEN.

My fingers were tapping about ninety-five miles per hour on my thighs while I waited for the door to open. I'm usually an extremely calm guy. Not much gets me fl.u.s.tered. But today? Forget it. You can power a whole baseball stadium with the nervous energy I'm putting out.

A blonde girl about Rose's age answers the door. "h.e.l.lo," she says, smiling. "You must be Ben." My hands continue to drum my thighs, so I force them into my front pockets.

"I am."

Without hesitation, she yells, "Rose," but as she turns to yell again, Rose and another blonde are already walking down the stairs.

"We heard you, Patti," the other blonde says.

"Hi." Rose's smile is soft. Tentative. Unsure. I get the feeling she's as nervous as I am.

"Hi."

"Thanks," Rose says to her sisters, and motions, with the tilt of her head, for them to leave.

"Nice meeting you, Ben." The first blonde closes the door behind me.

"Likewise." I smile, but turn my attention to Rose. "You. Look. Amazing." I pull my hands out of my pockets to give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you." Her voice is still as soft as I remember, but she doesn't seem as sad.

"Sit." There are two ivory couches and an old rocking chair in the front room. Rose sits on the rocking chair.

So I sit on the couch closest to her, even though I was hoping she'd choose one of the couches to sit on. I'm guessing it wasn't by accident that she chose the single chair to sit on.

"So," she starts, fiddling with her fingers while her hand sits on her lap.

"So...you have a great house. I mean...is that all your property out there?" Lame-a.s.s thing to talk about, but I'm not sure where to start.