Something New Read Online Free PDF Page B

the ones he wore earlier, although how I remember that, I cannot tell you—and a blue V-neck cotton sweater. But when I turn to her, I see that she is concentrating on a spot on one of the lower bleachers and hasn’t even noticed Ben Campbell.
    “That bran muffin is working like Roto-Rooter on my intestines.”
    She eases herself down to the lawn and makes a beeline for the bathrooms on the far side of the field. Meanwhile, Ben Campbell has meandered over to the bleachers. When his chocolate eyes find me, I expect him to execute a swift about-face and hightail it for the other side of the field. But instead, he smiles a greeting at the moms on the lower level of the bleachers, then begins to climb toward my seat.
    What is the matter with this guy?
I think, wondering if he has a soft spot for stray dogs, orphaned children, and unsettled middle-aged women.
    “Hi,” he says warmly, pretending I am normal, pretending that I did not make the most unspeakably pathetic impression on him only hours ago.
    “Hi.” Uh-oh. Another one-word sentence. Not a good way to reverse his impression.
    “Mind if I sit here?”
    “Not at all.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Three words. I’m on a roll.
    He lowers his delectable bottom onto the wooden bench and smiles. “It’s Ben.”
    “I know. Ben Campbell,” I say, as if to prove that although I have difficulty constructing complex sentences, I have no problem with recall.
    “I didn’t catch your name earlier,” he says.
    “It’s Ellen. Ellen Ivers.”
    “Well,” he says. “Nice to meet you…again.”
    “Yeah. You too.” I take a breath and blow it out. “I’m sorry if I, uh, seemed a little standoffish this morning.”
    He gives me a grin. “I thought maybe I was offensive.”
    I look over at him with surprise. He has to be one of the most inoffensive men I’ve ever met. “You’re kidding. You were very nice.”
    “I meant sweaty and smelly offensive. After all the furniture-lugging, my wife wouldn’t get near me until I showered. I figured you were reacting to my rankness.”
    “No,” I say, laughing. “I think I was just having a little aneurysm.”
    “Ah. That explains it, then.”
    We share a moment of companionable silence. I notice that Maddy and Tina are constantly glancing back at us with curiosity, and a part of me is pleased by this. It’s that “little thrill” thing at work again. Of all the moms present, this particular piece of fresh meat chose to sit next to me. (Who cares that he probably did so initially because he felt sorry for me or was planning to offer me the business card of his therapist?) This moment will fuel me for at least the rest of the day, and I allow myself to bask in it.
    The slight breeze carries the scent of his aftershave to my nostrils. I try to ignore the effect that it’s having on me.
    “Is your son out there?” he asks, then shakes his head. “Dumb question, right?”
    “Not at all,” I reply with a straight face. “I could be one of those weirdos who watches kids’ sports for the sheer enjoyment of it.”
    “That
would
be weird,” he agrees, grinning broadly.
    I chuckle, then point at my son. “Number six. That’s my Matthew.”
    He nods. “My son’s Liam. He just turned ten.”
    I watch as Liam makes a charge toward the goal, weaving through the other players effortlessly, the ball like an extension of his own (normal-sized) feet.
    “He’s good,” I comment.
    “Yeah, he’s pretty coordinated for his age.”
    Of course, Matthew chooses that moment to fall on his butt, becoming a tangled mass of prepubescent limbs flailing on a sea of green grass. In my peripheral vision, I can see that Ben is stifling what would surely be an expression of amusement.
    “He gets that from his dad,” I say.
    He looks at me and unchains the smile. “Of course.”
    It occurs to me that I have reverted to the confident, intelligent woman I used to be. Then it occurs to me that in the two conversations I’ve had with