"Hey, Mom," he says with a smile, kicking off his shoes and sitting down next to her. "What's up?"
She mutters something incoherent and his smile widens. There's definitely been something going on that he hasn't been told about, and he's overjoyed. Not necessarily because he and Mr. Monk are best friends... more because he knows that his Mom is stubborn and self-righteous. If there's been anything, she's finally cracking a bit.
"How was work?" he asks.
"Mhmrm." she says.
They sit in silence for a few minutes longer, her hands constantly digging into the bag of sticky cherries. He watches her pop them into her mouth and nearly swallow them whole, and he can't help but think that she won't need those soon. If things work out like they're supposed to, she'll never have a reason to be really depressed ever again. He's not stupid, he knows that things happen and life can suck. But she won't be lonely, and she won't stay up crying when some macho loser dumps her.
"How's Mr. Monk?" he says conversationally, trying to break the tension and figure out what their Something was at the same time. He's always been ambitious.
She chokes on a cherry, then turns to look at him with an expression of fear.
"...Why?" She seems to take a minute to remember that she's talking to her son, but when she does she blushes. "Er... I mean, fine. He's fine, kiddo."
"Then why are you acting so weird? You didn't kiss him or anything like that, did you?"
She jumps up, the bag of cherries spilling all over the floor and he knows he's hit a nerve. She begins ranting about never scaring her like that again, how she would never do anything so unprofessional, that he was still -- and always would be -- wrong about it.
So they came close to sucking face, he guesses, and laughs to himself as he tries to imagine Mr. Monk being that close to anyone. Or his Mom being that close to Mr. Monk.
"What's so funny?" she demands of him, hands on her hips. "What the hell are you laughing at, Benjamin?"
He shrugs. "You'll yell at me if I tell you,"
"No, I won't,"
"Yes, you will."
"Why would I do that?" she asks.
" 'Cause you're not going to like it," he replies. "You never like it when I bring it up, so I'm just keeping it to myself now."
He stands up and heads towards his room, still smiling to himself when he thinks of how annoyed she probably is.
"Besides," he calls as he walks. "It's started, so keep watching. If you pay real close attention, you'll be able to see everything."
He thinks. Everyone knows it -- it's his specialty. But... but sometimes he can't help but feel that he doesn't think enough. He gets into so many uncomfortable situations and, and places that he wonders if he really uses his brain at all. Like... like with her. Whenever he's with her, something happens that can usually be avoided. At first he blamed Murphy's Law, then her, and now he's blaming himself because he doesn't think as much as he should.
But then -- how much should he be thinking?
After she leaves, after he watches her drive away and tries to calm his heartbeat, he does a lot of thinking to make up for his mistake. Thinking about how he could have sat somewhere else, how he could have... avoided being so close to her. Thinking about what might have happened if he had been just a little bit closer, feeling stupid and guilty. He thinks about how she smells like bubble gum and something chocolate; how Trudy hated bubble gum (it made people look like cows, chewing and chewing and chewing), how Trudy was severely allergic to chocolate, how Trudy never wore high-heels because they made her uncomfortable.
He thinks for close to five hours before he realizes it's almost time to start on dinner.
He's thinking now, but he can't figure out why or what for. His head hurts, he's sure he's carefully examined everything, he just wants to get through his dinner and... and call her. But he can't call her. She hates him, most likely -- he knows how much she enjoys her personal space -- and his insides knot up. He's only guessing, but he feels sick and can barely stand to look at his boiled chicken.
Trudy didn't believe in calling people after 6:30 pm. She thought it was impolite, which he understands even today, but it disturbs him slightly when he thinks that... that Trudy's rule is the only thing that's keeping him from picking up the phone and calling Sharona.
It disturbs him when he thinks that in the back of his mind, he hopes she's staring at her phone, too.