Page 78 of What Boys Learn

“You do.”

He smirked. “Fine, tell me.”

“I think violence against women has been normalized by pornography. So even if it’s one way for people to learn about sexuality, it comes with a cost.”

The conversation had run its course. But he didn’t look particularly irritated or nervous. He just looked like he knew this wasn’t an extended conversation to have with his mother. We’d tried. We were getting somewhere.

“I’m just glad,” I said, “that you’re comfortable talking about sex with Dr. Campbell. It must be hard not to have men around to talk to about these things.”

Benjamin’s plate was nearly empty and he was shoveling fast.

“Change of subject,” I said. “Grove sent me a contract for the summer. I’m going to sign, but they’re already hinting this is a first step toward a fall job, and I want to know in advance. If you wouldn’t consider going to school there, it’s a no-go for me.” I start listing pros and cons, telling him about Grove’s state-of-the-art science lab and multiple foreign language options, including Japanese. “Eighty-five percent girls for now, even though they’re recruiting boys heavily. Maybe the girl-to-boy ratio is a good thing?”

He cracked a smile. “Must be easier to get a prom date there.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling a bubble rise in my chest. “So, you’re not entirely against it. Not that I have the job yet. But that’s good to know.”

A cool breeze was blowing in from the open window. The stir-fry was tastier than anything I’d made all week, probably because I made an effort, using fresh broccoli instead of frozen. We were having the most normal conversation we’d had in weeks. The strange, dislocated feeling I’d sensed was dissipating, perhaps no more complex than hunger.

Benjamin went to the fridge and brought back two flavored waters without asking, as well as some paper napkins.

“Thanks,” I said, setting down my fork. “I want to talk about one topic we haven’t really settled, and I know it may be coming up in your therapy.”

Benjamin stiffened, but I kept going.

“It’s about my brother. I know it must be hard for you to understand why I throw out his letters and don’t want you to communicate with him. But you need to know. Ewan did bad things that landed him where he is now. He’s not a good person. But even more important, he won’t everbea good person. I’m sorry for not explaining that.”

Still, nothing. Benjamin had never been good at offering or accepting apologies.

“If he’d played his cards right,” I said, “he could have been out of jail when I was still a teenager. He could have started over. We could have finished growing up, together. But he’s done even worse things in prison. Fights with other prisoners. Attacks on guards. He assaulted a dentist so violently the poor man was left with brain damage. Can you imagine that? Attacking a stranger who is only trying to help you?”

Benjamin ignored the question, eyes focused on his food.

He looked angry. Some of it was about Ewan, without a doubt, but I wondered if he felt resentful about other things we hadn’t yet discussed. “Are you mad that I’m not letting you go out for a special day with Dr. Campbell, up to Wisconsin?”

He lifted his head, brow furrowed. “What the fuck?”

“He didn’t mention it to you?”

From his smoldering expression, I could tell that he hadn’t.

“You can’t keep me home every goddamn minute,” he said. “When I get a car, I’ll go wherever I want. And I won’t need a stupid therapist to take me. I can do what I want. I can visit anyone I want.”

From below came another bass riff. Less charming this time.

“Visiting Ewan would be a bad decision. You can’t do it now—not at your age—and I don’t think you should do it later, either. Once he gets to know you better, he’ll find ways to manipulate you. When you wrote him back—”

“Once. Just once.”

“Thank you.” I slapped my palm against the countertop, harder than I’d meant to. “At least you’re finally admitting it!”

“I told him we moved, and I mentioned a few things about school. That’s it.”

“But that encouraged him, don’t you see that? Protecting you from him is something I take very seriously. So when you wrote back to him, I felt . . . well, I guessbetrayedis the word—”

“Betrayed?” Benjamin dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, sending grains of rice flying. “Youfelt betrayed? You invaded my privacy!”

Quietly I said, “Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. We both need to calm down.” I’d been holding up my hands, palms out, directing him to relax. I lowered them and waited, watching to see if he was calming down, too. “Benj, I was just a little worried—”