13. Lisa
Lisa
“Girl! This is amazing!” Patty gapes as she stares at the email I’ve printed out. “I don’t know how you did it. I just don’t understand how your brain works.”
I smile back at her, but it’s half-hearted. “Yeah, well. A final project for a computer science degree, paired with losing a parent, can apparently make a pretty great app. I didn’t want others to have to suffer their way through the aftermath the way I did.”
“It’s a great app with a great purpose. And one that people will pay a fuckton for, apparently.” She pauses, giving me a once-over. “Are you sure you’re not under too much stress, though? I say this with love, but… I’ve never seen you this thin. Even when you did your marathon two years ago.”
Her concern is sweet, but she has no clue that it has nothing to do with the stress of the app and our upcoming graduation.
I’m sure the change is jarring, considering she didn’t see me the entire summer before our senior year.
As for me, I’ve been staring at a ghost in the mirror for months.
She has my hair, and she has my clothes, but she’s starting to see the future.
And while she’s no longer excited for the way it’s headed, she’s even more terrified of the unknown.
The one she dares to think of as an alternative to the now.
“Nope. I’m feeling better than ever.” I try to smile again, fueling it with my happiness to be alone with her, if even for a moment.
It feels like the good old days; the days before I started having to calculate every next step, measuring it against the potential rage I’d face when I was alone with Austin.
“Have you told Austin yet?” Patty asks, and the question sinks like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
“No, and I’d love to keep it between us.” At her puzzled look, I add, “I want to make sure it’s a done deal first. Surprise him.”
I don’t tell her that if it were up to him, I would have dropped out of college entirely.
It was only the fear of student loans that amounted to an unfinished degree that convinced him it would be worthwhile for me to graduate.
And, as it turned out, my senior project led to an offer on an app that could pay off my student loans ten times over.
I haven’t told him yet, because this feels like a new fork in the road of my future.
I’m still hoping to see a glimpse of the old Austin, the one I fell in love with. But if I can’t, this may be my only chance at freedom.
The champagne fizzes in my mouth, cold and delightful, and I tip my head back to drain the flute. Andi came over to coordinate the logistics of the Halloween event at Punchline with donuts and mimosas in tow, and I was more than happy to accept both.
Andi commandeered the social media handles for Punchline from Paul.
I listen as she gripes about how little he’s posted and how hard it will be to garner up traction in the short time frame we’ve given ourselves.
I fix us mimosas – mine, half champagne and half orange juice, Andi’s, all champagne and a drop of orange juice – and lay out the donuts while she posts a teaser photo across multiple platforms. Finally, she sets her phone down and gives me a long, assessing look as she grabs the flute from my hand.
“What?” I ask.
“You need to record a hype video of Benjamin,” she asserts, and takes a moment to chew on a donut. “We need his stamp of approval on the gym, and use his appearance at the party to entice others.”
I groan and plop down on the couch next to her. “Yeah, I get it. I’ll reach out to him.”
She says nothing, just purses her lips. “What?” I ask again, weirdly nervous this time.
“How was your date last night?” The question is unexpected, a brusque pivot from our event discussions.
How was it? It was…pleasant. Jordie was kind, with a nice smile and all the right things to say. He’d been respectful but attentive, clearly interested but not pushy, something any girl would like. Every flaw in the night had been entirely due to me.
“It was good,” I say. “I had a lot of fun.”
“Because of my delightful presence, or because of a handsome blond hockey player?”
I fiddle with the string of my hoodie and grin. “Can’t it be both?”
“Of course it can. I would be offended if I hadn’t been a part of it.
” She leans back and shoots me a conspiratorial look, one that tells me she’s about to become the bane of my existence with her next comment.
I brace myself. “I had to hear from you that you liked Jordie, though, because Benji went all lost puppy dog on you when you showed up at Wunderbar after the date. He left not long after you and Jordie did. Grant wouldn’t say much, other than that he was upset. ”
I digest the information slowly. “Benji?” I finally manage.
“Yes, Benji. As in, six foot three, dark and handsome, tattooed? A big, professional pain in your ass?”
“Okay, okay!” I throw my hands up, a laugh bubbling up in my throat. The image of him in his swimsuit, water running down those hard panes of muscle and gleaming against his tattoos pops into my head, and I attempt to shoo it away. “I just…always referred to him as Benjamin in my head.”
“Well, Grant calls him Benji.”
“Benji,” I echo, swirling the nickname in my mouth. I hate how much it rolls off the tongue, how much it suits him. I hate how much I like it.
“Anyways. I just thought you should know,” Andi continues, “in case that spark wasn’t there with Jordie, and you might want to explore it with someone else. Someone you love to hate.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
I take a long drink from my champagne flute, emptying it before I respond. “Nope,” I murmur. “That spark is there with Jordie.”
She squeals happily and refills our drinks. I take another sip, trying to ignore the fact that while my reply sounded genuine, it felt like a lie.
We move on to discuss the event further, and between rounds of mimosas, we argue over splitting the costs, the games and entertainment we’d put on during the event, and how to hype it up beforehand.
Eventually, Andi concedes that I can foot the bill on catering, and I compromise that she and Paul will split the decor and drinks.
I’m not entirely sure what kind of income Andi has, but she didn’t blink an eye at taking on a portion of the event budget.
Luckily, she hasn’t questioned my budget limits, either.
Not like Benji had in the elevator, instantly clocking the discrepancy between my current jobs and my living situation.
I know if I’d told him the truth – that I didn’t even need to work, thanks to the app I sold over a year ago – he would have pried for more information on it.
There are several news articles about it, tying back to my real name, and if he knew my real name…
I don’t want to think about what else he would find.
Eventually, the morning shifts to afternoon, and the champagne has been polished off. Andi orders a ride home and hugs me in front of the elevator.
“Don’t forget.” She boops my nose affectionately, in a way only she can pull off. I love her for it. “Shoot Benji a text.”
I groan, but promise her I will, and decide to bite the bullet as soon as she leaves the apartment. It takes me a minute, but I find his name in my phone under “Winny’s Handsomest Neighbor”. I roll my eyes and quickly update his contact before shooting off a message.
Me: Do you have time to record a hype video for the gym event?
Cocky Shit: Sure, I can make time for that.
Me: Great. Let me know if you need any sort of script. And just shoot it to Andi when it’s ready.
I pocket my phone and stare down at Winston.
He’s wiggling, and when we make eye contact, he skitters for the front door, glancing between me and his leash.
I sigh and shrug on my coat. His wiggles gain momentum as he sees that he’s going to get let outside, and I’m tugging on my right shoe when my phone vibrates.
“Hello?” I answer, bending over to slip on my left shoe and stumbling a bit.
Damn, I probably should have had something more than a single donut to soak up the…
three? four? mimosas. Slipping on the ice outside, half-drunk, would not be a great look for me.
I can only pray Winny doesn’t see anything he feels like chasing outside.
“Hey, sugar.” The voice on the other line is deep and tinged with amusement, belonging to the only male I know who gets such joy from teasing me.
I bolt straight up. Winny’s eyes go wide and he freezes, not sure what to expect, but anticipating something exciting. “Why are you calling me, Benji?”
“Benji? That’s a first.”
I can hear the smile in his voice, and fantasize for a moment about smacking it off his face.
I shrug the phone against my ear with my shoulder and grab Winny’s leash, bending down to snap it on his collar.
He leaps up excitedly and bumps the phone from its perch on my shoulder. It goes clattering to the floor.
“Stop it, Winny,” I hiss. “If you keep this up, I’m downgrading you to pee pads.” He pants excitedly in response, and I scramble for the phone, raising it to my ear again. “Hey, sorry about that.”
“Were you – were you just arguing with your dog?”
Fuck.
“What?”
Oh, shit – did I say that out loud? “Nothing. Nope. What do you want, Benji?”
“Benji again,” he muses on the other end of the line. “I like that. I’m calling because we seem to have had a miscommunication about this video.”
“Oh,” I say, deflating a little. Though, why should I be surprised? Someone as high-profile as Benji wouldn’t have the time of day to hype up a little mom and pop gym. It was a stupid idea to begin with. “No, I understand. You’re a busy guy–”
“No, no. That’s not it,” he cuts me off with a laugh. “I’m not going to just record something and shoot it your way.”
“Oh… kay?” It still sounds like he’s backing out.