Thirteen Ben
thirteen
Ben
Ben drove around and around the block, trying to find a parking spot. The scent of woodsmoke filled the air, savory and mellow.
Justin had suggested they meet at a barbecue joint for lunch, and Ben had reluctantly agreed. He’d been in Kansas City for weeks now, yet somehow he still hadn’t made it to any actual Kansas City barbecue.
Unfortunately, the place Justin picked was in Kansas City, Kansas, which was different from Kansas City, Missouri.
Ben knew that, intellectually, but he still wasn’t a hundred percent certain what the difference was.
He did know that Kansas City, Missouri, was KCMO, but Kansas City, Kansas, was KCK and not KCKS, for some inexplicable reason. Even the locals couldn’t explain it.
Ben supposed he was a local now, too, on paper at least. He’d changed over his voter registration and everything.
He didn’t feel like a local, though. He still used his GPS everywhere, though it hadn’t stopped him from overshooting his exit.
So then he had to loop around something called the West Bottoms (not a gayborhood, which sounded like a missed opportunity to Ben) before he finally made it back.
And now he couldn’t even find a place to park.
It did smell amazing, though. Ben had eaten barbecue before, had eaten burgers off his dad’s charcoal grill, but this… this was something different. He’d never been so painfully, primally aware of his caveman ancestors chasing down elk for meat.
He finally found a street side spot that seemed to be legal, on a low hill lined with cute houses. As soon as he stepped out of the car, the smell got more intense, tinged with meat and spices. Ben’s mouth watered. Literally watered.
He hurried back down the hill, huddling against the chilly wind and rain, following his nose like a bloodhound.
Ben was used to rain—he’d lived in San Francisco for years, after all—but here the rain was just different. It reminded him of Detroit: fat, heavy drops that pelted him, finding the gap between his collar and his neck with uncanny precision, soaking into his cuffs and socks, coating his glasses.
He finally found the restaurant, a big red building with KICK’S painted in stylized white letters on the side.
A wide awning extended from the door, creating a little covered patio where folks were eating their lunches off paper plates and red trays.
Ben stepped under it and got in line, heart thumping out a bossa nova.
What the fuck was Justin doing here? And why the fuck had Ben agreed to meet with him?
He could’ve said no. Shit, he could’ve blocked Justin’s number. He should’ve blocked it.
What was wrong with him?
Well, what’s wrong was, he knew if he said no, Justin would tell Ben’s mom, and then she would ask Ben why he was being so rude, couldn’t he just have one little lunch, weren’t they so good together, and Ben would give in eventually anyway.
Better to get it over with.
“Hey!” Justin popped out of the door and waved at him. “Ben!”
Ben screwed on a half-smile and nodded.
“Come on, I got us a spot in line.”
Ben hated cutting in line. They weren’t a couple. And even if they were, it was still a dick move.
Then again, the sooner they ate, the sooner he could get the hell out of here, so he apologized and excused himself and followed Justin inside.
“It smells amazing in here,” Ben said before he could stop himself. It was true, though. The aroma of smoking meat had intensified. Ben imagined himself wearing furs and pelts, wielding a stone spear, drawing paintings inside caves as his kill roasted on a fire.
He shook himself.
“It really does, huh?” Justin smiled. His eyes didn’t quite crinkle in the corners the way they used to. Definitely Botox, then. Justin used to have the loveliest smile. It was the first thing Ben had noticed when they met. Justin’s smile lit up his whole face. Now it didn’t make it past his nose.
Justin had cut his hair since Ben last saw him, and colored in his grays. He was still handsome, but not in any way that stirred Ben anymore. Now he looked… generic. Like he could’ve been a guest star on a soap opera.
Justin bit his lip and smiled at Ben, the way he used to, like they were still a thing. Like Justin hadn’t told Ben he wanted to fuck other people.
Ben managed to keep his face neutral, ignoring Justin and turning to the menu. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “What’re you getting?”
“I heard I have to try the burnt ends.”
Ben nodded. He’d heard the same thing from Ruta when he asked if she’d ever heard of Kick’s.
The line moved swiftly, and soon their red plastic trays were piled with coleslaw and onion rings and the most beautiful chunks of beef Ben had ever seen in his life, the kind of beautiful that deserved to be accompanied by shimmering violins in a major fifth, and maybe a little choral ahhhhing as well.
Thankfully they found a table inside; the wind had picked up and the rain had started blowing sideways.
“How’s life in Kansas City?” Justin asked as Ben tried to figure out how to tackle his meat.
“It’s good. I’ve made some friends. Settled in at the Philharmonic.” He finally just grabbed one of the chunks of beef and popped it in his mouth.
As soon as it touched his tongue, Ben groaned. He couldn’t help it. A symphony unfolded in his taste buds. Sweet, spicy, tangy, smoky. The beef fell apart between his tongue and his upper palate. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”
Justin laughed and tried a bite himself. He seemed to go through a similar euphoria.
While he chewed, Ben wiped his mouth and asked, “What brings you to Kansas City anyway? Please tell me you’re not here for some sort of misguided win-him-back scheme.”
“Of course not,” Justin said, swallowing his own chunk of beef. “I moved here.”
Ben dropped his plastic fork. Thankfully it clattered to the tray and not the floor. “You what?”
“I got a job. Hospitality director at that hotel over by the convention center.”
Shit. Ben walked by there every day. It was right across from the Kauffman Center, too. And worse—
“I think we’re hosting your charity ball later this year, too.”
Triple shit. Was Justin stalking him?
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. It was a good opportunity. And the cost of living here—”
“What about Phoenix Mountain?” Ben interrupted. He couldn’t believe Justin had just up and left. “How’d my parents take it?”
“They understood. You know them. They always rooted for us.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “Us? You just said this wasn’t a scheme to get back together.”
“It’s not! I really did get a job!”
Ben pulled off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. This couldn’t be happening.
Justin. Here in Kansas City. Working across the fucking street.
He had to be delusional. There was nothing else to it. Could you get ex-boyfriends placed on involuntary psychiatric holds? Should Ben call Justin’s parents? He hadn’t spoken to them since the breakup. Hell, Justin barely talked to them himself.
It made no damned sense.
“Ben?” Justin asked.
Ben shook his head. This had to be a joke. Justin had torpedoed their whole relationship. Shattered Ben’s trust—and his heart. Wouldn’t take no for an answer back in California. And now, now, he’d followed Ben halfway across the country.
What was wrong with him?
Ben wanted to say all that. Rip Justin a new asshole. Maybe dump a bottle of barbecue sauce on him. But they were in public. He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.
Justin leaned across the table. He reached for Ben’s hand, but Ben pulled it back, hiding it under the table, clenching one of the brown paper towels Kick’s offered as napkins.
“I messed up, Ben. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made you feel like you weren’t enough for me, and you were.”
That was bullshit. Clearly he wasn’t enough, if Justin wanted to fuck other people.
Their whole relationship, Justin had insisted he was okay with Ben being a side.
But when it came down to it, he wanted to fuck, and Ben wasn’t into anal.
That hadn’t changed, and there was no way Justin was suddenly fine with it.
When Ben kept quiet, Justin kept going.
“We can start over. Without the pressure of your parents always being around. Just you and me.”
It wasn’t just his parents, though. It was everything.
It was the heartbreak when Justin first brought things up. The arguments they’d had. The tiny voice in Ben’s head, which hadn’t been there before, telling him he wasn’t enough.
The truth was, he didn’t love Justin anymore, and he didn’t want to love him.
He didn’t want to start over. He wanted to get as far away as possible.
“No,” he said, because he couldn’t bring himself to say Hell no, fuck you! when they were still surrounded by people eating their burnt ends.
“Why not?” Justin pleaded. “I miss you, Ben. I miss you so much. This isn’t some scheme to win you back. It’s just me. It’s me, Ben. Asking for another chance.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t?” Justin blinked. His brows furrowed, as much as they could with their nerves deadened from Botox. “Wait. Is there someone else?”
“What?” Ben couldn’t believe Justin had the gall to ask that after everything.
He’s the one who’d wanted to fuck other people, not Ben.
“There is, isn’t there?” Justin leaned back, crossing his arms. His face was turning red enough to match their plastic trays. “One little fight and you go seeing someone else?”
“It wasn’t a little fight, Justin. We broke up.”
Justin looked like he wanted to cry. People were looking their way. God, why had Ben agreed to do this? And why had he agreed to do this in public?
“Fine, you’re right, and I forgive you, but, Ben—”
“Forgive me?” Ben asked. “Nuh-uh. You don’t get to forgive me because I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“So you are seeing someone?”
“Yes, fine, okay?” Ben blurted out.
He didn’t know why. He wasn’t seeing anyone. Obviously.
But it got Justin to shut up.
Not just shut up. Deflate. Justin started to cover his face before realizing his fingers were covered in barbecue sauce. Hurt was scribed all over his features.
“Who?” he croaked.
Ben swallowed. He hadn’t thought this out. He should’ve just told Justin off. Told him it was over and they were never getting back together. Tossed his barbecue and made a run for it. It was still pouring, but getting drenched to his skin would’ve been preferable to this.
When Ben didn’t answer, Justin asked, “Is it that guy from the vineyard?”
Shit. In all his anger, Ben had forgotten about Arya. That whole performance had been for Justin’s sake, to get him to back off.
But now it made the perfect cover.
“Yes, all right?” Ben said. “I’m with him. So can you please stop this… whatever it is?”
“But he’s all the way back in California,” Justin said. “You’re really going to do the long-distance thing?”
“He lives here in KC. His company works with the Philharmonic.”
“Oh.” Justin’s voice turned small and sad. “Shit.”
That seemed to work.
Please let this be the end of it. Let them eat their food and go on their merry way and never see each other again.
“Fine,” Justin said. “Fine. I’m happy for you then. As long as he makes you happy.”
“He does,” Ben lied. In for a penny and all that. “Thanks.”
“All right. Fine. Well, I’m sorry for pressing. I’ll leave you alone.” Justin shoveled coleslaw into his mouth for a second, then cocked his head. He chewed fast and swallowed. “Do your parents know?”
“Of course,” Ben lied again.
“All right.”
They finished their barbecue in awkward silence. The sauce tasted like ash on Ben’s tongue. The burnt ends melted away into nothingness. The onion rings were a crisp vacuum. He couldn’t even finish. Finally he gave up and tossed his napkins on top of his plate.
Why the fuck had he said that? He wasn’t dating Arya, couldn’t be dating Arya. For like… a dozen reasons.
But if it got Justin to leave him the fuck alone…
Justin cleaned his hands with a wet wipe and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Right. Well. Thanks for meeting up.”
“Sure,” Ben said. And then, because some part of him remembered how things used to be, he said, “I hope you’re happy here, Justin. Really.”
“Yeah? Thanks.” Justin sighed and stood, following Ben to drop off their trays and wind their way through the crowd.
The rain had slackened a bit, but Ben still hovered beneath the awning, bracing himself to go back out there.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” he said to Justin.
Justin nodded. “Yup. Listen, I don’t want things to be awkward at the meetings, so let’s just… be cordial, okay?”
“Meetings?” Ben furrowed his brows.
“Yeah. For your ball? Don’t worry. I won’t make a scene.”
“Right.” Right. Shit. Justin’s hotel was hosting their fucking ball.
The fucking ball Ben was working with Arya on.
Arya, who he’d just claimed to be dating.
Shit shit shit shit shit!