Twenty-Four Ben
twenty-four
Ben
If you’d asked Ben ten years ago if he was into antiquing, he’d have laughed in your face. He was super into minimalist shit: white blocky furniture, white picture frames, gray and black accent pieces.
God, he was a shit in his early thirties.
He’d just gotten his first long-term contract in Detroit, and his first big-boy apartment that he’d furnished himself.
He’d been in the best shape of his life, with a six-pack you could grate cheese on.
He’d had a terrible haircut—he could see that now, with hindsight—but at the time he’d been a fucking hot commodity at the bars and clubs he used to visit, the “No Asians” cohort notwithfuckingstanding.
But now? Now he loved antiquing.
Who knew Kansas City was basically the antiquing capital of the Great Plains? Or was it the Midwest? Ben had heard locals call Kansas City part of both at various times. Being from California, he had no clue what the truth was.
Either way, ever since Arya had showed him around the West Bottoms on one of their pretend dates, he’d been hooked.
He’d even convinced Ruta to come along with him to check it out.
“Excuse me,” Ruta said, pulling Ben aside to help him dodge an overdressed couple—Seriously, stilettos? In an antique store?—hauling a stuffed armchair toward the checkout. “You looking for anything in particular?”
“Some sort of lamp,” Ben said. He wanted something to put over in the corner of his bedroom by the window and armchair he kept telling himself would be his reading chair.
Unfortunately for his literary ambitions, Simon did not like sitting at his feet when he read.
She much preferred being pressed against his side, splayed across his lap, or, if she was feeling particularly lovey that day, with her head resting on his chest, staring up at him like he was a prince from a fairy tale and she was a maiden waiting for her kiss.
Or maybe like he was a piece of bacon.
Ben had never been the kind of person to give his dogs people food, but gravity was a fickle mistress indeed.
Ever since Simon had scarfed up a piece of bacon that fell on the kitchen floor, she’d been in love.
Never mind the fact she’d had diarrhea all the next day.
She still sighed and made gooey eyes at him whenever he made breakfast.
“What about this?”
“You’re joking.” The lamp she’d pointed at was absolutely hideous, hilariously so. Wrought iron, but meant to evoke… Were those supposed to be clowns? Dogs? Human skulls?
“What?” Ruta clicked the lamp on to prove it still worked and shot him a deadpan look. “That’s you.”
Ben rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Simon’s tail would snap it in half.”
In addition to being hideous, it was also spindly and delicate.
Ruta made a show of being indignant. “You’re no fun.”
That didn’t stop her from spotting a better one in the next room, a sturdy-looking Tiffany knockoff that would be perfect.
Ben also found a little side tray and a set of eight etched crystal coupe glasses, which he supposed meant he needed to have people over for cocktails. And learn how to make better cocktails, now that he thought of it.
Growing up at a winery, he’d never needed much facility beyond opening a bottle of wine, and even now, he was more of a drinking cocktails type than a making cocktails type.
But these called for something fancy, like Aviations or Corpse Revivers or maybe even something with egg white to make them extra foamy and creamy.
“Thanks for doing this with me,” Ben said as Ruta helped him finagle the lamp into his trunk.
“Of course,” she said. “You’re in your nesting phase. I love it.”
Nesting phase?
Ben wasn’t nesting.
Well… maybe he was. A little.
He hadn’t received an offer for tenure—he wouldn’t be eligible until next year—but Thomas had insisted he was basically a sure thing, and Kathryn from the Operations team had made a point of telling him what a great job she heard he was doing on the PhilBall.
And he’d meant what he told Arya a few weeks ago, about liking Kansas City.
It felt like home.
“See you tonight?” Ruta asked as Ben closed his trunk.
He still had to get all this shit home first. And take Simon for a walk. And get through a PhilBall meeting where Justin was certain to show up. At least Arya would be there.
Arya, who was as much a part of his life as Kansas City now. Arya, who swooped in to give him space from Justin. His slut in shining armor.
Ben hadn’t heard much from him since the eagle incident two days ago, but he knew Arya had a late night and early show and was probably exhausted. They’d barely texted—just some good mornings and good nights—but now Ben was finally going to see him.
God, he really needed to slow his tempo here.
“Ben?” Ruta asked.
“Sorry, yeah. We’re hitting up Aspire after, right?”
Ruta shot him finger guns. “You know it.”
Ben showed up to the Philharmonic offices a few minutes early with a steaming cup of Baihao oolong for himself, a honey-yuzu herbal for Arya, and a breve hazelnut latte for Brenda, because he’d heard her son had broken his arm on the playground last week, and he didn’t know what else to do to help.
“You are the sweetest.” She popped the lid off and took an alarmingly large gulp. “My favorite. Thank you, Ben. How was your week?”
While they waited for the rest of the committee, Ben took the seat next to her and pulled out his phone to show her pictures of Simon’s latest antics: namely, finding a huge puddle (or perhaps a small lake) that had formed in a pothole two blocks over from his house.
She’d turned a charcoal gray after giving herself a bath in it.
And she’d looked absolutely affronted—betrayed, even—that Ben had given her another bath when they got home.
“Look at that face!” Brenda squealed as Ben swiped to the photo of Simon wrapped in a towel, looking like a forlorn babushka.
“I know, right?” Ben laughed at his little drama queen as Maurizio swanned in.
“Nothing for me?” they asked, gesturing at the coffee cups on the table.
“Like you need any more caffeine.” Ben had learned that Maurizio started every day with a quadruple espresso and spent the rest of the day downing an entire pot of drip coffee at the office.
He’d literally seen the separate pot with a little MAURIZIO sticker on it, next to the pot for the rest of the staff.
“I can want it without needing it,” they said airily, but they still laughed as Ben rolled his eyes.
Maurizio began filling Ben and Brenda in on their latest date—“The worst date anyone has ever been on, ever!”—at a brand-new vegan restaurant that had opened in South Plaza.
“I’ve had good vegan food, and I’ve had bad vegan food, but this… I’m pretty sure it was vegan, but I’m not entirely convinced it was food.”
Ben groaned in sympathy. He’d been on his share of bad dates, certainly.
Speaking of dates, he glanced toward the door. Arya was usually early to these meetings. Ben had asked him about it once; Arya had admitted he used to be late to everything, but after his boss Mitchell ripped him a new one his first year of work, he’d gotten his shit together.
And by that he meant he set three reminders for nearly everything in his calendar.
Ben’s heart gave another one of those little flutters, but he shut it down. Yeah, everyone present knew about him and Arya (well, the fake version), but he had to keep things a little professional.
Ben turned back from the door and swiped to another picture, this one of Simon after she’d had an unfortunate run-in with some sort of bee in Ben’s backyard.
“Oh no!” Brenda howled with laughter. “Did she eat a spicy fly?”
Ben chuckled, swiping to another photo of his poor baby’s swollen snout.
“What’s everyone laughing about?” Justin asked as he entered.
Ben’s smile turned into more of a pucker. Justin didn’t come to all their meetings, thank god, but he did show up every so often, either to check in or to go over the catering and drinks.
Ben wished Arya would get here already.
“Ben’s dog,” Maurizio said as Ben swiped to another photo.
This one was of Simon bathing the top of Arya’s bald head with her tongue. She’d snuck up behind him while he sat on Ben’s couch, drinking a glass of wine, and Ben had caught him right as he laughed from the sensation of her wet tongue against his skin.
Arya looked… radiant, his smile so huge it had filled Ben’s entire house.
That fluttering in Ben’s heart turned into a squeeze. Shit. He had it bad.
Justin’s smile turned brittle. “Cute,” he managed.
Only Ben knew Justin well enough to notice the strain in his voice, the hurt shift in his tone.
Ben hadn’t told anyone besides Arya that Justin was his ex.
He wasn’t sure why, exactly, except that he didn’t want to start shit.
He might be annoyed—or pissed off—but not enough to fuck with Justin’s livelihood.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bitch,” Carley said as she swanned in. Ben looked past her toward the door, but Arya didn’t follow.
Where was he?
“Arya couldn’t join us?” Brenda asked, looking from Carley to Ben.
Shit shit shit. Ben should’ve known. Arya should’ve texted him. Right? Boyfriends did that sort of thing. Justin cocked an eyebrow Ben’s way.
“Uh—”
Fuck. Why had he brought a drink for Arya? Now everyone knew he had no clue Arya wasn’t coming.
“I—”
“He got called away last minute,” Carley said smoothly. She turned to Ben. “He meant to text you, but you know how he is.”
“That I do,” he said smoothly.
That seemed good enough for Brenda and Maurizio, but Justin kept eyeing him.
Ben cleared his throat and sipped his oolong. Instead of peaches and honey, it tasted more like ash and lies. He swallowed anyway.
“Right,” Carley said, pulling out an iPad. “As long as Justin’s here, why don’t we start with the BEOs?”
“Everything okay?” Justin asked Ben as he gathered up his trash. Arya’s now cold honey-yuzu sat untouched on the table. “With your boyfriend, I mean?”
Justin didn’t raise his hands, but Ben could hear the quotation fingers around the word anyway.
“Everything’s fine,” Ben said. “Why?”
“Just asking,” Justin said. “Will he be at kickball tomorrow?”
“As long as nothing else comes up,” Ben lied smoothly. “Did you need something?”
Justin shrugged. “I talked to your mom the other day.”
Ben’s shoulders stiffened.
What the fuck?
Ben had been playing phone tag with his mom all week, yet she found time for Justin?
“I see,” he said, gritting his teeth. He grabbed his cups and tossed them in the trash can, careful not to spill Arya’s still-full drink.
“She said to tell you hi. Said you’d been missing each other the last few days.”
“Two hours doesn’t seem like much time difference, but somehow I’m always at a show, or she’s always running errands, or one of us is asleep.” Ben shrugged. “Hopefully I’ll catch her soon.”
“Cool,” Justin said. He stood in the doorway, blocking Ben’s exit, hands clasped together like he wanted to say something. He didn’t, though.
“I’ll see you at kickball,” Ben said, pressing his way past.
“Hey, Ben!” Carley called when he reached his car. “Has Arya texted you yet?”
Ben glanced around, but they were alone in the parking lot. He shook his head.
Carley pursed her lips. “Will you check on him?”
Ben’s throat tightened. “Check on him?”
What the hell was going on?
“Mitchell’s in the hospital. Arya’s been with him.”
“Oh shit.” Mitchell was Arya’s boss. Mentor. Friend. Pain in the ass. Arya had described him as all of the above, depending on the day.
“Is Arya doing okay?” And why hadn’t he said anything when they texted?
Well, because they weren’t really boyfriends, that was why. This was all pretend, and they’d never made any rules for how much emotional support to give each other. Just because Ben had started blurring the lines didn’t mean Arya felt the same way.
“He’s a mess,” Carley admitted. “He’s barely left the hospital. I think he blames himself.”
That sounded like Arya. “I’ll check on him.”
Carley’s whole face softened. Her blue eyes twinkled. She looked…
Shit.
She looked like she wanted to cry.
“Did I do something wrong?” Ben asked.
Carley shook her head, a small, sad smile creasing her lips.
“No.” She sighed. “I’ve known Arya for a long time. He always insisted he didn’t date. Didn’t get attached to people. But then you came along, and…”
She shrugged.
“It’s nice to see someone care for him the way he always cares for everyone else.”
Ben’s heart changed key signatures.
She didn’t know it was all fake. She saw the way Arya acted and thought he actually liked Ben, the way Ben was starting to like Arya.
Damn, this was getting complicated.
Ben needed to remember the rules. Yeah. The rules.
Fuck if they got too tense. Pretend dates once a week. No falling in love.
Something… something…
He couldn’t even remember the last rules. All he could think of was Arya in a hospital room, stressed out and alone because he didn’t think he could call anyone.
Shit.
“I’ll take care of him,” Ben said. “Don’t worry.”