Thirty-Six Ben
thirty-six
Ben
Ben stood in his entryway, watching as Arya drove off without a second look.
He stayed there for a long time, the hot, muggy air clinging to his skin. The day had turned darker, like a storm was rolling in, and if that wasn’t an on-the-nose metaphor he didn’t know what was.
Simon came up next to him, sniffing at the air, then looking at him, like she thought he might be about to grab her leash.
“Sorry, Simon. Not now.” He closed the door. Simon whined, spun, and went back into the living room to jump up onto the couch, turning herself around three times before curling into a bean, leaving room for Ben to sit next to her.
Ben didn’t sit, though. Instead he rested his head against the door and sighed.
Their conversation ran through his head over and over.
Why hadn’t he spoken up sooner? Made Arya talk to him? Cracked him open like a clam? Maybe because some part of him knew, deep down, Arya would run at the first sign of a fight.
But still, fuck, why had he let Justin get into his head? Why had he decided sex was the problem in the first place?
What the fuck was wrong with him that he’d done all that? He wished he could blame the alcohol, but the truth was, some part of him had been thinking that long before. And hadn’t Arya spent their entire relationship telling Ben what a slut he was? What else was Ben supposed to think?
It wasn’t his fault Arya didn’t know how to communicate. It wasn’t his fault Arya didn’t know how to process his stress.
It wasn’t Ben’s job to teach him. He was Arya’s boyfriend, not his fucking therapist. Not his dating coach, either.
He couldn’t make up for twenty years of Arya being habitually single with just a few months of dating. He’d been a fool to even try.
This thing between them had always been doomed. They should’ve known it. Arya wasn’t dating material, he’d said as much over and over, and Ben had tried dating him anyway. Despite everything he knew, he’d fallen into bed with Arya, fallen into a relationship, fallen in…
No. No fucking way.
Ben straightened his spine. No, they’d tried, and it hadn’t worked. That was all. Ben had seen the writing on the wall. Maybe being drunk had pushed him over the edge, made him act faster than he would’ve, said things he wouldn’t have normally said, but this was always going to happen.
He headed to the kitchen to make himself some matcha. Whatever weird drink Arya had given him had left a weird taste in his mouth.
Arya had left a weird taste in his mouth.
Not every wine had a lingering, heavenly finish.
Some of them just tasted like ash.
By the third day of not leaving the house—except for taking Simon for runs—Ben had to admit that he might be a little depressed about the breakup.
Arya hadn’t messaged him since their fight. Not to apologize, not to start another fight, not even to ask after the few pieces of clothing he’d left at Ben’s house. Or his spare electric toothbrush and charger. It was a different model from Ben’s. He didn’t have any use for it.
Ben hadn’t messaged Arya, either. What was there to say? They’d broken all their rules and now they’d hurt each other. Better to walk away.
That didn’t make it easy. Ben had gotten used to them being together. Having Arya over, playing with Simon, drinking wine and watching a movie or talking or kneading the knots out of Arya’s shoulders or, yes, sex.
Ben had plenty of toys for that, though. And his hand, of course.
He was fine. Simon was all the company he needed.
Still, even she was struggling in this August heat.
Ben had survived Septembers in California. He thought he knew what he was getting into.
But it turned out, a hundred degrees and mostly dry was way different than a hundred degrees and a hundred percent humidity.
He only made it a couple blocks into his run before his shirt was stuck to his chest. Simon was panting. He was sweating, but none of it was evaporating because the air was too moist.
He felt like dying.
So he cut his run short, turning Simon back toward home.
TJ was at his door when he got there, in a faded Philharmonic T-shirt that still had the old logo on it.
“Holy shit, dude, you look like ass.”
Ben tried to roll his eyes, but that just got sweat into them, so he blinked and let them all into the bliss of his air-conditioned house.
“I’d greet you, but I don’t want to take a swim,” TJ said. “Here. Air hugs.” He made a loop with his arms. Ben reciprocated while Simon ran straight for her water bowl, sloshing it everywhere. Ben would need to mop.
“Here, girl.” He followed her into the kitchen, grabbed one of his big ice spheres, and handed it to her. She gently chomped it and took it to the bathroom, where she curled up against the toilet and started licking the ice.
“I know it’s cliché,” TJ said when Ben returned to the living room with a towel around his neck to try to catch some of his sweat, “but it’s not the heat. It’s the humidity.”
“If you’d told me that, like, two weeks ago, I would’ve said you were full of shit,” Ben huffed. “But now I agree.”
TJ grinned, but then it softened. “How’re you doing, Ben?”
“Fine.” He cleared his throat. “How was the game?”
Ben hadn’t gone to kickball Saturday. Hadn’t told anyone he was missing, either, which was cowardly, but he just couldn’t deal with it. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed until past noon.
“It was good,” TJ said. “We beat the Blue Springs Babadooks.”
Ben had no idea where Blue Springs was. And to be honest, he still didn’t think the Babadook counted as a queer icon.
“Well, good.”
“And I asked Marisol out after.”
“No shit?” Ben felt himself smiling for the first time since Friday. “That’s awesome, man. What’d she say?”
“Yes, obviously. I mean, look at me.” TJ swept his hands up and down his body. “I’m a total snack.”
Ben cackled. “You are.” He ran a hand through his hair, but it was wet and gross, so he wiped it on his shorts. “What’re you doing here, anyway?”
“Just checking on a friend.” TJ’s voice softened. “I heard you and Arya are donezo.”
That hadn’t taken long.
Then again, everyone on the team knew they were together, so it only made sense they’d know when they fell apart.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” In fact, Ben wanted to be alone and not talk to anyone.
“All right.” TJ walked right past Ben for the bathroom, where he knelt to pet Simon, who wagged her tail but kept licking the (now much smaller) ice sphere. “We can just hang out then.”
“TJ—”
“Ben. You had a breakup. You need your friends. Unless you have some others scheduled to come over that I don’t know about?”
Ben opened his mouth to argue and then closed it.
TJ was right. Ben did need his friends.
And he was lucky to have TJ. And Ruta. And Thomas. And anyone on the kickball team who would still talk to him after he and Arya had kicked each other in the emotional nuts.
“You’re right. Thanks, man.” He gestured to the couch. “You mind chilling for a few minutes while I shower?”
“Go for it. You’re gross.”
Ben tried—repeatedly—to coax Simon out from her spot by the toilet, but she wouldn’t budge, so he just locked her in with him while he turned on the shower.
As the water pounded his shoulders, he smiled, just a little.
He was actually kind of glad TJ was here.
After he was dried and dressed in clean clothes, he flopped onto the couch opposite TJ.
“You got any video games?”
Ben shook his head. He’d never been much of a gamer.
And it turned out, he actually did want to talk about things.
He took a deep breath and told TJ everything.