Chapter 4
Liz, February 24
Me and Ben today? Well, complicated would be an understatement. I’m now a high school English teacher in Arizona (yes, I see the irony). Ben’s an engineer at a plant just outside London. Life has taken us on wildly different paths, but somehow we’ve stayed on them together.
As for me, I’m still tall and thin, but I’ve filled out a bit. I’ve finally reached that sweet spot where I safely fill out a size 8 jeans with my 5’10” frame. I won’t lie—I know how to work what I’ve got when I need to. It’s a skill I probably picked up in college. Not one I use often, but it’s there, tucked away for special occasions.
Ben, though... He’s older, sure, but otherwise exactly the same. Same dark, playful green eyes that are somehow always smirking. Same blonde hair, still cropped close to his head. His chin is often dotted with stubble, and when he smiles? God. That smile could melt glaciers.
And his abs? Still intact, after ten years. I don’t know how the hell he manages that. More to the point, I don’t know how the hell the British women have managed to keep their hands to themselves, but somehow, he’s still single. As am I. Not that I haven’t wondered what it would be like if we weren’t.
There was a time—after I finished college and started thinking about my future—when I actually considered moving to England. It wasn’t because I thought life would be better there, but because the idea of living where no one knew the awkward, self-conscious me had its appeal. Back home, most people were content to let me fade into the background when my social anxiety kicked in. But Ben was different. He didn’t just let me disappear. Sometimes I’d catch myself waiting for him to notice the things no one else ever did—the way my voice went tight when I was nervous, or how I’d vanish at parties if I didn’t know what to say.
After the survey wrapped up, I remember Ben coming to me for advice on girls—like I knew anything about that. From there, it just snowballed. Suddenly, I was hurrying home from class every day to talk to him. We spent hours chatting. It felt so natural, having someone who enjoyed talking to me that much.
But even now, thinking back on it, I realize I hesitated. I was terrified. Not of him, exactly. But of the idea that I could never be good enough. That high school me, the awkward, bookish girl who never felt worthy of his attention, would never be the person Ben deserved. And that thought? It still hangs over me. There were nights I’d hover over the keyboard, half-writing a message that might give me away, before deleting it all and pretending I was fine.
Today, Ben and I text constantly. We talk about everything—from the weather to bad relationships to, well... our sex lives. We’re best friends, occasional cyber lovers, and, above all, each other’s harshest critics. We’ve developed a shared, unhealthy fear of commitment over the years. Mine comes from the handful of times I’ve been cheated on. Ben’s? A result of “bitchy, fake women” and the messiness that comes with them.
So, here we are, perfectly content with a relationship that spans 5,000 miles, safe in the knowledge that neither of us can break the other’s heart. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
You can’t break what you can’t hold.