Chapter 7
Ben, February 28
One of my flatmates once asked me why I never brought girls around anymore. It led to laughter and calling me a monk. I shrugged it off, but inside I thought: if only you knew. If only you knew there was already a girl, one who lived five thousand miles away and had no clue I was in love with her. That was the problem, really. I couldn’t justify putting a woman I loved through the torture of knowing how I felt but being literally an ocean away from doing anything about it. I never told her. I knew perfectly well that Liz believed in and valued honesty, but I didn’t tell her. It was a lie of omission, the kind that chews at you slowly.
Deep down, I knew it was never going to happen. I thought about why it wasn’t going to happen almost constantly, and it was the most depressing thing in the world. I wasn’t moving to America. Liz wasn’t moving here. I loved her, but I convinced myself that being “safe,” being her best friend, was better than no Liz at all.
Over the years I developed this habit of comparing any male Liz talked about to her checklist of three qualities. Did this guy seem to have a sense of humor? Was he charming? Honest? I made sure to point out whenever someone was lacking. If she mentioned someone new, I was ready with the red pen, grading them against her list.
I remember one time Liz was out for drinks with someone her friend from work set her up with. It wasn’t going well, so she texted me—once when he was literally hitting on the bartender right in front of her. Then she excused herself, apparently to use the restroom, and left her phone in her purse hanging on the barstool.
Liz: Who is this?
Ben: Excuse me?
Liz: I’m on a date with the girl who owns this phone and I’m wondering who this is that she’s been texting during our date.
Ben: Did you see her texting during your date?
Liz: No, the times are attached to your messages, asshole.
Well, wasn’t this interesting?
Ben: The name’s Ben. I’m Liz’s friend.
Liz: Like friend friend or like friend-with-benefits friend?
Ben: Well I live in England, so the benefits are a bit of a stretch. Friend like best friend. Good enough?
Liz: What’s that about? Are you gay?
That was not the first time someone had asked me that when I talked about Liz. I resisted the urge to text back something cutting—something Liz would definitely see when she got her phone back. Instead I chose not to respond at all.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again.
Liz: I am so sorry. The dirtbag took my phone out of my purse and went through it.
Ben: Liz?
Liz: Yes, it’s me. I’m so sorry.
Ben: It’s okay. It was a bit weird. Where is he now?
Liz: Probably still at the bar. I left.
Ben: Good thing you brought your own car.
Liz: Absolutely. I’m sitting in it right now. I’m going to drive home though. Text you when I get there?
Ben: Please do.
Clearly that man was not Mr. Charming. When these are the kinds of guys who are my competition, you can see why I didn’t feel too badly about what Liz and I were doing. But I promised myself: if someone came along who really had all three of her qualities, I’d tell her. I’d risk everything.
In all those years, it never happened.
Instead I found myself cleaning up the pieces of her shredded heart after each and every one of the scum who possessed only two, one, or the excruciating none of her qualities. There were men who began as friends, men who were set-ups, men who lasted awhile but inevitably ruined it. Some knew about me, some didn’t. A few I even liked, for a time—until they proved me right.
When Matt was first mentioned, I wasn’t nervous at all.
Ben: Isn’t it weird though? Being the only girl in that locker room. I’ve been in men’s locker rooms. We are disgusting.
Liz: HAHAHA it used to be, honestly. Since Matt joined the team they’re more reserved. He’s sweet, he keeps their conversations from getting out of hand.
Automatically my brain latched on to the indicator word. Sweet. Also known as charming. I made a mental tick in the appropriate box. But I also felt a prickle of something else—a presence. Like this Matt character was going to be more than just a background player. Funny how right I turned out to be.
Ben: Who’s Matt?
Liz: The new center. He replaced Alex.
Ben: Oh, that’s right. I forgot Alex left.
Alex, the egotistical, girl-crazy sweet-talker. Liz had seen right through him. It was brilliant.
Liz: Yup. It’s cool, he fits in well with the team.
Ben: Good.
And that was it. Matt disappeared back into the background.
Life went on as usual. Liz and I were both single, which wasn’t always the case, so we were occasionally more adult in our conversations. Over the years Liz was only willing to be dirty if she was single, which was fine with me. I never pushed it. After the bar-date phone incident, I was actually more hesitant than before. I started asking for pictures instead; she usually complied.
When I had the house to myself, we’d Skype or call—it was easier than texting. And I started to fantasize about being with Liz. Not just online. Really. I caught myself scrolling job postings in Arizona, wondering.
Had it gone on a bit longer, I might have even found the courage to tell her.