Chapter 59
Liz, April 18
I still can’t believe I had the guts to do it. Here I am, sitting in a flat in London, in Ben’s living room. My heart is a strange mix of eagerness and nerves, like I’ve been strapped onto a rollercoaster I volunteered for.
Four days ago, I realized that no one in my life has ever understood me like Ben. When I imagined raising this child with Matt, I pictured myself handling everything while still saying, “he’s a great Daddy.” That thought gave me confidence. I can do this alone, just as I could when Matt worked long hours. Nothing about my capability has changed. I’ll still be an awesome mom, and Matt still contributed some badass DNA. He and I simply have different priorities.
But then, four days ago at Ashley’s party, I allowed a different kind of fantasy to sneak in. What if I went to London and found Ben? What if there was something between us? What if he wanted me? What if I could love him—and he could love me back?
The “what ifs” that usually derailed me dissolved. Instead, a new drive took over: to hear Ben’s voice, see his face, and test whether I could exist fully as myself in his presence. I felt capable, finally, of having this conversation.
“Well, hello there.” The voice from the hallway is teasing and somehow familiar. But I don’t recognize the dark-haired young man leaning in the doorway, wearing only boxers, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Hi.” I smile, steady and deliberate.
“You a friend of Kyle’s or Ben’s?” he asks.
“Ben’s.” I let the word hang, carrying more weight than a simple introduction.
“Yeah, I figured. We think the other is a Nancy, to be fair.”
His bluntness makes me pause. “Excuse me?”
“I think he’s gay. A Nancy?”
“Ben?” I tilt my head, curious.
“No. Benny boy is as straight as fuck. That one—he’ll do anything with breasts.”
I chuckle, letting my amusement show. Only someone close to Ben would talk about him like this so freely.
“Charming,” I say, louder now, letting the teasing flow over me without shrinking.
“Yeah, that’s me. Prince bloody charming.” The man winks, confident in his own absurdity.
Ben reappears suddenly, practically crashing into the room. “Zach!” His voice is too loud, his face red. Dots start connecting in my brain. The infamous Zach—of course.
“What, mate?” Zach asks, completely unbothered.
“Shut the bloody hell up,” Ben growls, warning sharp.
Zach grins. “What did I say?”
“You’re offending her,” Ben’s voice softens slightly.
“She ain’t glass, mate. She won’t break,” Zach says, glancing at me. I meet his eyes and offer a small, confident smile.
“She’s bloody American, Zach. They aren’t so…” Ben searches for the word, “…crass there.”
Zach’s eyes flick between us. “You’re the American?”
“Guilty as charged,” I say, letting the words land.
For a moment, the room shifts subtly. A small acknowledgment passes between the men, one that leaves me quietly amused and fully present.
“American,” Zach mutters. “Alright, I’m gonna go have me a meal. You two behave.” And just like that, he disappears up the narrow staircase, leaving Ben and me alone again.
I take a slow breath, aware of the weight and warmth of being here—fully myself, finally, in front of him.