Thirty-Four Ben
thirty-four
Ben
You doing okay?” Ben asked. He and Arya were curled up on his couch, his arm slung over Arya’s shoulder, his hand resting on Arya’s scalp.
His fingers slowly massaged the smooth skin there, occasionally finding a few prickles where Arya’s hair had started to grow again.
An old episode of The Great British Bake Off was playing on Ben’s TV, and Simon was stretched out on the floor in front of it, staring at all the food, but Ben and Arya were barely paying attention.
“I’m good,” Arya said with a sigh. His voice was all scratchy. “Just tired.”
“Okay.”
A dissonant note quavered in Ben’s insides.
Arya didn’t seem good. He’d been off the last two weeks. Or had it been longer? Had it been since his dad left last month?
No, Arya had seemed fine after that. For a while, at least. But now? Something was definitely up, whether Arya admitted it or not.
He was still sweet. Still affectionate. Still thoughtful and attentive.
But he was subdued, too. Quiet.
Worst of all—well, not worst, maybe, but still frustratingly—they hadn’t had sex at all lately. Granted, their schedules had barely lined up—tonight was the first night they’d had together in days—but there was no phone sex. No innuendoes in their texts. No quickies in the bathroom at Aspire.
Just this… malaise.
Arya reached up for Ben’s hand, brought it down to kiss Ben’s knuckles, and then rested it over his heart.
Ben’s chest clenched up. What was going on?
“You know I really like you, right?” Arya suddenly said, low, tentative.
“Yeah?” Why did Ben’s heart turn itself inside out?
Was there a but coming?
Ben waited.
“Good,” Arya said softly instead.
That was it. Just “Good.”
Ben’s throat tightened. That was the kind of thing you said when something was wrong.
What the hell was going on? Was their honeymoon phase over? Was Arya pulling away?
He tried to remember if anything had happened. If he’d said something without realizing it. If there were signs. But there was nothing. Nothing. It hadn’t been one big switch flip—one day Arya normal, the next not. It was just a slow, steady slide into… this.
Arya sighed and settled deeper against Ben’s chest. He didn’t say anything else.
But Ben’s mind was whirring, spinning, returning dal segno to that day after kickball when Justin had asked him if Arya was okay with Ben being a side. If he was fine never doing anal anymore.
Ben was so certain Arya wasn’t like that. But now he was pulling away. Treating Ben more like a… like a body pillow than a boyfriend. Was he mad Ben hadn’t asked to use that prostate massager again? That it hadn’t opened the floodgates and turned Ben into someone who liked anal sex?
No. No. Arya was different from Justin. He’d proven that over and over. But still.
What was going on?
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Ben asked one last time.
Arya shook his head. He had circles under his eyes. Ben hadn’t noticed them before.
“Sorry. Early load-in tomorrow, and I don’t want to disturb you.”
“You never disturb me.”
Arya chuckled. “You say that now, but you might feel different when my first alarm goes off at three thirty in the morning. You relax. I’ll see you Friday, okay?”
Ben’s stomach squirmed.
“Okay.”
Ben stood by the window for a long time, watching as Arya drove off, then staring out into the darkness of the neighborhood.
The cicadas droned on in a perfect fourth.
Simon stood next to him, tongue lolling happily out of her mouth, breathing hard.
No doubt wishing Arya had stayed the night as well.
Ben pulled his glasses off and ran a hand through his hair.
“Come on, Simon. Time to go out.”
While Simon did her business in the backyard, Ben did his skincare and brushed his teeth. He’d just slipped into bed when his phone rang.
This late at night, only a few people could get through his phone’s do not disturb mode. Arya, of course. Kristina from the Philharmonic, in case there were ever any no-shows and he needed to fill in for someone, though so far that hadn’t happened. Both his siblings. And his parents.
His mom’s picture flashed across his screen.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Benny. Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m awake. Just getting ready for bed. What’s up?”
“We’re coming to visit you!”
Simon huffed and launched herself onto the bed, spinning around and curling up at Ben’s feet.
Ben didn’t know what to say.
“Benny? You there?”
“Yeah, Mom. Say again?”
“We’re coming to see you!”
Okay. Not hallucinating.
“When?”
“We got tickets for your fancy dance.”
Ben closed his eyes and fell back onto his pillow.
His parents were coming to the Philharmonic Ball.
Ben loved his parents. And he wanted them to visit him in Kansas City. To see his house, to meet Simon, to take in a show at Helzberg!
But he was going to be stressed out the week of the PhilBall. And busy. He’d hardly have time to take them around.
“You sure, Mom? I’ll be super busy—”
“Don’t worry about it, your father and I can entertain ourselves without you.”
“All right, well, let me ask about getting you VIP seats. Otherwise you might be at the very back.” Before he’d served on the committee, Ben had no idea how complicated a seating arrangement could be.
But if his parents were making the trip, he wanted them front and center.
Or at least front and house right a little.
“Don’t worry. Justin already got us some!”
Ben inhaled his own saliva and started choking. What were his parents thinking? What was Justin?
Anger pulsed behind his eyes, hot and sharp.
“You okay?” his mom asked.
“Fine. Wrong pipe,” he managed between coughs and hacks. “Have you already bought your plane tickets?”
“No, we’re looking at them and hotels tomorrow.”
Ben coughed one last time and took a deep breath. “I have a guest room, Mom. You can stay with me.”
“We don’t want to cramp your style. Maybe Arya will want to spend the night?”
“Mom, please.” Judy Liu wasn’t passive-aggressive; she really would book a hotel to give Ben his privacy if his boyfriend was over. Which was hilarious, in a way, since her sense of boundaries was normally so permeable. “Even if he does, I want you here with me.”
Would Arya like his parents? He had a terrible relationship with his own, by all accounts. Bad enough he still hadn’t let Ben meet them. Not even his mom, who lived in town.
Would that color his perception? Judy and Sean were loving and thoughtful, but sometimes overbearing and occasionally suffocating. Could Arya handle that?
“Only if you’re sure,” Judy said, drawing out the sure.
“I’m positive. I’d love to have you both. Simon would, too.”
“I can’t wait to meet my granddog,” she said with a smile Ben could hear.
“Just promise not to give her any bacon.”
“I promise.”
Ben wasn’t sure he believed her. Simon was an expert beggar, and his mom hadn’t been around for the post-bacon diarrhea, so she didn’t know just how bad it had been.
Ben tried, but failed, to stifle a yawn.
“Oh, shoot, I forgot the time difference,” Judy said. “I’ll let you go, Benny. I’m just so excited to spend time with you. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom. ’Night.”
Friday they had their PhilBall meeting at the Loews for a menu tasting before locking in the food and drinks.
Justin had reserved one of the hotel’s smaller meeting rooms. His team had set up a round table for eight, with a black tablecloth and place settings and the dessert—a (gluten-positive) decadent-looking chocolate cake at four places and a (gluten-negative) lemon almond cake at the other four—already sitting on the table.
Ben took his seat, scooted in, and immediately banged his knee against one of the metal legs hidden beneath the tablecloth. He hissed and rubbed his knee.
“I hate when that happens,” Arya muttered, placing his hand over Ben’s under the table. Ben offered him a quick smile, but it didn’t last, because then Justin sat down on his other side. His stomach tightened, turned sour and dissonant, like an out-of-tune harpsichord.
Arya’s hand on his tightened. His lips quirked, but other than that, he kept it professional. No little kiss. No wink. No nothing.
Was he being professional or was he pulling away? Or was it all in Ben’s head? Was he overthinking things?
Justin cleared his throat and put on his speaking to clients voice, which was a little deeper and a little less gay than his real voice.
“Right. So, as you see, we’ve got the desserts ready.
The chocolate cake is nut-free, and the almond cake is gluten- and dairy-free.
We don’t have anything egg-free, but that wasn’t in the request, so… ”
“Do you think we should add something?” Brenda asked.
But Maurizio shook their head. “No. Last time we tried it was a disaster. Plus we’ll have the fruit stations after dinner, right?”
“Right.” Justin tapped at his phone for a second. “So, I know people won’t be seated for them, but I figured it would be easier to do the canapés this way. First we’ve got the salmon sliders.”
Ben knew Justin himself didn’t have a hand in cooking anything—the hotel chef was responsible—but still, he couldn’t help expecting everything to be just a little bit shitty.
Catering usually was. It was hard to make food for a thousand people and have it all turn out well. The sliders were good, though.
Next came cheese platters and crudités; martini glasses filled with mashed potatoes and burnt ends, topped with barbecue sauce, like little barbecue cocktails; fried macaroni and cheese bites; and, of course, the cheese-stuffed tater tots that made the menu every year, because one of their bigger donors loved them.
The dinner course was roasted chicken with pureed parsnips and asparagus for the carnivores, and ratatouille for the vegetarians. Both were impeccable—the chef had even arranged their ratatouille like in the movie.
“Will it be like this at the ball itself?” Arya asked, poking at his dish.
“Ah. No. With so many guests, we won’t be able to plate it as nicely, but it’ll still be well executed, and the taste will be the same.”