Thirty-Nine Ben
thirty-nine
Ben
Could you spontaneously develop IBS?
Ben’s brother Nathan had it, but he’d gotten diagnosed when he was a teenager.
Maybe Ben was developing it now, because his stomach was a complete and utter disaster, twisting and churning as he walked into the Philharmonic offices.
He still hadn’t talked to Arya. And Arya still hadn’t talked to him.
Granted, he had bailed on kickball. And he’d been avoiding Aspire, on the off chance Arya would be there.
But now it was time for their weekly PhilBall meeting, and he couldn’t avoid Arya any longer.
Now that he’d had time to sit with it, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Some deep part of him knew he should apologize. Arya might have been the one to break up with him, to give up and not even try, but Ben was the one who blew everything up in the first place. He knew that.
But knowing didn’t make things any easier.
So maybe it was better they weren’t talking. Better to act like strangers. All they had to do was survive a few more weeks of PhilBall committee meetings—plus the ball itself.
Then he and Arya would never have to see each other again.
He could officially quit the kickball team. Make the cellos pick a new after-show spot. (Though how come Arya got to keep Aspire in the breakup? Shouldn’t they have to divvy things up?) Hell, he still needed to actually get tenure. Maybe his time at the Philharmonic was limited.
He hoped it wasn’t, though.
He loved his new life in Kansas City. He was excited to show his parents around when they came to visit.
Still, he had to survive this meeting first.
“You good?” Brenda asked, coming up behind Ben as he stared at the door.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just…” Ben waved a hand in the air. Just what? He didn’t even know. “Never mind. Here.”
He opened the door for Brenda, getting a whiff of her floral perfume, and followed her in. Dread grew with every footstep as he headed down the hallway to the meeting room. His stomach twisted itself like gnarled old Zinfandel vines as he stepped inside.
There was no sign of Arya.
Ben felt his butthole unclench. He tried not to visibly sigh as he took his seat.
Arya’s colleague Carley was there, tapping away on her iPad, a severe frown on her face and a little angry line between her eyebrows.
Ben had always found her friendly, bubbly, delightful.
He hadn’t known she was capable of projecting such an intense don’t fuck with me, asshole field.
Ben could almost see black flames flickering in a pentagram around her.
Shit, had Arya told her about what happened? Did she hate Ben now? Or had Arya made up a different excuse to avoid the meeting? Maybe it wasn’t an excuse. Maybe he just had another meeting at the same time and had to miss.
Whatever the reason, Ben had never been so relieved in his life.
That relief was short-lived as Justin arrived. Ben’s shoulders tensed immediately.
He was mad at Arya and he was mad at himself, but he was full-on pissed off at Justin. Justin got him drunk. At work.
He seemed at least a little chagrined, giving Ben an awkward nod instead of his usual smile as he took his seat.
Maurizio swooped in, flopped into their seat, and got the meeting started.
With the ball less than three weeks away, the list of details they had to finalize made Ben’s head spin.
He’d been to galas before, but they always seemed like the kind of thing that sort of just, well, happened.
Now that he’d been involved in almost every stage of planning one, he had a newfound appreciation for the work that went into them.
After an hour and a half—the last ten minutes of which had been consumed by Maurizio and Brenda going back and forth about whether Martina should speak before the orchestra performed, after, or both—Carley brought them to their last item.
“Maurizio, can you confirm the blaster bang logistics have been sorted out? When is it going to arrive?”
Maurizio blanched. “I thought you were taking care of that.”
To her credit, the only sign Carley was frustrated was a slight flaring of her nostrils. She tapped away at her iPad. “Last time we talked about it, you confirmed the Philharmonic would handle it. If that’s changed—”
“No, no, no.” Maurizio held up their hands. “Sorry. We’ll handle it. I might have a few questions for you and Arya about it.”
“Call me, I’ll take care of it,” she said, a strange edge to her voice. “Right. Well, we did it. We solved the Philharmonic Ball. Until next week.”
She made a few more notes and started packing. Ben was so startled by the abrupt end to the never-ending meeting, it took him a moment to realize they were actually done.
He couldn’t say why he did it, but he followed Carley out to the parking lot.
“Carley! Wait a second?”
She spun, black curls bouncing all around her shoulders.
“Everything okay? Did we forget something?”
He shook his head. “I just… wondered where Arya was.”
He didn’t know why he wondered that. He was relieved Arya wasn’t there. Except that only meant things would be even more awkward when they finally saw each other again.
Carley sighed.
“Arya’s no longer with us.”
Ben felt like someone had stabbed him right in the gut.
“He died?”
Fuck, what had happened?
An accident on a job site? A car crash?
Oh fuck. Ben had always thought Arya’s sexy bald head was because he shaved, but had he been undergoing chemo this whole time and never told Ben?
He never should’ve started that fight. He should’ve told Arya every day how much he liked being together, how much happiness Arya brought into his life. How much he lo—
“What? No!” Carley took a step back from Ben and looked at him like he was having some kind of episode. “He quit.”
Relief washed over Ben like the cool strains of a violin.
“Why did you say he was no longer with us then?”
“Uh, he’s not? I just said he quit.”
“No longer with us is a euphemism for being dead!”
Carley rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Either way, I’ll be taking care of the ball. Don’t worry, I can handle it. And why are you so freaked out anyway? I thought you and he were donezo.”
That was the second time someone had used that word with Ben. Were Carley and TJ talking behind his back?
“I’m…” He swallowed. “I’m just worried about the ball.”
“Uh-huh.” Carley pressed her lips together. “Right. Well, anyway. I better go. See you next week. And make sure Maurizio gets their shit figured out, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” Ben said, then flinched. He had no idea why he’d said that, except that Carley scared him just a little bit.
She laughed, though, gave him a quick salute, and headed to her car.
Ben started for his own car, until he heard Justin’s voice.
“Ben?”
Ben sighed and fixed his glasses. Ugh. Might as well get this over with. He turned to face Justin.
“You have a second?” Justin asked, looking contrite at least.
“Sure.”
“Want to go for a walk?”
“No. Say what you need to say and let me go.”
That was the whole problem, wasn’t it? Justin needed to let him go.
Ben needed to let Justin go, too. He’d thought he had, but if Justin could still get in his head, make him doubt Arya, then maybe he hadn’t let go as thoroughly as he meant to.
Justin cleared his throat. “I was going to talk to you at the game on Saturday, but—”
“Can you just get to the point, Justin?”
“I’m sorry, all right?” he sputtered. “I’m sorry. I know I messed things up between you and Arya. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you did,” Ben said. “And I don’t forgive you.”
Justin flinched, like Ben had slapped him.
“What the fuck is your problem, Justin? First, I wasn’t enough for you.
It’s bad enough that you wanted to fuck other people, but then you followed me halfway across the country.
You got a job that lets you see me all the time.
You joined my fucking kickball team. I don’t love you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t love me, so why?
Why can’t you accept that we’re finished? ”
Justin’s cheeks had turned pink. He’d taken on a tan this summer, but he was still a white guy, and he blushed easily. He ran a hand through his artfully tousled hair.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “You’re right. I did follow you here to try to win you back. But that’s not only it. Somewhere along the way I kind of… fell in love with it here? I like my new job. I like the people I work with. Hell, I even like this horrible humidity.”
Ben scoffed, mostly to keep himself from chuckling.
“I didn’t think I would. I thought I’d, like, charm you, win you over, and we could both go back to California. I thought this was a fucking flyover state. But I’m happy here. Happier than I was back in Napa. And you know I love your parents, but I’m happier at the hotel than I was at the winery.”
Ben rolled his eyes. All Justin knew how to do was talk about himself.
“Then why the fuck did you keep bugging me about my and Arya’s sex life?”
“I don’t even know,” Justin said. “I think… I wanted it to make sense. The way we ended. I didn’t want to feel like the bad guy. But I was, wasn’t I?”
Ben couldn’t believe Justin had the balls to ask that.
“Yeah. You fucking were.”
Justin shrank in on himself.
“Yeah. Yeah.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Ben. Truly. I hurt you, repeatedly, and I’ve got to live with that. I promise, I’m done bothering you. After we get through this, I’ll make sure I’m not involved with any more Philharmonic stuff. I’ll switch kickball teams. I’ll do whatever.”
He cleared his throat. “Well… mostly whatever. I know it’s selfish, but I really do like it here. I’m not going to pack up and move back to Napa. I know your mom wants to ask me, but—”
“Don’t worry,” Ben said. “I’ll handle her. I’m sure she’ll understand.”
Especially if Ben told her about the open relationship thing.
That would be shitty. And petty. But Ben was in a shitty and petty mood.
“Right. Well…” Justin rubbed the back of his neck, showing off his bicep. He was always doing that. It used to charm Ben, not to mention tantalize him, that little peek at Justin’s armpit hair. Now it just annoyed him.
He was done.
“I’ll see you later, Justin.”
As far as apologies went, it wasn’t the worst in the world. Ben supposed he was glad to have it. Even more glad that Justin planned to get the fuck out of Ben’s life.
It didn’t fix anything, though. It didn’t roll back time and undo his and Arya’s fight. It didn’t make it so the last week hadn’t happened.
But at least it was a start.