June, this year #3
But why had I been alone those holidays, and not spending it with Bonnie and her family, given that Mom had canceled? Oh, hold up — hadn’t the Masons gone to Florida that year?
I turn to Ben, slowing my walk. “It’s all a bit . . . muddy. I have a vague memory of your sister and parents being away on vacation those holidays, but maybe I got that wrong.”
He nods, his lips in a slight downward turn. It’s weird how much more of his mouth I can see without the facial hair. Maybe the beard has been hiding some of his more subtle expressions all this time.
“Yeah, I can’t remember exactly what happened either, but I think that was the last year Mom and Dad went to Florida to visit our grandparents for the holidays.
Bonnie . . .” he hesitates, clearly trying to pull the memory out.
“I think she was supposed to go too, but managed to miss the flight for some reason, and couldn’t get another, so she ended up staying here over Christmas.
And she figured you were in Indy, so she had no reason to spend the holidays with you.
I remember she was out with old friends from high school the night she saw you with Rufus. ”
Shit. That’s not what happened in my world.
It’s all coming back to me now. Bonnie definitely made it to Florida to see her grandparents — in my timeline, she still has a photo on her bedside table of her with them, standing in front of their Christmas tree. She treasures that picture, as it was the last time she ever saw them.
But in this world, she missed the flight and never made it there.
Seeing me with Rufus must’ve been devastating for her in that moment, given she thought I was with my mom, and she was supposed to be with family herself. It must’ve felt like a monumental betrayal.
“I never lied to her,” I tell Ben, somewhat pathetically. “I was supposed to go visit Mom, and do some damage repair to our relationship, but Mom canceled on me last minute. I didn’t even know to tell Bonnie that I was in town for the holidays after all, as she was supposed to be in Florida.”
He frowns. “Okay. But you were with Rufus that night. And you had let her, let us both, believe you weren’t seeing him anymore. That was a lie of omission, at best.”
I sigh, looking out over the glittering water, where a couple of jet skis are tearing up the gentle swell. “Yeah. That’s true.” I pause. “I just didn’t want her — either of you — to be disappointed in me. I was making some pretty bad choices back then.”
Ben nods, and we walk in silence for a few minutes.
The sound of the families laughing together tugs at my chest. Ben seems lost in thought.
Then he stops abruptly, laying a hand on my arm, pulling me to an awkward halt.
“So, then, you do still remember kind of a lot from back then? I thought you’d lost a bunch of memories to a head injury. ”
Shit.
“I, er, well, just some memories. And you’ve been very helpful in prompting some others to come back to the surface. I’m grateful. Really.”
We’re standing in the way of other walkers, so we resume our pace, and Ben changes the subject.
“You said you’ve been living in New Buffalo? What took you out there?”
Oh, God. Now I have to tell him about Chris. My so-called husband, and the house we live in.
“I live there . . . with Chris. You remember him, from the Notables? We got married this past spring, and bought a cute little townhouse on the marina there. His folks are in Grand Rapids, so I guess it made sense for us to settle there, between Chicago and Grand Rapids. I mean, it did make sense to live there.”
Ben is silent again for a moment, and I glance at his profile. His eyebrows are raised, and he looks at me sideways. “You’re married?” He nods downwards, towards my left hand. “No wedding ring, though.”
“Oh. No.” I flutter my left hand as if to show the rings’ absence. “Chris is getting my engagement and wedding ring resized as we speak.”
So, Ben has also been checking out my left hand for a wedding ring.
“Well . . . then, congratulations,” he says, without much enthusiasm. “I remember Chris, yeah. He was a good guy. I’d heard you were dating, back at Northwestern, after the whole Rufus thing. But last I heard, you’d gone off solo traveling in Asia for a couple of years.”
We’ve reached the Ohio Street Beach park, and Ben leads us past the cute beach café and turns us right, back into the city in the direction of the theater.
“Yeah, I guess Chris and I got back together after I came back to Chicago,” I tell him as we descend the steps into the gloomy underpass beneath the lakefront highway.
“I’ve lost a bunch of memories from back then, too,” I add, hurriedly, “so I don’t exactly recall how that happened.
But he’s filling me in on a lot of stuff. ”
My voice is echoey in this enclosed space, giving me a weird, slightly out-of-body sensation. Not that this whole reality isn’t a total out-of-body experience.
Literally.
“In that case, it’s good that you have him,” Ben replies. “I just hope he makes you happy.”
“He’s a great guy,” I say, noncommittal. “He does everything he can to make me happy.”
That much I’m sure is true. Whether I’m actually happy in this life . . . who the hell knows? But presumably I married Chris for a good reason.
“What about you?” I ask Ben. “Are you happy?” We emerge into the sunshine on Ohio Street.
“Oh, yeah, pretty good,” he says. His voice is a little flat, though.
“Work is fine, and I like my place. I’ve been seeing someone new — Lexie.
She’s Irish, and a lot of fun. No complaints about my life, I guess.
I still hang out with my sister a lot — she’s still single, just dating around.
We always spend holidays together, with our parents being gone.
” He turns his head sharply to me. “Wait — you do remember what happened to our parents, right? It was a weird time, given that you and Bon were no longer friends at that point. I had to tell you via Facebook.”
I pull in a deep breath. It’s hard to imagine going through that devastation without Bonnie’s friendship, and even harder to imagine not being there for her when it happened.
“I remember that, yeah. It was so awful.” I hesitate. “Do you think Bonnie would accept an olive branch from me? I’d love to see her again. Make up for some of that lost time.”
Ben screws up his face. “Honestly, Millie, I doubt it. I think there’s too much water under the bridge at this point. Probably best that we all move on with our lives. You have Chris, and your great job, and your new home, you know?”
I swallow the lump that’s forming in my throat. I can’t live here, in this world, with only Chris in my life. He’s a sweet man, but a man I barely know anymore, and a man I’m definitely not in love with.
What do I do here, if I can’t rebuild my friendship with Bonnie and, by extension, Ben?
“Sure, I get it.” I turn my face away so he can’t see the tears that are starting to cloud my vision.
“Probably for the best that I don’t reopen old wounds.
But if you feel like telling her that you and I met up, feel free to say I was asking after her and that I’m hoping she’s happy. If it won’t cause any pain to do so.”
We walk for a few moments in silence, and then I stop at the intersection of the side street where the Golf is parked.
“My car’s down here, and you need to get back to the theater.
” I pull out my phone to check the time, and it’s ten to five.
“Perfect timing. It’s been great seeing you, Ben.
” I reach up to give him another slightly clumsy hug.
He squeezes for a fraction of a second, then pulls back. “You too, Millie. You take care.” With that, he turns and crosses the intersection, his long legs making easy work of the distance. I watch him walking up the street, and he doesn’t look back.
I unlock the Golf, and sit in it for a few minutes, deep-breathing away the threatening tears.
I honestly don’t know how to live in this world without Bonnie and Ben.
They’re the only people who feel like home to me, and now I can’t see them again.
That too-familiar sting of loneliness stabs at me — remnants of my troubled teenage years.
The pain that only the Mason family were ever able to take away.
Now I have to drive back to New Buffalo, and have Saturday movie night with my “husband” Chris, and then go to the bed we share.
And then what?