August, two years ago #2
It had taken Ben way too long to break things off with Amber.
He and I had spoken about how his relationship was at a now-or-never crossroads, over that lunch with Bonnie on her deck, three years ago now.
I’d gotten the distinct impression at the time that, because Amber was spoiling for a proposal ultimatum, he was going to end things with her imminently.
But it had taken him nearly another two years to finally break up with her.
He’d kept saying that he couldn’t do it to her, as she’d invested so much time in him.
But Bonnie and I knew he was never going to propose.
So he’d only ended up wasting more of her time.
Not that I had a leg to stand on, when it came to relationship choices. I was two years into my job at Magnolia, and still swooning over Stephen.
I thanked the server for the ice-cold drink, and took a long sip.
At least I was here, on a night out at a music venue, in the company of somebody who had always been there for me.
And obviously it didn’t hurt that Ben was a very good-looking and entertaining guy to be with.
Even more entertaining recently, since he’d finally gotten out of that God-awful relationship.
We chatted easily about the play he was co-directing while writing his own next piece, and about my demanding work projects, and how proud we both were of Bonnie’s success at the store. As the roadies were finishing the stage set-up, I was reminded of a thought I’d had on the bus.
“How did you have these tickets available so last minute, anyways?” I asked Ben. “Like, were you supposed to be going with someone else who canceled?” I lifted my glass and raised my eyebrow exaggeratedly at him over the rim. “Did you have a date bail on you? Be honest!”
A tiny crease appeared at the top of Ben’s strong nose, and the corner of his lip turned down ever so slightly.
“No . . . no.” He stopped, his gaze wandering to the stage. The roadie was high-fiving the band’s charismatic frontman, who picked up an electric guitar as the other band members settled. “I, uh, bought them a few weeks ago. I remembered you liked—”
“Good evening, all you Howlers!” the singer yelled into the mic, interrupting Ben and drawing my attention back to the stage. “Oh yeah! Let’s kick this off with a classic!”
The band soon got both of us bopping along, then fully dancing, bar stools pushed away, with song after song of Americana rock and old favorites.
Ben was an easy mover, unselfconscious as he danced beside and occasionally with me, laughing as we amused each other with increasingly silly moves.
Turned out Ben’s Running Man was quite accomplished, and he looked genuinely impressed at my knee-knocking Charleston.
With the crowd singing along at the tops of their voices, and the stack of speakers probably only ten feet away, there was no chance of hearing my phone dinging. But it was lying face-up on the high-top beside us and, as the audience applauded, I glimpsed it flashing with a text notification.
Probably Mom, replying to my earlier message. With Ben having slipped out to the bathroom between songs, it wouldn’t be rude to check.
Once again, though — not Mom. It was a text that had come in about a half-hour ago, but I’d been having such a good time, I hadn’t noticed.
STEPHEN CELL [9:29PM]
SOS!! Emergency! Need to fix Actively online ad ASAP, the link is wrong. Do you have your laptop at home? I left mine in the office as I’ve been out with clients. Heading into office right now, but not sure how to fix it without your login. Can you do it from home, or come in?
My stomach performed a little flip.
Stephen needed me.
But also, crap. I was really having a good night with Ben, and it was nice to be on the arm of a man who made me feel good about myself, for once.
Still, this crisis wasn’t an ideal situation.
The Actively campaign had been set up in my account, so Stephen probably wouldn’t be able to fix the link himself.
He’d be almost at the office by now, which meant I’d have to go into the office, too.
I’d also left my laptop at work, not wanting to haul it to my therapist’s, so I couldn’t fix the problem remotely.
Ugh, sorry. My laptop also in office, and I’m not home right now. I can be there in 20 and we can fix it. Sorry if your evening with the fam got ruined. See you at 10:20-ish.
Ben wove his way through the crowd back to our table. “Who are you texting?” he shouted in my ear, over a rousing rendition of “Hotel California.”
I turned to speak directly into his ear, our noses almost touching in the movement.
This was probably the closest, physically speaking, I’d ever gotten to Ben.
He smelled really good, this close.
“Work emergency — sorry. I gotta run to the office and meet a colleague to fix it.” I pulled back and grimaced at him, waving my phone as if to prove the emergency was real.
Ben’s face noticeably fell, and his mouth twisted in clear disappointment. He leaned in again. “That Stephen guy?” He drew back, assessing me for a response, his eyes flitting between each of mine.
My stomach did another somersault. I must’ve mentioned Stephen a few times over the past couple of years, for Ben to remember his name. But all I felt, under Ben’s appraising gaze, was embarrassment.
I nodded, and gave an exaggerated whaddya-gonna-do shrug. Ben raised his eyebrows and parted his lips, like he was going to say something, then closed his mouth again. He looked hard at me once more — making some kind of decision.
Then he nodded, just once, slowly.
“See ya,” he mouthed at me over the din.
He turned back to the performers before I could mouth anything back. Instead, I put my hand on his lower arm, just for a second, then grabbed my blazer off the bar stool and made my way outside into the warm night.
I rushed through the streets to the office, my stomach churning. I’d had to leave the gig — it was a work emergency. I hadn’t had a choice.
Had I?
Well, maybe I could have texted Stephen my account login, so he could have fixed it himself.
But that would have been a total cop-out, given Stephen was heading into the office at this time of night and he had a young family at home.
It would be shitty of me to leave him to fix what was at least 50 percent my mistake.
So why did it feel even more disappointing to have left Ben standing alone in that bar?