Page 18 of From Now On

Automatic lights flicker on as I walk down the main hallway, hiding a wide yawn with the back of my hand. The doors ahead are blurry, thanks to my tired eyes and the water streaking the exterior of the glass. I can’t tell if it’s still raining out, and decide it doesn’t matter. I’m going straight home to shower and change into pajamas either way.

Itisraining out, I discover when I step outside.

It’s raining steadily enough that my scalp is thoroughly soaked in seconds, water drenching the strands and clumping them in wet ropes.

I tug the sleeves of my sweater down over my knuckles and wrap my arms around my waist as I stride toward the parking lot. I wore rain boots today, at least, although that was a lazy decision, not a practical choice. I deliberately step in the center of a puddle, just to watch water splash red rubber.

“Eve!”

I startle, glancing in the direction of the voice.

Ben is standing next to one of the black metal benches that line the campus’s brick walkways. His hands are shoved into the back pockets of his jeans. Unlike me, he’s wearing a raincoat. The hood is up, covering most of his forehead and shadowing his expression.

For a few seconds, staring at him, I pretend.

I pretend tonight is identical to every other time Ben has waited for me outside the art building. I pretend my life looks exactly the same as it did last week. I pretend everything is simple and nothing has changed.

Then, I blink, and reality returns.

I haven’t seen or talked to Ben since the night we broke up. His text asking if I got home okay, followed by my affirmative answer, was our last communication. Since I gave up on texting him unless necessary over a year ago, it hasn’t even felt that strange not to see his name on the screen.

A long exhale leaves my lungs before my steps angle toward the right. Toward him. I release my hold on my ribs and swipe my face with the back of one hand. The green buds dotting the broad branches of the oak tree above aren’t acting as much of an umbrella.

“Hey,” I greet.

A sharp stab of pain in my left hand alerts me to the way my nails are digging into my palm.

I relax my grip before I can break skin.

“Hey,” he repeats.

I hug my middle again. The sun is sinking in the sky, chilling the dampness in the air. “What are you doing here, Ben?”

“I wanted to see you. Talk to you.”

I glance at the bench covered with tiny puddles. “How long have you been standing out here?”

Ben shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. “About an hour. You usually leave by six.”

I don’t ask why he didn’t come inside the art building. He never did. I used to think it was out of some respect toward letting it bemyspace. Another clue I missed indicating that Ben was never going to follow me anywhere.

“Yeah, well, I was trying to finish some stuff before break.”

He nods. Pulls a hand out of his pocket and scratches his jaw. “Eve…I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry about Friday night. I was nervous about how to bring it up, and it came out all wrong, and I know you’re pissed at me. Youshouldbe pissed at me. I acted like an asshole who?—”

“It’s fine, Ben,” I interrupt, wanting to get through this conversation as quickly as possible.

I’m tired and cold and wet and drained. An emotional sieve.

“Fine? What’s fine?”

“Friday night. I wish you’d brought up your decision about New York somewhere else, but there was no right way to tell me.”

Ben stares at me for several seconds, confusion and uncertainty warring on his face. “So, we’re…good?”

“We’re good,” I confirm.

He exhales. “Okay. Thank God. I told David that I’d stop by the theater to preview some shorts for the documentary. But I can swing by your place later. Is nine okay?”

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