Page 10 of Becoming Ben

The more I think about it, the more it seems like Ben is attracted tome, too, and it bothers him for some reason.

Because of Mandy,my mind supplies.

Because I’m a man?another part of me asks. He had been married to a woman, and while I obviously can’t be sure, it certainly seems like he hadn’t had any flings with men. Mandy probably would have mentioned it when she was teasing me.

I resolve to back off a little and give him some space. I’m really comfortable around him. Something about the man makes me want to relax and be unguarded. I’m not naturally a flirt, but I find myself flirting with him. I’ll just watch myself a little closer. He’s doing me a huge favor by letting me live here for the summer. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable in his own home, and I also don’t want to jeopardize my situation.

I lay down for a few minutes, scrolling my phone, then sigh and open up my guided meditation app. I need to get this nervous buzz under control before I see Ben again, and I know exactly how to do it.

***

I am busy. It makes keeping out of Ben’s space easier, but it’s making me feel guilty. By the fourth day, he’s noticed that I haven’t been having dinner with him. He doesn’t mention it, but it’s clear he’s wondering why I’m not. It feels like he’s hoping I’ll pay attention to him but doesn’t want to admit it. I wonder if he’s admitting it to himself. On the fifth day, I have a dinner with Mandy planned in Denver, and that’s an easy excuse to come straight home, shower, and get ready to head back out.

“Tell Mandy hi for me,” Ben says when I tell him I’m leaving.

“I will,” I reply with a smile, and I swear he honest-to-God goes full puppy-dog-eyes. The desire to stay home and spend the night on the sofa with him – or even in bed with him – momentarily overwhelms me, and I flounder for a minute before I regain my footing.

He is looking at me quizzically, but I only lift my hand in a quick wave before escaping.

“Okay, spill,” Mandy demands five minutes into our night together. She’s driving since she argued that I had to drive to her and would have to drive back.

“It’s nothing,” I say, pleased that I sound pretty convincing. I’m a fantastic liar, though I try not to make a practice of it.

Mandy gives me a stink-eye. “I call bull. Something’s on your mind. What’s up?”

Well, Mandy, your dad is a definite daddy, and I think I gave him some gay panic the other day, so I’m trying to avoid him so nobody’s even more uncomfortable than they already are.

Somehow, I don’t think I should say that out loud.

“Is everything okay with my dad? If there’s something that you need or something, all you have to do is ask. He won’t get upset,” Mandy says, switching to trying to ferret out the information on her own.

That isn’t helping.

“I’ve been working a lot,” I say. “I haven’t had time to work out or do a lot of the things that I’ve learned help me stay happy and healthy.” This is entirely true, just not the whole truth.

Mandy’s brow furrows in concern. “I’m sorry, Trey,” she says earnestly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I shake my head. I simultaneously want to blurt out everything that is bothering me while also knowing that if I do, I risk ruining everything. Very few people know everything about my past, and I can count on one hand the number of people who know it all. To narrow it down even more, Mandy is the only one who wasn’t paid to listen to me talk about it.

“I’m here to listen,” she adds, taking my hand. She entwines our fingers and squeezes, glancing at me while we’re at a red light. I lean over and put my head on her shoulder for a minute.

We are going to a place I found when I was first sober. It’s tiny, with only four tables inside, and the parking is atrocious, but the owners had let me bus tables to pay for my dinner now and again. Working for my meals – honest work – had felt really good, as had their willingness to let me prove myself. It hadn’t been easy, but Ms. Myrtle was one of the first in a line of people who helped me remember that I was a human being who mattered.

Mandy and I push into the restaurant, and I happily inhale the scent of frying garlic, onions, and meat. Ms. Myrtle is behind the counter, and I can see her husband, Ray, back in the kitchen cooking on the flat top, his bald head gleaming under the lights.

“Trey, baby,” Ms. Myrtle says with a smile, the lines crinkling around her eyes and mouth in a comforting, familiar way. “And Mandy. How’s school? Are you doing okay? What will you two have tonight?” She stands ready to make the order on the tablet – a new investment; it had been paper and pen up until last winter – and casts a maternal smile over both of us.

“It’s good. I’m starting on my Master's this fall,” Mandy says with a bounce. Mandy embodies the phrase "dance like no one is watching" and then takes it to the next level. Ms. Myrtle smiles. When I brought Mandy to this place for the first time, she took one look at her and laughed. “You’ve found yourself a friend, baby, and she’s cute as a button.” She thinks Mandy is adorable, as most people do. What was refreshing was she never assumed we were a couple, which occasionally happened. I had never disclosed my sexuality to Ms. Myrtle, but she seemed to know, even when I was in recovery and working hard at being closeted.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” Ms. Myrtle says. “Now you need to eat to fuel those brains of yours, so what will you have? You know Ray and I love to feed you up.”

“I’ll have an order of shrimp and grits with a poached egg,” I say as Mandy looks over the menu. She has several favorites here, and I can see her debating which of them she wants this time.

“I’d like a chorizo skillet with extra bell peppers and a side of salsa, please,” Mandy decides, and Ms. Myrtle taps it all into the tablet, the gold rings on her fingers glittering in the fluorescent lights. Ray checks the corresponding tablet on the wall in the back, glances toward the front, and raises his hand in a wave when he recognizes us. Mandy and I wave back.

Once I pay – and I pay for both of us while Mandy narrows her eyes at me – we go snag the only empty table and wait for Ray to finish cooking our food.

We chat about our jobs while we wait, and for the first bit after the food comes. I fill her in on the latest happenings from my internship. I can’t reveal too much due to confidentiality, but I do share a few non-specific things that I consider wins. Some of the people I’ve met will stay with me, and while I probably won’t know what becomes of them, it feels good. Having an impact, even if you never see the results, feels important.

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