Page 211 of Burn Bright
All I want is to call Ben, but it’s Wednesday night. He’s back in Philly, eating dinner with his family, and I struggle to bother him. Who else to call?
Xander? I’d have to explain this whole situation.
Aunt Helena? She won’t understand why I went to see my dad in the first place, and the last thing I want to hear is a bunch of different variations ofI told you so.
So I just go to my apartment. Make a bowl of ramen noodles. Curl up on the couch and click on the television to marathon some CSI. In no mood to even study for finals.
Ben texts at one point.
Ben
How’d it go?
I send him a thumbs-down emoji.
He immediately calls, but talking sounds strenuous. I’m one with the couch. Can’t even move to grab my earbuds, and Eden has her door ajar. I’m also not in the mood for my roommate to hear about my daddy issues.
So I text Ben.
Harriet
Don’t feel like talking tonight. Sry. Will chat with you tomorrow. All good.
Ben
The kissy face emoji is always used playfully when we text, so it tics up my lips just slightly. Still, I overturn my phone and squeeze my pillow beneath my head. Lying on the lumpy couch cushions, I didn’t even pull out the mattress.
Four episodes in and four grotesque murders solved later, a knock sounds on my door.
As if knowing I am a slovenly sloth tonight, Eden answers it. “Oh.” She startles. “I thought you might be Austin. Come in.”
Before I even exert effort to look, I hear him.
“Oh my God, not the Hello Kitty blanket,” Ben says like I’m in dire straits wrapped up in the hot pink fabric. The smile in his voice has an instant effect on me.
I almost smile back. “Don’t knock my emotional support blanket, Friend.”
“I’m only jealous you’re under there without me.” He places a slim red vase of beautiful, perky sunflowers on the end table beside my dirty ramen bowl. No one has ever given me flowers until him. Let alone the many vibrant green plants he’s bestowed upon my apartment. I hear Eden’s bedroom door shutting.
Ben skims my couch-potato state.
I’m not even embarrassed. This sinking, weighted feeling overshadows even the ability to bemortified.And what’s so humiliating about Ben seeing my sadness? When, really, all I want is for someone to help take it away?
Ben towers. “I know I showed up unannounced, so if you want me to go, now’s the time to tell me, Fisher.” My last name rushes in a wave of grief I haven’t felt before. Ilovemy name. I don’teverwant to hate it.
I swallow a lump. “Not afraid of jump-scaring me with your presence anymore?”
“A little scared. Still took the risk.” He’s drawing my gaze to his. “Did it pan out?”
I nod vigorously, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I say as my voice breaks.
Immediately, Ben has his arms around me. He’s scooping me up, cradling me while he sinks onto the couch. He brings me into his chest in an epic, consoling hug like he’s the god of solace. I bury my face into the crook of his arm, choking on a sob.
We’re both tangled in the Hello Kitty blanket, and I don’t really care. He plants tender kisses on my head, on my cheek, on my lips, and I ease with each one. Ten minutes pass before I’m able to release what happened into the air.
He ispissedat my dad. When I tell Ben I said “fuck you” to him, he nods a lot in relief, and it makes me feel really good. Still, there is a sense of loss I can’t thwart. My cinematic reunion with my dad in my white coat, with my M.D., with his love and pride for me—it’s been demolished.
He will never love me or be proud of me. I want to not care. Why should I even waste tears on him?
