Page 30 of When Ben Loved Tim
His face lights up with realization. “Oh! It’s like calling someone a fairy in English.”
“Which I’ve heard plenty of times too,” I complain.
“Yeah, but it’s all about—”
“Oh thank god!” a new voice cries, startling us both.
A group of women is walking down the beach, one of them making a beeline for us. She sets down a cardboard container with an image of multi-colored bottles on the front before sitting on one of the wooden slats. “I can’t walk anymore,” she says, raising her feet in the air to wipe sand off them. Which brings them closer to my face than I would prefer. She reminds me of my sister. In fact, they all look older than us.
“Sorry,” a wispy girl says quietly. “She’s drunk.”
“And you should be too,” the first woman says, shaking the cardboard box and making the bottles rattle. “Help yourself.”
“Really?” Tim asks, taking her up on the offer. He passes a bottle to me, which I open and sip from halfheartedly.
The others settle down around us, their ringleader sizing Tim up.
“You’re cute!” she says. “I’ve seen you before, right? What fraternity are you in?”
“We’re not—” I begin.
“Gamma Zeta Delta,” Tim interrupts.
“Have we partied there?” the ringleader asks before deciding that they have. “We’ve partied there.”
“I’m sure of it,” Tim says, twisting the cap off his drink. “Cheers, ladies!”
They’re happy to clink bottles with him. I’m not so thrilled, because the girls proceed to dominate the conversation while remaining fixated on Tim, which I can’t fault them for. Only the wispy girl tries to engage with me, but I’m not feeling social because Tim is smiling broadly, laughing at their jokes, and telling funny stories of his own. In other words, he’s flirting again. Like he did with the nurse at the hospital, despite having a girlfriend. Like he never does with me, even though he must know that I’d be receptive to it. Oh sure, I’ve caught him staring, but that’s probably a visual artist thing. The next time I check his sketchbook—and I already know that I will—these four women will surely be in it. My mood darkens along with the sky. I’m tempted to walk away and see if he even notices. But I don’t, because I still want him. Just give me this weekend before I’m forced to face reality. And get us the hell away from here!
“I’m hungry,” I manage to interject into the conversation.
“Have another,” the ringleader says, reaching for the cardboard box.
“We haven’t eaten dinner yet,” I say lamely.
“Oh right!” Tim says. “I promised my man here a meal.”
“I’m hungry too,” one of the women says. “Where are you going?”
“We have a reservation,” I snap. “At a place that’s hard to get into.”
“Aren’t you a fancy boy?” the ringleader says with a hint of a lisp.
I’ve never been in a catfight before but I’m ready to pounce. Lucky for her, Tim is struggling to get to his feet, and he’s more important to me. I stand and hand him his crutch, leaving my unfinished drink in the sand.
“It’s been a real pleasure, ladies,” Tim says, smiling at a captive audience. “Feel free to stop by the fraternity anytime.”
He’s laying it on thick. And can get away with it, apparently, because we walk away to a chorus of, “I hope your ankle gets better soon! His eyes were so pretty! Did anyone get his number?”
My mood doesn’t improve much, even when we put enough distance between us to no longer hear their voices. I feel foolish. And I only have myself to blame.
“That was fun!” Tim says.
“I didn’t notice,” I say evenly.
“Are you okay?”
“Never been better.”
