Page 47 of When Ben Loved Tim
If I was smart, I’d hang up on him. But I don’t really want that. I’d rather find a way that we can still be together. “Can’t you pretend to get food poisoning or something?”
I can hear the inhalation of his breath as he hesitates. “I feel like I owe them.”
“Fine,” I say with an eye roll. “What if I come over afterwards?”
“I don’t know. It’ll probably be really late.”
I try to swallow my pride, but it gets stuck in my throat. “What if I come over now?”
“I wish. Darryl is on his way so we can pick up a keg from a guy he knows.”
“I’ll come along,” I suggest, already knowing that it’s impossible.
I listen to more white noise.
“What are you doing on Sunday?” he asks.
“Washing my hair.”
He laughs, the stupid idiot. I was being sarcastic, not charming!
“I’ll call you when the coast is clear,” he says. “Better stay away until then. Okay?”
Now it’s his turn to listen to silence.
“Benjamin?”
“Sorry,” I say. “My mom is shouting for me. Gotta go.”
I hang up before he can say something that makes me feel good in the moment but leaves me confused later. I obsess over his words anyway while seething. He wants me to steer clear, and I get why, but I don’t know if I trust him anymore. What if Krista made him a better offer? Is that why he’s been so hot and cold with me lately? Are they getting closer, even though I keep sneaking behind the curtain between scenes to kiss him?
While locked in my room, I run through the entire gamut of emotions. Anger. Jealousy. Sorrow. And last but not least, love, because if Tim called me back to say that he changed his mind, I would forgive him. I’d never mention it again if it meant we could be together.
But I don’t know if that’s possible anymore. Maybe it never was.
I end up cooking dinner with my mom. She can tell that something went wrong. If the canceled plans weren’t enough, I’m sure my face gives it all away. I can read hers just as well. She’s trying to stay positive, not wanting to see me sad, but it’s hard to feel cheerful when I sit down to eat with my parents on a Saturday night. Alone, because my sister—like my best friend and probably everyone else—is on a date. I wish I did have Leon’s number. I’d rather hang out with him and get stoned.
“Tastes great, son!” my dad says encouragingly.
“It really does,” my mom chimes in. “Great job!”
“It’s even better than when she makes it,” my father adds.
My mother’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
My dad squirms for a moment before deciding to stuff his mouth full, so he can’t respond.
I manage a half-hearted smile. “Mom did most of the work anyway.”
“And next time, when you do it all on your own, you’ll have experience,” she replies.
“I don’t know if there’s going to be a next time,” I say, like a great big downer.
The table is silent until my mother slaps it. “I know what we’re missing,” she says with a twinkle in her eye. “The wine!”
“Wine?” my father repeats, perking up.
She has my attention as well.
