Page 4 of Lovely War
It’s a joke, but Ben barely raises his eyebrows in acknowledgment, and an awkward silence follows. A prickle of embarrassment runs through me. Am I being overfamiliar here? My four years at Ardwyn were the most significant of my life, and Ben and I spent more time with each other than with our friends and families. But a long time has passed.
I stand there for a minute, trying to gather the composure to say a casual goodbye and walk away looking unperturbed. Or maybe I should take the most direct escape route and withdraw into the bushes. It was more comfortable there anyway.
Ticket Guy beats me to it. “Callahan, I gotta run. We’ll catch up later,” he says, backing away. He offers me the slightest jerk of his head.
“Sure,” Ben says, his tone suddenly cheery. “And the tickets are no problem, as always.”
Then we’re alone. He looks down at his half-zip and brushes an invisible crumb off the Ardwyn logo. Pulls up the zipper an inch.
I press onward. “Some things don’t change.”
A line appears on his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“You know.” I gesture at Ticket Guy in the distance. “Everybody wanting you to hook them up.”
“Ah,” he says. “Nah. He’s a friend.” He clears his throat. “I was sorry to hear about your dad.”
“Thanks.” Briefly I wonder if all this awkwardness is because he’s uncomfortable acknowledging Dad’s death. Some people are afraid to say the wrong thing, so they say nothing at all. At least Ben saidsomething.
“I’m excited to be back,” I say, steering the conversation toward a lighter subject. “Eric says you guys want to focus on video strategy this season.”
His nostrils flare a little. “As long as we also focus on playing good basketball.” Spotting an older woman wheeling her bike to the rack outside the building, he waves, his face brightening. “Hey, Cindy, nice weekend?”
My stomach sinks, unease curdling inside it. If I didn’tknow better, I’d think this was more than aloofness or fumbling for the right thing to say. I’d think Ben was actively unhappy to see me.
That wouldn’t make sense. Ben is one of the most considerate people I’ve ever met. Junior year, when we were stressed over the internship, he was unfailingly kind. There was no secret sabotage, no pistols at dawn. He combed through old game footage with me when I needed help, and asked my opinion sincerely when he wrote up scouting reports.
It was inconvenient. Sometimes I was jealous, because everything came easily to Ben, and he was so close to Coach Maynard. Ben had played basketball. His connection with Maynard was natural and immediate. After two years sitting the Ardwyn bench as a walk-on, he retired and became a manager to prepare for a coaching career, just like Maynard. Forget mothers and babies; there’s no bond as powerful as the one between a man and another man who reminds him of himself.
I had to work furiously to get to the same point. I got there eventually—a perfect illustration ofbe careful what you wish for—but it took a lot of effort. I could never hold it against Ben, though, because he was sonice.
Unlike now. My patience turns brittle and snaps, and I cross my arms tightly. “Is everything okay?”
He stiffens, caught. A flicker of guilt crosses his face. “Yeah, of course.” His tone is suddenly chummier, but it’s forced.
I narrow my eyes. “Not feeling well?”
“I’m fine.”
“Somebody screwed up your coffee order?”
The cup is halfway to his lips when I ask the question. He takes a long sip. “All good.”
“Didn’t sleep?”
“I sleep great at night.”
I press my lips together. “Well, if it’s not you, it must be me, then.”
He smooths his hair with one hand, squinting at me, his jaw set stubbornly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His upper lip jerks, like he’s trying to force a friendly expression but can’t quite bear it. “Anyway, I have to run. Busy day.” He starts to walk away but turns back as a gentle breeze sends leaves skittering across the path. Banners stamped with the university crest billow gracefully on the light posts behind him. He raises his cup to me, as if to prove that everything is fine and he’s still the nicest guy around. “And hey, it’s good to see you. Welcome back.” But it doesn’t sound welcoming at all.
TWO
When I enter the athleticdepartment office, the front desk is empty. Someone is talking nearby, out of sight, over the drip of the coffee maker and the clinking of spoons.
After a moment, the receptionist appears, mug in hand, walking with the telltale lurch of decades of desk work. She’s got short gray hair and an ArdwynApin on her sweater. I stare at the pin. I can’t help it. Eric and I once made a pact to get that exactAtattooed on our bodies after I graduated. The official team color, the official font. Mine was going to be on the side of my rib cage. Neither of us ended up doing it.
The receptionist leads me to an empty conference room, instructing me to take a seat in a thin, disinterested voice. I check my phone and find a text from Eric:HELLO COWORKER! Got pulled into another meeting, see ya this afternoon!!
