Page 37 of Crimson Promises
“The people who did that to Jos will never be prosecuted by the law. Their power and status protect them. According to them, they were well within their rights to take his life like it was nothing. Without even giving him a chance.”
SoJoswas his name.
“Eventually, they’ll pay. He was my only family.” He bowed his head, studying his Doc Martens as if they became the most interesting thing in the room.
“What happened to the rest of your family?”
His head snapped up.
“Uh…” he paused. “Well, my dad was never in the picture, and my mom passed away when I was young. Where I come from, being a single mother is looked down upon. She was treated like scum for something that wasn’t her fault. Jos kept me from being homeless and starving. Since then, I’ve been mostly alone. With a few exceptions,” a ghost of a smile emerged.
Bennett’s confession surprised me. I don’t think either one of us anticipated such a heavy conversation. Ishouldhave steered the conversation back to safer topics like our assignment, but that pull toward him flared to life—pushing me not to leave him the only one exposed.
“I can relate to that more than you’d think,” I said. “It’s not nearly as heartbreaking as what you’ve been put through, but I never met my mom.”
Ben kept staring at me, but now his knee bobbed up and down. Maybe he hadn’t met someone else who had lost a parent before.
“She passed away while she was giving birth to me. I was fortunate enough to be raised by my dad, Stephen. I got lucky with him. He raised me on his own while working a full-time job. And all things considered, he did a great job. Not having my mom around, a huge part of me remains empty, never having met her. I can’t imagine how you did it without both parents.”
“When you have no choice, you just push through,” he said.
“True. Growing up, I never had a Jos like you did. It was tough for me to make friends as a kid. They tended to give me...” I paused. How did I explain that people stayed away from me because they thought I wasweird? Shrugging, I continued, “A wide berth. Girls can be mean. It still hasn’t improved much, if I’m honest.” A single tear trailed down my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I swiped it away with the back of my hand. “Anyways, I understand what it’s like to feel like you’re alone.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For listening. I’m not good at talking about feelings and shit. I wasn’t anticipating unloading all that on you, but you handled it gracefully. I’m grateful. Especially with my usually prickly demeanor.”
His confession took me off-guard. “No need to thank me. I’m around if you ever want to talk.” I hoped he would take me up on it, especially since we would be stuck spending solid chunks of time together for the rest of the semester.
A new awareness flowed between us, mutual understanding or respect? Sharing some of those inner thoughts with a stranger was a relief. Someone who wasn’t familiar with my life had no stake in it. Someone who got what it felt like to navigate things, feeling like you were consistently on the periphery of life. Waiting for an invitation to join that never came. Seeking to belong to something or someone.
I looked down at my salad. There were still a few bites, but my voracious appetite was practically nonexistent after that conversation. Death and grief did that to you. After I pushed the plate to the center of the table, Ben prompted, “Are you finished?”
“Feel free to help yourself if you want the rest.”
“I’m not a salad guy, but I’ll try it.”
Ben’s hand dwarfed the spoon. He cut half a falafel and three pieces of lettuce. I couldn’t take my eyes away. He brought the fork to his mouth and stuck the entire bite in his mouth, his tongue snaking out to lick a dot of vinaigrette off his top lip. His throat hummed. “Delicious.”
I just about melted to the floor. Images of him kissing my collarbone, the spot behind my ear, and the base of my neck flipped through my mind.
“We should probably start working on our assignment.” I leaned over to take a sip of the now-chilled tea, accidentally tipping it so it spilled across the table. “Shit, sorry,” I said, dabbing at the mess with a napkin.
“I’ll go grab extras.”
“Thanks, Ben.”
I wipe up as much as possible until the napkins are soaked and clumped into a sad ball in the middle of the table. While I waited for Ben’s return with more napkins, I reached into my bag to pull out my phone. The screen showed a missed call from Dad, some emails, and a message from Riley. I open the text.
Riley: Morning Rors (I guess technically it’s afternoon) just got up.
Riley: Hope you didn’t think I ghosted you.
Riley: I had a great time with you last night.
Riley: If you’re free, let’s go for that coffee sometime soon.
