Page 62 of The Dead Romantics

I took out a few bucks for the coffee, closed my laptop, and left.

20

Novel Idea

DANA FIXED MEanother rum and Coke when I set up shop at the bar that afternoon. I’d texted Alice after I realized that Dad’s obituary was coming along about as well as literally everything else in my life, and she was very short in replying that it needed to be done by Wednesday.

Amazing. Another deadline I would probably sail right past.

I stared at the computer screen, and knowing I wouldn’t get anything done today—my head felt like cotton balls—I scrolled over to Google.

Benji AndorI typed into the search bar.

I was surprised to find that there weren’t any articles dedicated to his funeral, or at least his passing, but then again, hadn’t he said that he didn’t have any living close relatives? Then who was taking care of his goodbyes? I didn’t know much about Ben at all.

Who was in charge of his funeral?

While I didn’t see anything about his death, hedidhave asocial media account. I clicked on it, and went to his page. It was an older photo of him, not quite smiling but not dour, either, leaning against the railing of a cruise ship. And there was a very pretty redhead standing beside him, smiling, with one of those fruity umbrella drinks in her hand. His page was private, so I couldn’t know who she was, or anything else he might’ve divulged, but the photo was enough to make me feel a little uneasy.

“I haven’t updated that page in ages,” Ben said, and I gave a start. He was sitting beside me at the bar, his head resting on his hand, watching me snoop through his life.

I quickly exited out of the internet, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Sorry, I wasn’t prying. I wanted to see if—there was any news yet. About your funeral.”

“Is there?”

I shook my head.

He didn’t seem surprised. “I’m sure Laura’s taken the mantle on that. She always liked to be in control of things—not in a bad way. Just in a... way.”

“Laura?” I asked. The redhead in the photo?

“She’s my ex-fiancée,” he replied, absently rubbing the wedding ring between his fingers, as if it were a comfort. His ring, I guessed, remembering when he said he had no one to contact about unfinished business. He didn’t include Laura in that. Then again, she was hisex.Lee would be the last person I’d want to see after I died, too.

“Can I ask what happened?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful for a moment, trying to find the right words. “I’d gone on a business trip to the Winter Institute,” he finally began, “but I caught a cold and came home early. Didn’t tell her because I thought I’d surprise her with a weekend all toourselves. She was always pointing out how I never had time for her. I was always working. I would edit manuscripts at work, and then I would bring them home, and I would edit them there until I fell asleep.” His eyebrows furrowed. “She was in the shower with a coworker of hers. They’d been seeing each other for a few months at that point.”

I sucked in a breath. “Oh, Ben...”

“It wasn’t all her fault. She was right—all I did was work. I did little else. We were engaged but I didn’t—I was—” He pursed his lips and trained his eyes on a dark knot in the wooden bar. He scratched at it absently. “What kind of person makes his fiancée resort to someone else for love and affection?”

“Makes?” I echoed. “Ben—it wasn’t your fault. You can’t control what other people do. Her cheating washerchoice—”

“And if I’d been present with her? If I’d been there and loving and—what I should have been?”

“She could’ve communicated with you.”

“She shouldn’t have to—”

“Yes, sheshould,” I bit back. “Relationships aren’t perfect all the time. You have to talk to each other. I’m sorry, but your fiancée was a dumbass, and she made a mistake, but that washer choice.”

He swallowed thickly and looked away. “She said as much,” he replied. “She asked if we could try again.”

“But you didn’t?”

He shook his head.

I didn’t understand. He was clearly still very much in love with her—or at least unable to forget about her. “Why?”

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