This Is Not How It Ends

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  She was looking at you.

  With my deepest sympathy,

  Aashish Kamlani

  Ben had sunk into his hands, and I dropped the letter on the chair.

  “I hate that man,” Ben said, burying his face deeper into his palms. My hand found his shoulder, and I soothed him with the gentle strokes of my fingers. His body was rigid and taut, there was no sign of softening. Aashish meant blessing. I knew this because of the book we’d read in class about an Indian family struggling with tragedy. By the novel’s end, the parents welcomed a son. Aashish, they’d called him. Ben would never consider Aashish a blessing of any kind, though perhaps his words could help Ben forgive and heal.

  “I know,” I said.

  He raised his head. “Thank you for doing this for me, Charlotte. You’re a good friend.”

  We were facing each other, close. The only sounds were the trees rustling in the wind and the pool pump turning on and off. The gurgling noise permeated the air in successive waves. Ben was watching me. His eyes latched on to mine, and he didn’t let go.

  In that moment, in Ben’s nearness, I felt the loneliness dwindling, ebbing away. A spooling tide tripping back to sea. It confused me, it was wrong, but I patiently waited, because I knew I was on the verge of something I couldn’t understand. Not yet.

  “You’re pretty, Charlotte.”

  I blushed, feeling everything except that word. His eyes were sad and imploring. “I don’t know what I’m saying. But that part, that part is real. You look so beautiful.”

  “You’re drunk, Ben. And you’re upset.”

  “I am.”

  We sat face-to-face. I thought about Philip and how far away he was. And I understood what was eating away at me—it wasn’t geography. It was this. Why hadn’t I shared this with Philip? Why was there this huge chunk of me he didn’t know, and why was I reluctant to tell him?

  I thought about Ben, and how unfortunate it was for someone as kind as him to be alone. And when he leaned in, I didn’t back away. His breath was so near it coated my cheek, and a sound escaped from his throat, a sound much like desire. He hesitated, stalling, and soon his mouth was like a feather on my lips. Soft and not at all intrusive, opening wider to let me in. I didn’t stop him. His hands reached for my face and forced me closer. I felt a gentle stirring, his touch awakening me, breathing life into the shallow space that craved touch. I succumbed. I told myself that I was doing him a favor. That I was fixing his heart and making it whole again.

  I’ll always remember that it was he who backed away first. It wasn’t me. A fact that would riddle me with pangs of guilt, which I carried for days.

  “Oh God, Charlotte.” His hands came up to hide his face.

  “It’s okay,” I said, though it wasn’t.

  “Philip’s my friend.”

  I turned it into something else. “You’re alone. And lonely. It’s not what it seems.”

  But it was me who was alone and lonely. It was me falling into an abyss, unable to pull myself out. Our connection shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t have made me happy, but it did, and I was horrified.

  “You’re right,” he said, though he sounded unsure. “It was a mistake.” And I sighed, letting an ominous chill creep through me.

  CHAPTER 20

  April 2018, Back Then

  Islamorada, Florida

  I could have sworn I heard Philip say this was the perfect time, but for what? I was hardly listening, basking in the glow of the people surrounding us, searching the table and feeling blissfully lucky—to be loved by someone with such a generous heart, to have found someone who shared my dreams. And when I finally centered, I noticed the table had gone quiet. Despite the warm temperature, a delicate chill climbed up my legs. All eyes were on Philip, and me.

  “. . . having you all here to witness this moment means everything to me, and hopefully to Charley.”

  I was confused, but then I wasn’t. I knew it was coming to this. Our love was strong and pure and good. This was the next logical step.

  “. . . anyone sitting at this table knows Charley. She’s light and fire wrapped around one beautiful heart. I wanted what I couldn’t have that day on the airplane. I wanted her. I still want her. Every day.” He turned to me and dropped to his knee. “If you’ll have me, Charlotte Miles . . .”

  I was crying, and I was laughing, too. “Seriously, Philip?”

  “I know. I know. Myers. Charlotte Myers.” There was a red box in his hands.

  I was shaking, floating above the table, watching the reel unwind.

  “Charlotte Myers, you were the most delightful seatmate I ever had. Here, look,” and he handed me his phone, “even Margaret agrees.”

  It was a text. From Margaret. Flight 517.

  He covered the phone before I could read the rest. “You’re the person I want with me on all my journeys. My seatmate. My love. The person who makes me laugh, sometimes at you, mostly with you. You’d be my greatest accomplishment. My love.”

  He extended his arm and opened the lid of the box.

  “Marry me, Charley.”

  He reached for the ring and placed it on my finger. I was too stunned to speak. Tears mixed with joy, and I tasted the sweetness on my lips.

  “Here,” he said, passing the phone back. The text from Margaret read: Say yes, Charlotte. Say yes!

  “Yes! Yes!”

  His lips landed on mine, and all I could feel was an excitement for our future.

  The group applauded and gathered around us. Someone popped open a bottle of champagne and celebrated by spraying it over our heads. The liquid landed on my cheeks and arms, and Philip covered me in kisses, tasting the bubbly on my skin.

  One by one, our guests approached. First, it was Meghan, who congratulated me for being the Amal Alamuddin to her brother’s George Clooney. Myka threw her arms around me and gave me a deep hug. And finally Liberty. “You deserve this, Charlotte.”

  Philip’s phone rang, and I told him not to answer. “I’ve got to,” he said. “It’s Goose.” He smiled into the phone. “I did it, mate! I proposed.” His friend must have been sharing his good wishes, because Philip’s eyes twinkled when they landed on mine, until they shifted.

  “I know you are, mate. I know.” The line went quiet. “You’ll find it, Goose,” he said. “You will. I promise. She’ll be one lucky lady. And you’ll be one lucky man.”

  He ended the call, and I was too excited to catch the fleeting sadness. He threaded his arm through mine, pulling me close. “Say it again,” he said.

  I squealed with happiness. “Yes.”

  The word came naturally to me. I didn’t hesitate for a second. I could say it a thousand times, and it would never mean enough, never capture the depth of my feelings. A life with Philip was all I’d ever wanted. Our forever was about to begin.

  A few months later, Goose would meet a girl.

  In a grocery store while his son lay on the floor gasping for air. Three months and a string of lonely days. That’s all the time it took for me to renounce my promise to Philip, to turn a yes into something else.

  Ben.

  We were on his patio and we’d just shared a kiss.

  “It’s okay,” I said it again, convincing myself, convincing him. He was Ben, but he looked totally different from before. He was no longer Philip’s friend. He was the person with whom intimacy had slipped through. The person who had kissed me while I was in love with someone else.

  That was how the story began—for Philip, for Ben, for me.

  But how would it end?

  PART TWO

  THE NOW

  CHAPTER 21

  August 2018

  I didn’t sleep that night, not even with my arms around Sunny and his soft fur warming my skin. Denial had become a good friend, and in a town where I didn’t have many, it served me well and kept me safe.

  Ben had walked me home; a sliver of moon shone against our backs. Our steps were unhurried, as though we needed to stretch our
time together. Every so often a car shot down the highway, and Ben flinched. The silence that followed drew us closer, our collective thoughts merging. Neither of us had talked about the kiss, marveling instead at the stars strewn across the sky like a handful of glitter.

  When we’d reached our gate, Sunny ran up ahead. “Are you okay here alone?” he’d asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  He bent to tie one of his shoes. They were Converse, and he looked a lot younger than he was.

  “I’ll set the alarm. Philip will FaceTime me later. Sunny hates everybody, so his howls keep strangers away.”

  “I’ll walk you in.” He straightened, while a pulsing tension followed us to the door.

  At the steps, I thanked him for the delicious meal, my insides a jumble of knots. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be any good at this cooking thing, but I enjoyed it.” His quiet moved me, and I wondered if he was going to try it again, to kiss me, there on Philip’s and my doorstep.

  “Good night, Charlotte.”

  Without warning, my arms came around him, a pull I couldn’t fight. He stood there, motionless, until his head dropped on my shoulder. I’d begun to recognize his smell—a clean, masculine scent mixed with the aromas of the kitchen.

  “I wish there was a way to take the pain away.”

  There comes that moment when you’re holding someone and the pieces of you just fit. Words are useless. The parts of you string together—souls touch through gentle fabric—and when you separate, you both know there’s a lingering strand that forever connects. We broke apart, and I hid from his lips, the ones that had covered mine, soft, yet fueled with desire. If we stood there any longer, I’d reach for them again.

  He pressed a finger under my chin and lifted my eyes up to meet his. “You’d better go inside.”

  It took all my strength to walk away. When I closed the door behind me, the empty house was quieter than before. In the early days, Philip’s absence had buoyed me in some way, but now it was a threat, inflicting damage. His call came later that night, and I refused to FaceTime, opting for an old-fashioned conversation, the kind we’d had when we’d first fallen in love. I closed my eyes and returned to that previous time. Holding the phone close to my ear, I could hide the part of me I didn’t want him to see.

  “Philip . . .”

  “Charley. What’s the matter, darling?”

  It was best to dive right in. “Do you want kids?”

  He didn’t immediately respond. “Eventually.” Pause. “Now’s not the right time. What’s this about?”

  “Us.”

  “You’re not happy,” he said.

  “I’m not unhappy.” Then I changed my mind. “I’m scared. I’m scared we want different things . . . that maybe I need more than I thought I did. I’m scared you’re not all in.”

  “Darling, I may not be there, but I’m all in. You have to trust that. You have to trust us.”

  “There are things you need to know about me, things I need to know about you.”

  “Green. Grilled fish. Eight.” He chuckled when he rattled off his list, though I didn’t find it amusing.

  “You used to laugh more, Charley.”

  “You used to be funnier, Philip.”

  “I’m sorry. Talk to me.”

  Then I felt stupid for asking. For not trusting our love. For wanting Philip to be someone he wasn’t. He continued talking loudly, lovingly, drowning out the memory of a forbidden kiss, a meeting of lonely souls. I loved Philip. He loved me. The kiss was a mere blip. Philip and I would be fine.

  CHAPTER 22

  September 2018

  Ben.

  He sat in the waiting room while Jimmy finished another treatment, and we avoided each other—what people do who find themselves feeling what they know is wrong. Liberty had cured my almond allergy, but I was beginning to see an emergence of other pesky sensitivities. If NAET worked on obscure allergens like jet fuel and saliva, perhaps it would treat my reaction to Ben’s voice. His hollowed eyes. The sadness in his cheeks. Ben was a trigger I needed to eradicate.

  His presence tugged at me, though I wished it wouldn’t. I denied noticing what he was wearing, how his hair fell in his eyes, how those same eyes were covering me, and I was bare. We never discussed that night or what might possibly be growing between us. Like a weed, it was weaving itself around us, and weeds were dangerous. They preyed on vital life, and though their flowers disguised their true intention, everyone knew they destroyed what was beautiful and worth keeping. Better to bury the feelings, better to build walls too high to climb. I admired my ring and what it signified, and the petty emotions for Ben seemed just that—petty. My mind was playing games with me. It wasn’t real. Not like Philip and me. We were real.

  Ben was cordial, polite. Gone was vulnerable Ben who needed me, two people who needed each other. And perhaps that’s why we returned to our protective shells, playing this game, when emotions, big ones, filled the air. We were good at faking it. Pretending what happened hadn’t. And I convinced myself of that for some time.

  When Philip returned home, our first kiss felt close to a betrayal, but soon his mouth was open and wanting, and I slipped inside, mind and body. I forgot that my lips had been somewhere else, that my emotions had driven me away.

  Avoiding Ben would be admitting I’d sinned, that there was some tiny seedling planted within us that could’ve sprouted into something else. So I’d accompany Philip and Ben to dinner, because Philip and Ben were friends. There was no Ben and Charley. There never was. My brain had tricked me into feeling something that wasn’t there, and I tucked the hapless mistake away and kept it caged and forgotten. Perched at our table, we’d watch the sun set on the Gulf, while Ben brought out our favorite meals. The blip was behind us, and I’d learned to enjoy the way he prepared the food as though we were the only customers. He always knew what I was hungry for—lamb Bolognese, Caesar salad with extra anchovies, ahi tuna with seasoned vegetables. For Sunny, he kept a pot of fresh chicken and white rice. Our portions were generous, and our cups always full. Ben paid extra special attention no matter how busy the restaurant.

  Over time, we transitioned from awkward to friendly, Philip the glue that kept us bound. He was the reminder of why we’d become friends, something that later became an excuse. Those nights, Jimmy would come and join us. He and Sunny would take off on the sand, hunting for shells, and then Jimmy and I would share vanilla ice cream smothered in Starburst and Skittles if it wasn’t a treatment day.

  During that time, we were a family. Philip, Ben, Jimmy, and me. We did the things that families enjoyed doing together. We rented Jet Skis, visited Miami’s Seaquarium, and ate a hell of a lot of ice cream. And when Philip left again, I’d tag along with Jimmy and Ben. Theater of the Sea, kayaking, and more ice cream.

  By then the tension had faded, and Ben and I were laughing over wine and sharing key lime Popsicles at the park. We talked for hours at a time about our childhoods, the losses we’d endured, and the parallels between running a kitchen and commanding a classroom.

  “You miss your students,” he said.

  “I do.”

  “I’m not much of a classroom guy, but I bet you had a great impact on those kids’ lives.”

  How I missed those days. “It was mutual.”

  Liberty would tease me about Ben having a crush, and I’d shush her, letting the idea coil around me and fill me with what-ifs. I’d go home to our empty house and wonder if things might have been different had we met under different circumstances. And in the morning, I’d greet Philip’s face over FaceTime and forgive myself for wondering.

  Sometimes he’d call on the mobile when we’d be at the table, and I could hear his happiness in knowing Ben was looking out for me. Liberty believed in intersecting circles when it came to relationships. “One person can never satisfy all your needs. You are the center and there’s a lot of overlap.” I fought her on this conclusion. I believed in love. One true love.

  However innoc
ent, and no matter the level of denial, I knew I should stay away from Ben. I knew that as clear as the moon that blazed in the sky. And here’s the part I was ashamed to admit: I didn’t know how.

  He called that Saturday and invited me to the movies with him and Jimmy. The boy sat between us, and every so often I took my eyes off the actors and fixed them on Ben’s profile. It was one I’d memorized; there was a comfort in knowing he was close.

  After the movie, Jimmy spotted a friend and asked if he could go to his house for the afternoon and a sleepover. The father insisted Jimmy would be fine. Ben’s eyes searched mine, and I told him it would be okay. “It’ll be good for him.”

  I heard the other boy say to Jimmy, “Your mom’s so nice.” And I blushed. I blushed because Ben heard it, too. And neither of us corrected him.

  The earlier gloom had lifted, and the afternoon gave way to bright skies and plenty of sunshine.

  “I’ll take you home, Charlotte. I’m heading down to Little Palm Island for some meetings.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “About an hour away. You’ve never been?”

  I hadn’t.

  “The only way onto the island is by boat. It’s beautiful. No cell phones or TVs.”

  I laughed. “That explains why Philip’s never taken me.”

  He turned to me. “Why don’t you come?”

  “I can’t.” But I knew my hesitation was something else.

  “Why not?”

  I stalled. I had a thousand reasons why not, and none of them I could say out loud. Philip was scheduled to return that evening, and a paradise beach without phones sounded enticing.

  “Just come,” he said. And I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no either.

  Because there wouldn’t be phone service on the island, I dialed Philip to let him know where I’d be. He answered on the fourth ring sounding wispy and quiet. “Did I wake you?” There was a steady beeping in the background that sounded oddly familiar. “Philip, where are you?”