by Mae Wood
Ben: Why pick? Seattle has both.
Ben:Books or movies?
Ali:Books.
Ben:I can go either way.
Ali:Books always. My grandmother was a librarian. I’ve been a reader since I was five.
Ben:What are you reading now?
Ali:A murder mystery thriller. Do you read at all?
Ben:Mainly biographies.
Ali:You should write a biography of Elliott.
Ben:He’s a fascinating guy. Found out that he testified before Congress about giving the Philippines their independence.
Ali:What side was he on?
Ben:Don’t know yet. The records aren’t online. I have to physically go to one of like three libraries in the country to get access.
Ali:He had an amazing life. No doubt.
Ben:Alice’s wasn’t too shabby either.
Ali:Not in the least.
Ben:The cafeteria had this killer tuna sashimi today. Yellowfin.
Ali:I had a protein bar between procedures.
Ben:You should have stuck with computers.
Ali:Nah. I helped a little boy get bilateral hearing.
Ben:I helped a company increase its share price. You win. Even accounting for the protein bar. No doubt.
Ali: Recruiter said it’s down to me and another candidate. Fingers crossed.
Ben:You’ve got this.
Thirty-six
Ali
March
“You’re going to take it, right?”
Caroline stared me down over a margarita the size of her head, a celebration for surviving Bess’s first birthday party.
After a few phone calls with the recruiter and folks at the hospital, I had gotten an offer letter in my email yesterday afternoon. “Yeah. I am,” I said, biting my lower lip and nodding, amazed at my confidence in making this decision. It was the right move for me. It was an amazing move for me. And while I thought I might hem and haw over the decision, when I got the offer, I knew I’d take it. No hesitation or regret.
“Well, then,” she said, nodding toward my equally huge drink and hefting hers into the air. “I wish you every success.”
We clinked glasses, trying our best not to spill our drinks and failing miserably. I grabbed some napkins to mop up our disaster while Caroline looked around in a mad panic before laughing.
“Okay, don’t laugh at me, but I was just looking for the diaper bag to get some baby wipes to help clean up and had a bit of anxiety that I’d lost the diaper bag.”
“Lost it and the baby.”
“Not a baby anymore,” she said, pulling a sad face.
“Big girl Bess,” I agreed.
“I’m going to miss you. It’s been nice having you home.”
“Well, I’m not leaving tomorrow. You’ve got me until the end of May. And you can come visit me in Seattle anytime. Bring Bess and Stu. Or leave them at home.”
“I’ll leave them at home. Girls’ weekend.”
“Many of them.” We toasted our glasses again in a promise.
“So you’ve told Ben?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to move for him. I don’t want him to think that I’m doing this for him. I’m doing this for me.”
“And the possibility of him is part of that.”
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug, not denying that Ben was a part of the equation. But how big a part of the equation I wasn’t sure. I ate some chips and salsa while Caroline sipped her drink and waited for me to talk more. “Here’s the thing,” I said with a big exhale, wiping my hands on a napkin. “I don’t want to look back in twenty years and wish that I’d explored this with him. I don’t want to have a file on a computer somewhere of all of our text messages and emails and let a big ‘what if’ haunt me.”
“I get it. You don’t want to be Alice with her box of love letters.”
“Exactly. I’m not Alice. I’m Ali and I don’t want that ship to sail without me.”
When I got home from dinner with Caroline, I texted Ben.
Ali:Got the offer.
Ben:Awesome! Congrats!
Ali:Yeah, I’m pumped.
Ben:Happy for you.
Ali: I can’t wait to get an annual pass.
Ben:Pass to what?
Ali:Disney World!
Ben:Oh, so Orlando. That’s awesome.
Ali:Kidding. Seattle.
Before I could text again my phone rang and lit up with Ben Copley bold across the screen.
I swiped it to answer and chirped a hello at him.
“You got the job!”
“I got the job!” I laughed at his excitement. In my mind I saw his face lit up in happiness.
“And you’re taking it? You’re joking about Orlando, right?”
“Yes. I’m joking. Yes. Absolutely I’m taking it. I’m moving to Seattle. I got the offer yesterday and thought about it and I’m doing it.”
“When do you start?”
“June.”
“That’s months away,” he said, his voice getting serious, and I knew the dimple was gone.
“It is. And Ben,” I said, sighing, wondering how I could tell him that this decision was mine. That it wasn’t because of him, but also that it wasn’t not because of him.
“You’re not moving for me. Loud and clear. And, this sounds harsh and I don’t mean it that way, but I don’t want you to move for me.”
“But I’m still moving in with you, right? Thompson is going to dig my hundred-gallon saltwater fish tank.” The line filled with silence and I worried that he hadn’t gotten my terrible attempt at a joke and that I’d ruined everything that was building between us by pushing too hard, too soon. “Kidding. I was kidding.” I began to backpedal. “It was a bad joke. I guess I should wait until we have a second date and you tell me you’re a serial killer before I joke like that.”
“Well, I hate to spoil the surprise, but I’m not a serial killer. And we’re not there yet, Ali, but that doesn’t mean that we won’t get there. But you’ll come up to apartment hunt, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So a second date? Mystery soda machine and maybe we can take a ferry to one of the islands and let Thompson run on a beach?”
“Sounds like a weekend.”
“Let me know when and where and I’m there. And without being creepy, I may have a few leads on places for you to rent.”
“Not in your neighborhood?”
“I live near the troll in Fremont, which conveniently isn’t far from the hospital, but I was looking more in Green Lake for you. Great trail around the lake to walk dogs and it’s an easy bus to the hospital and to Fremont. I hope that’s okay.”
“More than okay.”
Thirty-seven
Ali
May
Two dates. We’d had two in-person, face-to-face, real world dates. And countless emails and texts and calls and video chats. After I said yes to the job in Seattle, I’d gone up for a long weekend to scout apartments and walk my favorite dog and hang out with the man with the dimple and glasses who made me laugh. And now we were going to spend five days driving across the country. My things were being shipped and I could have shipped my car too, but when I’d floated the idea to Ben about him and Thompson coming with me on a road trip, I was nervous and played it off as a joke, because showing your cards is always scary. Two real dates and I was asking him to spend a week with me in my car? It was impetuous for me, but as I thought about the idea, I kept seeing us on the road together, exploring greasy diners and cheesy roadside attractions, and I screwed up my nerves and asked a week before I was supposed to leave KC.
“That sounds cool, but I don’t drive, Ali,” he said, his voice a simple statement, like my invitation might have been for us to go to the moon.
And it made me want to go on a road trip with him even more, to go on this little adventure with him because it wasn’t something that either one of us would do al
one. “In an emergency you can, right?” I urged him to agree.
“Yeah,” he huffed, and I smiled, happy that he was going to say yes.
“We’re good, then. You navigate and feed me caffeine and I’ll pilot the ship.”
And that’s how I came to be standing just outside the security checkpoint with a poster clutched in my slightly sweaty hands. I was nervous. Because here I was, not only showing my cards, but pretty much offering up my heart on a silver platter.
“You should take a sign to the airport with you,” Caroline had said a few hours earlier. We were out for one final lunch before my big move in the morning. My things, including what felt like half of a house that Grammie had given me, were on a truck bound for Seattle, and I was down to a suitcase and the overstuffed trunk of my car, with the box of Elliott’s letters tucked safely inside.
“A sign?”
“Yeah, a funny sign for when you pick up Ben at the airport. Like the signs chauffeurs have, but the more ridiculous the better. It’s a thing that’s going around the internet. I picked up Stu from his business trip last month with a sign that said Hello, Lover Boy.”
“You did not.” I’d been slightly mortified on behalf of her reserved husband.
“Okay, maybe I only thought about it, but it would be funny. You should do something.”
“I don’t know if that’s Ben’s style.”
“He took you to see a wall of used chewing gum and a giant troll statue, so my money is on him being as goofy as you can be when you’re not being a doctor. Come on, what was his nickname? Duke Ben?”
“Baron,” I said, letting the idea of a silly sign at baggage claim roll around in my head. “Yeah. Baron Ben von Copley and Lord Thompson of Labrador.”
Now, rocking my weight from foot to foot on the airport’s floor, I looked down at the sign in my hands, the capital letters appearing upside down to me, and I decided to toss it in the trash. It was stupid and silly and if we were actually a couple—
“Countess Alice of Kansas!” At the sound of Ben’s voice, my head popped up and my eyes immediately found him in the crowd. My heart settled in my chest, solid and warm.
“Ben!” I hurried over to him, not giving any thought to my sign or the people around us, and not even bothering to glance at Thompson. My favorite man with the glasses and the dimple was here.
The nerves I had were replaced with a sense of relief, of rightness, as he wrapped me up in a hug and whispered against my ear. “I missed you.”
With Thompson in the back seat, we pulled up in the driveway of my parents’ house for my farewell party.
“Last chance to back out.”
“Nah,” he said, swapping out his sunglasses for his regular glasses. “We’re good. But I’m holding a marker for when we have to go to my parents’ place.”
“How bad can it be?” I said with a half-smile.
“Well, last time I was at their house, I realized my mom is an under-the-roll toilet paper person.”
“Good thing you emailed me back rather than your mom, then.” I stuck my tongue out at him and he laughed, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes letting me know that his joy was real.
“Absolutely,” he said, his dimple falling away as he jutted his chin toward the front door where my big brother stood, giving my car an unimpressed stare. “Let’s go do this.”
As the party wound down, I left Ben hanging out with Stu and went into the kitchen to get another slice of Tippin’s pie, and it didn’t escape my attention that Patrick followed me in.
“Yes, Patrick,” I said over my shoulder, while deciding to go all in and add a scotcharoo to my plate along with the generous wedge of coconut cream. I didn’t know the next time I’d have a chance to enjoy my favorite Missouri treats and I was going to have seconds and perhaps thirds.
“I don’t like the idea of you driving across the country with someone you met on the internet. I mean, he seems fine, but you never know.”
I set the pie server down before turning to face him. “He’s a good guy.”
“Who you met on the internet.”
“No, I met him through email. It’s not like I was prowling dating sites or personal ads.”
“I don’t like this. I don’t like you doing this.”
“Noted. If it goes poorly, make sure to put a nice picture of me on the milk cartons.”
“Ali…” He sighed in frustration.
“Patrick…” I answered, owning my bratty baby sister role.
“But you’re still going to do this?”
“I am.”
“He’s got a serious medical condition.”
“He’s got diabetes. He’s a grown-up, and I’m a doctor.”
“Ali, it’s serious. He’s got a service dog.”
“Thompson is amazing,” I said, warning him to back down.
“No doubt,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.
“And I trust Ben to make good decisions about his own life.”
“And he might be a cool guy. I just met him. I don’t know him. All I know is that no one knows him, and that he’s got a pretty serious medical condition, and you’re going to spend a week in a car with him and his dog, driving across the country? What if something happens?”
“What if we have a great time? What if we decide to run away and join the circus or get matching tattoos?”
“Don’t make me into the bad guy here.”
“You’re not the bad guy. And Ben’s not a bad guy either.”
“Hey,” said Ben, stepping into the kitchen with us. “Did I do something?”
“Nope,” my brother and I said in unison before Patrick turned on his heel and left Ben and me alone.
“Okay, well, that’s good to know. I was looking for you and another Diet Coke.”
“I’ll get you one.” I set my overfilled dessert plate down on the counter and reached into the fridge for a can, and awareness washed over me with the cool air. “Um, so, I have a sweet tooth,” I said, full of guilt because I was enjoying something right in front of him that he couldn’t eat.
“Not a deal breaker,” he said, taking the can from me.
I looked at the coconut cream pie and square of peanut-butter-butterscotch-and-chocolate goodness and then back at him. “Sorry.”
“Really,” he said, popping open the soda can. “I mean, I don’t run around apologizing how awesome it is to get to have Thompson with me everywhere, so you don’t need to apologize for getting to enjoy sweets.”
I looked at him carefully, trying to figure out if the comment was loaded with secondary meaning or if I should take it for face value.
“Really, Ali. I was diagnosed when I was nine. If people eating pie bothered me, I’d be a pretty miserable person. Enjoy the pie and don’t sweat it.”
“Sure?”
He picked up the plate and handed it to me. “Enjoy it. And later you’ll tell me why your brother doesn’t like me.”
With KC in my rearview mirror, I drove north with Ben next to me, and his yellow lab in the back seat. Because here we were, here I was, making a decision and going for it. Not regretting it. Not wondering what could happen, what might happen, but enjoying what we had while we had it. And I hoped we had it for a very long time, but I knew it was still fresh and new, so doubt lingered at the edges of my thoughts.
The Corn Palace, the Badlands, Wall Drug—I kept waiting for the shoe to drop as we watched the country fly by outside our windows. At each destination he took pictures of us and texted them to me so that I could send them to my sister and brother, supposedly as additional proof of life, but I knew better because the lock screen on his phone was me and Thompson walking the beach on Vashon Island. He’d taken it without me knowing it on my apartment search weekend. He was taking pictures of our trip for himself. And I liked that he was as happy to be with me as I was to be with him.
Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and when we hit Wyoming, I was still holding my breath at times, waiting for us to find
a deal breaker.
“Bagels or toast?” he asked as we crawled through the parking lot after watching Old Faithful.
“What about toasted bagels?”
“Bzzzz,” he said. “Cheater. That’s a foul. You must pick.”
“Bagels,” I said with a laugh because being with him just wasn’t good, it was easy. “Are baked goods going to be a deal killer?”
“I’m reserving judgment as we work through this crushed ice versus ice cubes dispute.”
“No room for dispute. Crushed ice is so much better because it’s crunchy.”
“It melts too fast. Is crushed ice what you and Patrick were arguing about?”
When we’d swapped childhood stories along the drive, I’d focused on me and Jess, pushing Patrick to the edges of the conversation. I’d tried to avoid this conversation and did the best I could to forget that Ben had walked in on my big brother in full big brother mode.
“Typical big brother stuff. He thinks you’re some stranger on the internet and I’ve been lured to a chat room of doom where you’ll kidnap me or something.”
“The big hole that I dug in my basement works better for kidnapping you than a chat room.”
“I totally agree. And how you lower a basket down with my food is super clever. Really, though, he’s never been a fan of anyone I’ve dated—” My eyes went wide as the word escaped from my mouth and I was thankful I had my sunglasses on to hide behind. Whatever Ben and I were, we hadn’t gotten around to slapping a label on it.
“Oh, I get that. My sister hated my ex-wife, but she likes you.”
I kept my eyes on the road, but felt my forehead crinkle up in confusion.
“Your sister?”
“Yeah, she’s glad that I have a girlfriend who isn’t my ex-wife. But my parents also don’t like the internet thing, so I’ve downplayed that.”
“But it’s not weird,” I insisted. “Millions of people make friends and even end up with people they met online.”