On an Edge of Glass

by Autumn Doughton

  So I do.

  It’s strange after all the time I spent trying to keep my secrets from Payton and Ainsley, to be sitting here on the floor, spilling my guts out in between bites of Chunky Monkey. That’s right. Chunky Monkey. Payton pulled a pint out of the freezer ten minutes into my telling of the Ben Hamilton chronicles. She claimed that for this level of drama we needed the “big guns.”

  “So, you’ve barely spoken since that night we all went to The Hill?” Ainsley asks, licking the spoon.

  I nod.

  Payton speaks. “Except for the almost-kiss last weekend.”

  I nod again. “Right. Except for the almost-kiss.”

  Payton’s eyelids lower. “Yeah, the almost-kiss sounds pretty goddamn sexy. And I’m sorry about that. If I had known that I was interrupting I would have suffered through my drunkenness in complete silence.”

  The serious look on her face has me chuckling. “It’s okay Payton. You had no idea and I know that you would have done the same for me. Kiss or no kiss.”

  Ainsley takes another bite of ice cream. She shares a look with Payton. “And I think we’re both sorry that we called you out for not dating enough in front of Ben.”

  Payton nods. “We thought if we brought it up and made things awkward, you would come clean.”

  I chuckle. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Ainsley inclines her head. “You know what I didn’t see coming?”

  Payton and I both shake our heads.

  Ainsley’s eyes widen. “The engagement. I had no idea. It’s kinda like we’re living through an episode of One Life to Live.”

  “I think that show was cancelled,” I say, grabbing the ice cream container from her.

  “Naw…” Payton intones. “You’re confusing One Life to Live with All My Children. But whatever. This is not a conversation about soap operas. Let’s focus on the fact that, in the not-so-distant past, our roommate, Ben Hamilton, was planning to spend the rest of his life with one person. He wanted to get freaking married. How insane is that? Married sounds like something parents do—not hot-ass young musicians.”

  Married. I let the word bounce around my head for a bit. Then, I anchor it down and examine it.

  I’m starting to get why Ben didn’t tell me that he and Lily were engaged. I don’t like his reasoning, but I’m starting to understand it. He said that he didn’t tell me about the engagement because he knew that I’d freak out. And, he was absolutely right. I did freak out.

  I freaked out and I ran away without asking any of the right questions.

  Ainsley looks at me. “Ellie, you said that you believe Ben was telling the truth and nothing happened that night between him and Lily, right?”

  The memory of stumbling in on them with their hands on each other slays me, but I do think Ben was being honest with me and it never went any further. I nod my head. “Yeah.”

  “Then, the real question is: are you mad at Ben because you didn’t know that he wanted to marry someone before he met you, or are you mad because it wasn’t you that he wanted to marry?”

  I wish that I could say that there are a million possible ways to answer that question honestly. But really, there’s only one.

  I throw my head back and sigh loudly.

  Insecurity is like a net, and I let it catch me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The Roommate Trap

  “So guess what?”

  I glance up. Mark’s sitting across the table from me grinning wickedly. I know that grin. I don’t like that grin.

  “What?” I ask warily. We’re eating lunch at a small deli across the street from Lipton Hall, where we both have our next class.

  “Yesterday, while you were on the phone with your mother, going over the insanely boring details of that summer internship thingy, Ainsley, Payton, and I were talking—”

  “Stop right there!” I interrupt. This can’t be going anywhere good. For nearly a week, my three best friends have been driving me crazy with their wonky schemes to get Ben and me back together. “I never should have told those two about Ben. Now, you guys have joined forces and made it your mission in life to embarrass me. It’s like I’m in a re-imagined version of some crappy movie like The Parent Trap.”

  Mark rolls his eyes. “First of all, you didn’t tell Payton and Ainsley about Ben. They already knew, so spare me. Secondly, that is a really good movie, Ellie.”

  I smile and bow my head. “Fair enough. I know you’re going to do it anyway, so you might as well spill it. What’s the latest strategy? Plastic surgery? Piercings? Am I supposed to send Ben a strip-o-gram?”

  Mark puts his hands up. His eyes are wide and amused. “Hey! That was Payton’s idea, not mine.”

  I laugh.

  “Anyway, I want to be clear that this proposition is reasonable and doesn’t involve you taking any of your clothes off. That is, unless you want to.” He winks.

  I roll my hands and tip my head, indicating that he should get on with it.

  “Well… Payton said that Ben mentioned to her in passing that his band is playing at The Blind Bear on Saturday night. And, he indicated that it would be cool if you all went.”

  My stomach drops. The last time I went to see Ben’s band play ended up in disaster. “I don’t know…”

  Mark puts his hand on top of mine. “You have to take a chance sometime Ellie-bear. I don’t want you to live the rest of your life with this regret.”

  I close my eyes. It’s the regret that gets me.

  Regret. It’s a lot like hunger—clawing you from the inside out.

  Henry David Thoreau said: “Never look back unless you’re going that way.” Smart words—right? My dad has it engraved on a paperweight that sits on his desk, and I chose it as my senior quote for my high school year book. Don’t look back. No regrets. It’s a good motto to live by. Until you have a stack full of regrets on your night side table. Then, looking back seems like the only honest thing to do.

  The more I let myself think about Ben, the more I realize how badly I screwed up. I should have given him the chance to explain. I should have trusted him when it came to Lily.

  Instead, I stuck my fingers in my ears like a little kid. I hummed and stomped my feet because I was scared of the way that Ben made me feel—of what he made me feel. I was terrified by the hugeness of it all.

  I open my eyes and Mark is watching me, his face expectant.

  “Okay,” I say firmly. “Let’s do it.”

  “No regrets,” he chimes and takes a massive bite out of his sandwich.

  Payton insists that I let her dress me. Again.

  She sifts first though my closet, then hers, finally deciding to pair my dark jeans with one of her low-cut black tops and a simple patterned scarf that loops around my neck twice. Once the outfit is chosen, Ainsley takes over. She pins my hair away from my face and slips large silver hoops into my ears and a matching bracelet cuff on my wrist. Then, she lines my eyes with her dark kohl liner and smears a deep plum-colored gloss over my lips.

  After the primping, I look in the mirror and smile. I look like myself—just a slightly sexier version. I slip the strap of my bag over my head and let it fall across my chest to complete the ensemble. I can tell that Mark approves by the way that he nods his head and holds out his arm to me. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I’m beginning to feel like tonight is going to be special.

  The whole way to the bar, my friends chatter at me. Mark is driving. I’m in the passenger seat. Ainsley is just behind me and she’s got her hands wrapped around the headrest and she’s telling me all the things she thinks that I need to remember. She’s deemed herself some sort of relationship guru now that she and Brandon are an official item. Payton’s just shaking her head, mildly irritated by Ainsley’s seduction tips.

  The Blind Bear is a well-known bar on a side street on the fringe of downtown. Usually, the bands booked there are up-and-coming artists on the cusp of hitting it big, so I’m pretty impressed that Ben’s band is the
headliner tonight.

  I hear the music as we walk up to a large glass-plated door. The song is one that I’ve heard Ben practicing this week in his room, so I know that Accidental Sweet Tea is already playing. My stomach twists itself into coils as the beats curl around me. My nerves are telling me that I have one chance, and I better make it count.

  We walk down a dank hallway that spills into a larger space. A large bar spans the width of the room. Faded green walls edged in dark wood trim give way to a glassed-in area that leads to the outside. In good weather all those doors are left open and people drift in and out to the second-story porch. But it’s mid-winter, so tonight the room is understandably closed-in.

  Even with the crowd, and the fact that the stage is only lifted about one foot off the ground, I spot Ben right away. He’s bent over his guitar, a veil of shiny dark hair hiding his face. I watch his body move and sway with the music. His black boots pound out the beats as his fingers move swiftly over the strings of the guitar. When the music gets faster he throws his head back. A thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead. His mouth is parted on the last word of the chorus.

  God, he’s beautiful. And he seems completely unaware of the effect he’s having on all the women in the crowd. I can practically see the drool dripping down their chins as they vie to get closer to the stage.

  I glance over my shoulder at Mark and he raises his eyebrows like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I take a breath and move forward before he has a chance to prod me. I unsnap the clasp on my bag and pull out my camera and begin to take the pictures that I came here to take.

  Ben spots me while I’m taking a series of Taylor, the lead singer. Through the lens, I see his head jerk and his eyes narrow in on me. I move the camera away from my face and smile shyly. It takes a few stunned seconds before his eyes crinkle and his mouth curves into a grin. I edge closer.

  By the time the set is over, the crowd is electrified. Everyone is jumping up and down and calling for more. I am up near the front and Payton is at my elbow watching Nick like a hawk.

  Taylor, the lead singer, places his hand over the microphone and leans into the other guys. Ben has a small blue towel in his hand and is running it over his face to mop up his sweat. Taylor asks him something and he nods. Then, Taylor shifts back on his heels, removes his hand from the microphone, and says to the waiting crowd, “Hang around. We’ll be back in fifteen.”

  Payton leans in so that I can feel her body heat against my back. She whispers loudly in my ear. “That means you’re on girl.”

  My heart is hammering as Ben winds through the crowd, brushing off two girls, to get to where we’re standing. The blue towel is draped over his shoulder and he’s pushed his sleeves up. The other guys are with him and we go through the awkward motions of introduction. Taylor, Connor, Nick. They all seem to know exactly who I am even though I’ve only officially met Nick before tonight. I’m not sure to take that as a good sign or a bad one.

  “Thanks for taking photos,” Taylor says to me, pointing at the camera that’s now hanging from my neck.

  Taylor is nearly as tall as Ben, with dark spiked-up hair and matching dark eyebrows, one of which is pierced with a silver stud. He’s got a lazy grin, roaming eyes, and a tattoo peeking from beneath the collar of his shirt. He’s exactly what I would expect from the lead singer of an indie rock band. “Ben told us that you’re a great photographer.”

  He did? I glance over, but Ben’s looking away. I see his hand lift in recognition and follow the path of his gaze until I settle on Mia, the too-cute replacement guitarist. She’s perched at the bar, with her elbows holding her up to the counter. She sticks her tongue out and makes a face. Ben smiles back wryly.

  I’m glad that no one but Taylor is watching me because I’m sure that all sorts of things that I don’t want the world to see pass over my face. This Taylor guy seems too self-involved to notice that I’m experiencing an internal meltdown, or that my stomach is burbling with so much anxiety that I’m about to throw-up on his shoes.

  “I—I don’t know about that, but I do think I got some good shots. I’ll make sure to get them to you once I’m through editing.”

  “Cool,” he says as he turns to the others and suggests a drink before the next set begins.

  Payton’s so absorbed in whatever Nick is telling her that she barely looks at me as she follows the guys in the direction of the bar. I hang back and so does Ben.

  “You were great up there.” My voice comes out all high and squeaky.

  Like he can sense that my heart is wilting, he sets his mouth in a grim line and stares down at his feet. “Thanks. It’s been a good show. The crowd’s been really receptive to all of our new stuff.”

  “Because you’re g-good,” I stutter stupidly. It’s like there are a hundred toothpicks sticking into the roof of my mouth. “I’m so glad that I finally made it to a show.”

  Ben’s eyes swing up to mine and I flush. His eyebrows are drawn in and the air around us is full of unasked questions. I’m sure that, like me, Ben is remembering the show at The Hill—the one that I never made it to.

  His eyes are sliding over the lines of my face. It’s like he’s reading all the words and sentences that are crammed inside my brain, stuffed under my crazy, aching skull. All the yeses and nos and shoulda-woulda-couldas.

  My bottom jaw hangs loose. I snap it shut and brush my bangs away from my eyes. I blink. Why can’t I remember what I’m supposed to be saying to him?

  Finally, when the awkwardness has reached a crescendo, Ben asks me why I decided to come tonight. “Not to be rude,” he says flatly. “I’m just wondering why.”

  My heart is thumping wildly in my chest. I know that this is when I’m supposed to come clean. This is that sparkling moment—that second chance—when I should apologize and tell him that I want to have the conversation that we should have had two months ago.

  But, all the bravery that I felt earlier seems to have washed away with the crowd and the music and the searching look in Ben’s eyes. He’s biting his bottom lip. He’s waiting.

  I force myself to shrug. “You asked me to take the pictures before… before winter break. I never did, and I guess that I wanted to prove to you that all that stuff is behind us now. That we’re good.”

  “Right.” Ben nods and shifts his weight to his other foot. He lets out a breath, hushed and fast. “We’re good and I’m glad.”

  But, he doesn’t look glad. In fact, he looks the opposite of glad.

  “Did you put that flyer under my door?” I ask because I have to know or I’ll break apart right here. “The one for the photography exhibit at the Pratt Gallery?”

  Ben winces and looks away. “Yeah…” he says slowly. “I thought you might be interested in submitting some of your photos.”

  “Oh.” I nod and try not to look too closely at his mouth. At his lips. “I wouldn’t even know what to take pictures of.”

  “Something you care about. Something you love.”

  I try not to pay attention to how his voice cracks on the last word. Love.

  “You’re talented, Ellie. And last week, I al—” He stops mid-word and presses the heels of his palms to his forehead.

  My brain is scrambling. “Last week?”

  “Umm.” His eyes drop. He tucks his hair back behind his ears.

  I get it now. He means the almost-kiss. The kiss-that-wasn’t. My lips tingle from the memory.

  He continues, “That was just—”

  I cut him off. “Yeah. That was nothing to worry about.” I wave my hand. “We don’t have to talk about it.” That’s code for: I don’t want to hear you say that you’re not interested in me anymore and that you’ve moved on to Mia, the fairy guitarist.

  “Right.” Ben’s smile is weak. “Right,” he says again, but nothing about this exchange is going right.

  We stand there for a bit longer, each of us uncomfortable and awkward in our own bodies. I imagine that Ben is anxious to get back to his friends, mayb
e Mia. He clears his throat, but he doesn’t say anything else.

  I’m feeling more and more like an idiot for showing up here. But, the truth is that I can’t be sorry that I got to see Ben perform.

  Sometimes things don’t work out like we plan. Like, maybe life has other things in mind.

  “Right,” I say softly like I understand. And maybe I do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Weird as Folk

  “That’s bullshit,” Mark says.

  I sit down back into my bed pillows and sigh. “Except that it’s not.”

  “Oh, Ellie…”

  Moving the phone to my other ear, I say, “It’s okay. I just want to not think about it for awhile. At least for this weekend.”

  It’s an extra long weekend. Four days in a row of no classes in honor of President’s Day.

  “Wait. Are you still going to go home?”

  I was planning to drive home this weekend, but now I’m not so sure that I want to. My parents will want to spend the next four days discussing my alternatives and strategizing, and I’m just not ready to do that. It’s too soon.

  I twist my fingernails in the fabric of my sweater and glance over at the unfolded letter resting on top of my green duvet. It’s my official rejection from Columbia. My throat is swollen with emotion and I’m full of a new kind of disappointment.

  Here’s what I think: it’s one thing to know that rejection is coming, and it’s an entirely different thing when it arrives.

  “Ellie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you still there?” Mark asks gently.

  “Yeah. I’m here.”

  “Are you going to drive home?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Dealing with my parents right now will be way too intense.”

  Mark makes a clucking sound. “What about Payton and Ainsley?”

  “Payton’s on a camping trip with some of her friends, and Ainsley left for the weekend to meet Brandon’s parents.”

  “So no one’s going to be at the house?”