by Everly Lucas
I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, she didn’t.”
“I didn’t see her again after that,” he says, still shaking his head as if trying to rattle the facts until they settle in a way that makes sense. “I swear, nothin’ happened after we…” He trails off, the blood draining from his face. We haven’t talked about this, yet. Hell, I haven’t seen or heard from him since he caught me and Claire making out.
“It’s okay. She told me what happened.”
“Fuck.” Andy pushes off the couch, pacing and scrubbing his hands over his face before turning to face me again. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Benny. That never should’ve happened. I spent all damn night pissed at myself over it.”
I comb my fingers through my hair—a nervous tick. These days, it’s a wonder I have any hair left to comb through.
“It’s not like I had any claim on her.” Claire and I never got around to having that talk. Sure, she’d told me she wasn’t going anywhere and that she needed me, but that doesn’t mean she was ever mine. No matter how much it felt like she was.
“Of course you did, man,” he says, coming back to sit on the couch. “You love her.”
“So do you.”
I’m still kicking myself over how blind I was to something so obvious. Andy never wasted an opportunity to spend time with us—with Claire. He made a genuine effort to know and understand her, and he accepted her for who she was. And the way he looked at her…
“It’s not the same,” he says.
“Bullshit. You may not love her the same way I do, but you don’t love her any less.”
My mind replays his hurt-fueled rage from yesterday. But he was right. Piece of shit friend that I am, I never thought him capable of loving a woman. I don’t mean the way he loves my mom or Leah, but romantic, forever love. Because I underestimated him, I let him down.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I should’ve seen it before.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes when he confesses, “I didn’t want you to.” His right thumb presses on the calluses on the palm of his left hand, and he focuses on that rather than looking at me. “You deserved her. I didn’t.” Knowing I’m about to argue with him and tell him what a fucking idiot he is, he holds his hand up to stop me. “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone, and maybe…maybe it’s for the best.”
He’s got to be kidding. Nothing that involves losing Claire could ever be for the best.
Sick of sitting, I take my mostly full coffee to the kitchen and dump the contents in the sink. Ceramic and stainless steel crash together when I slam the mug down with more force than I’d intended, and the sound echoes through the small space. When I turn around, Andy’s waiting on the other side of the wide slab of Bordeaux granite, not saying a word, just watching me.
It doesn’t take me long to crack and snap at him. “What?”
“I would’ve had to leave, Benny.”
I’ve been thinkin’ it’s time I get my own place. That’s how he’d put it yesterday. At the time, I thought he was just being dramatic. But, no, he was holding back—like he’s been doing for weeks—out of respect for me.
I nod, slow and subtle, before I’ve fully processed my thoughts. He’s right, of course. If Andy had ended up with Claire—if she’d chosen him instead of choosing to run—being near them, seeing them together day in and day out, would’ve been hell. Or a slow descent into madness. So, yeah, I get it.
“I know.”
“So, what now?” he asks, though I’m sure he doesn’t expect an answer. “We had her, Benny. We had her, and now we don’t. What the hell do we do now?”
Silence falls over the room and the two people occupying it. Leaning over the counter, forearms resting on cold stone, we say nothing. Is this how it is, now, this unfamiliar awkwardness after seventeen years of effortless friendship? If this is the new normal, Claire may as well come back, because her absence helps no one. I wonder if telling her that would change her mind.
I wonder if she’d answer her phone if I called. Probably not.
The peaceless quiet is broken by a single demanding bark from downstairs, followed by the sound of Cannoli pawing at the bells next to Andy’s door—his genius-dog way of letting us know it’s business time. I straighten, grasping at the first straw of normalcy to fall into my lap.
“Should we take him to the park?” At the very least, it’ll give me something to do that doesn’t involve collecting red hairs and listening to old school R&B breakup songs.
Andy’s concentration shifts from his hands to the top of the stairs and back again. Cannoli rings his bells a second time, and Andy shoves off the counter, taking a step back, and then another.
“Nah, man. I’m just gonna take him out and let him do his thing.” His hand is on the banister, his left foot hovering over the next step down. “I’ll catch you later.”
I don’t see or hear from him the rest of the day. Our friendship can survive this. I have faith in that. We’ll be okay…eventually.
Twenty-Four
Claire
I wake in a panic. My chest aches from keeping my wild heart caged in as it hammers away at my ribs, and my body fights back sobs that would surely rip me apart. Despite the oppressive heat of my bedroom, I’m breaking out in a head-to-toe cold sweat and shivering like a junkie in withdrawal.
What have I done?
Reaching for my phone on the bedside table, I check the time. Three o’clock. Exactly five days and eleven hours ago, I made the worst decision of my life.
This has happened two or three times a night since Saturday. I’ll be dreaming about Ben or Andy—we’re at the park, hanging out at their house, or at some random, vague place only dreams can create—when, all of a sudden, my eyes pop open and reality hits me like a wrecking ball to the heart. I’m never going to see them again.
The first couple nights, that thought was accompanied by, “What does life look like without them?” I don’t have to wonder anymore, though, because now I know. Life looks like a big steaming pile of shitty nothingness.
I’m not normally this bleak. I’ve been in some seriously dark places in my life, but I’ve always carried on. Life sure as hell will, whether I want it to or not. But this time, I’m figuratively crying in a corner and listening to U2’s “With or Without You” on repeat, pretty much at all times. And, okay, I may have done that in a literal way once or twice, too.
Fuck, I’m pathetic.
Life without them is also deafening in its silence. The TV is almost always on when I’m at home because I can’t stand hearing my own thoughts and nothing else. But instead of watching whatever show is on, my attention is always fixed on my phone, willing it to ring and praying it won’t.
On Sunday—the day after my world exploded—with no work to occupy my time, I was facing an entire day of phone-staring, and that was a severe depression waiting to happen. To save myself from that fate, I hopped on a train for an impromptu visit to my mom in York. She was thrilled to see me, and it took all the strength I had not to cry in her arms as soon as I saw her loving face.
Mom and I have never had that share-it-all kind of relationship some mothers and daughters have. I’ve never talked to her about my love life, so I certainly wasn’t going to confide in her about loving and losing two men at once. But she’s a mom, so she picked up on my heartbreak the moment I walked in her door.
Like me, she’s an expert worrier, and she peppered me with questions about my health, my ex, and my happiness or lack thereof. I had to throw her a bone to ease her mind, so I went with a half-truth—that I met someone I really liked, but it didn’t work out.
Most massive understatement ever stated.
She pulled me in for a mom-hug, and that was it. I couldn’t hold back the tears, anymore. It was such a relief, letting myself feel the pain that had been tearing up my insides. I have a habit of internalizing everything, and I could so easily have done that this time, as a means of survival. But it would’ve broken me a little bit more
each day.
I left York feeling, well…not better, but lighter. Which was a miracle, if you ask me.
As much as I wish I could go back in time and take back my goodbyes, and as much as the prospect of spending my life without Ben and Andy scares me to death, I know I made the right choice. I have faith in that, and that faith is what gets me out of bed each morning. I’d be lost without it.
But the weekend is almost here, breathing down my neck like some drunk guy at a club who won’t get off my ass. If only I could elbow it in the stomach to get it to back off. Sadly, time doesn’t work that way. So, as soon as work ends tomorrow, I’ll be staring down an entire forty-eight hours of nothing to do—not to mention my first Saturday without Ben in over a month.
Rolling over, I hug my pillow and cry fat, salty tears.
Twenty-Five
Ben
All week, my brain has been a bingo cage filled with the five stages of grief. Every day is another turn of the handle, with a new emotion plucked out at random.
Sunday was straight up denial. By Monday, I’d fallen into a depression so deep, my employees threw me concerned looks all day. My assistant even tried to convince me to go home and stop bumming everyone out—as if spending another day moping around the house would’ve put me in a better mood.
Midweek was anger because the scientific community needs to reevaluate its fucking priorities. Someone’s invented a sex bot that gives you the Girlfriend Experience—I kid you not—but no one’s figured out how to build a damn time machine? I was on the brink of kidnapping the entire Physics Department at Penn and holding them hostage until they could send me back to Saturday. Lucky for them, the anger subsided before I could figure out logistics.
And now it’s Friday, and I’m in my latest stage—outright refusal to accept that Claire is gone forever. That’s just not my life. My life is with her. The certainty of that runs soul deep, and no amount of time or distance can strip me of it.
Now I just need to figure out a way to make it happen. To make her mine, once and for all.
After our awkwardness on Sunday, Andy and I have seen each other daily. We’ve hit the gym, taken Cannoli to the park, and watched at least one episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer each night. We don’t talk about why we watch it. We don’t talk about Claire, period. Someday, we’ll get to a place where we can hash all this out and put it behind us, but that’s going to take some time.
It’s also going to take some space. Andy still plans to move out. It kills me, especially now, when I need my best friend more than ever. He was there for me through all the shit with my ex, but I can’t expect that same support when he’s just as torn up as I am…and over the same woman. For now, we’ll have to find ways of dealing with this without each other.
I understand why Claire felt she had to leave. She didn’t want to drive a wedge between me and Andy, and fuck if I don’t love her more for caring that much. But he and I drove that wedge just by falling for the same woman, and it’ll be months, years, before we patch up the gaping hole it left. What I wish she understood is that, even with her in our lives, and no matter which of us she’d choose, that hole still would’ve eventually ended up patched. That man is my brother, and family is for life.
Speaking of family, mine hasn’t let a day slip by without pestering me. They know something’s wrong—I haven’t exactly hidden it well. I’ve avoided Mom’s calls all week, and I send weak, one-word responses to Leah’s texts. That is, if I respond, at all. I know they mean well, but I’m not up for concocting a believable lie to explain away my broodiness. I just want to keep being broody, damnit.
So I’m not the least bit surprised when my doorbell rings and my sister’s standing on my front stoop, plastic Old Nelson bag in hand. She’s eerily quiet as she carries it to the kitchen, unloads two pints of ice cream, and hands me the Dulce de Leche.
In typical Leah fashion, she cuts straight to the point as soon as her ass hits my couch.
“How did you fuck things up with her?”
Am I that easy to read, or is she preternaturally perceptive? My money’s on both.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to Andy again.”
“That jackass has avoided me all week, so no.”
Total avoidance? I’m surprised she didn’t kick in his door to check his pulse. Not that she’d have found him. As far as I know, he’s been at the gym for hours.
“Have you so much as walked by a mirror lately? You look like shit, Ben.”
Sisters can always be counted on to tear you down when you’re already at rock bottom. Out of love, of course.
“You know you’re going to have to watch your foul mouth once you pop that kid out.” When I gesture to her stomach, I’m shocked to see a sizable bump under her fitted t-shirt. As far as I know, she and Henry have only been together a few months. Just how early in their relationship did he knock her up?
“No way. My child will be fluent in profanity,” she says, folding her hands over her tummy. “And French, since Mom insists on it. The added bonus there is that my little nugget and I can talk shit about people without them knowing. Now stop dodging the question. What did you do?”
I’ve been asking myself that same question all week long. I’d love to take some measure of blame for what happened Saturday. If I knew I did something wrong, I could find a way to make it right. I’m not saying I’m faultless, but I can’t pinpoint a single word I said or choice I made that I wouldn’t say or make if I had to do it over again.
“This one’s not on me. At least, I don’t think it is. We just…imploded, and she never wants to speak to us again.”
“Us?”
Crap. Poor word choice.
“Uh, yeah… Me and Andy.”
Leah shovels a spoonful of Caramel Cone into her mouth, assessing me as it melts. While her throat works on a swallow, I calculate the chances of her dropping this topic. The math is not in my favor.
“So, I guess you’ve finally realized he’s in love with her.”
I shoot her a puzzled look. How the hell did she figure that out, when it took Andy shouting it in a public place for me to finally get it?
My sister huffs out an exasperated breath, blowing a few brown ringlets out of her eyes. “He couldn’t have been more obvious about it, making googly eyes at her and going all quiet when she was around. Andy doesn’t do quiet, and you’re a dumbass.”
“Thanks.”
This time, she doesn’t wait for her bite of ice cream to melt before talking around it. “Can’t say I blame him, though. Your girl is the shit. Hell, even I’m a little in love with her.”
“That’s part of the problem.”
“What, can’t handle the extra competition?” She giggles, putting up her dukes…which happen to be holding a spoon and an ice cream carton. Not exactly lethal weapons.
“Cute. But what I mean is, I can’t blame him. And I can’t blame her, either.”
“I see…” She doesn’t try to suppress the knowing smirk playing on her cherubic face. “Realizations all around, huh? It’s about time. No wonder you look like shit fresh out the microwave.”
“Please, Lee, feel free to not hold back.” If I didn’t pay three-thousand dollars for this sofa, I’d flick a scoop of ice cream at her.
“Oh, come on! Mushy feelings were pouring out of you three, left and right. It was nauseating as fuck. And I’m a newlywed, for crying out loud—I’m supposed to be all pro-mush. But with you loving her, and Andy loving her, and her loving you…” My sister huffs out an exasperated breath. “You guys were driving me nuts.”
Wait…love? “No, she didn’t love me. At least, she never said—"
“Did you ever tell her you love her?”
Of course, I told Claire I love her. I told her every day…just, in my head. Not so much out loud.
“That’s what I thought. So why would she say it first, especially when she’s also in love with your best friend?”
“She’s not—"
/>
“Of course she is,” Leah says with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You used to be so smart, Ben. What happened?”
I won’t dignify that with an answer. Mostly because I don’t have one. Instead, I attempt to straighten out the tangled thoughts in my brain.
“Maybe you’re right, and Claire does love me. I don’t know. I know she feels something for me, or, at least, it felt like she does. Did. God, I don’t know.” Jumping to my feet, I pace the length of the sofa and back. Leah’s eyes follow me like swinging pendulums. “She said she needed me, Lee. And, fuck, she felt so…”
“‘Felt’? So you two…?” She shudders and feigns an exaggerated gag. “No. Ew. Let me rephrase. She got over her little problem?”
If by “little problem,” she means the massive roadblock that was Claire’s deeply ingrained fear of physical contact with men, sure. And if by “got over,” Leah’s referring to the remarkable strength it took for Claire to confront her worst fears…okay, fine.
“Yeah, she ‘got over it’. I finally met the real Claire, and she was—is—phenomenal. And when she kissed me, it was…” I can’t finish the sentence, I’m so overcome with the memory of the first time our lips touched.
“Okay, so progress was made, and yay for that. But how did she go from kissing you to leaving you?”
“She also kissed Andy.”
Leah’s jaw pops open and her eyes twinkle, managing to look awed and appalled at the same time. “That same day?” Appalled takes the lead, soon joined by disgust. “Wait—in front of you?”
“No. I mean, yeah, same day, but not in front of me. Andy…he’d come upstairs without us noticing. He saw us…together.”
She sucks air through her teeth and grimaces in sympathy. “Harsh.”
“Yeah. He didn’t take it well, ran out, and Claire went after him. When she came back, she told me he kissed her…and that she didn’t stop him.”