by Amanda Cowen
Between Friends
By Amanda Cowen
Between Friends Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Cowen
HDIN:64-70-67-72-6f-75-70
DIN:105-109-108-121
*****
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my mother, my family and friends for their support.
Thank you to “the crew” for your life-long friendships and inspiring to me to write Between Friends. I can’t even begin to thank enough for being in my life all these years.
I owe a huge thank you to everyone who helped me out along the way and read the first drafts of Between Friends. (You know who you are. I love you all of you!). Trust me when I say that I couldn’t have done this without you.
Thank you to my earliest readers, Dina Morrone and Shayne Stolz for believing in me, in turn making me believe in myself.
And most of all thank you to my husband, my best friend.
*****
To Connley and Owen, with love
“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind”
- Dr. Seuss
Chapter 1
“What are you looking at?” Were the first five words Ben had ever said to me.
I had spent the last few minutes watching him meticulously sort out the red M&M's from a candy dish on top of the kitchen table before he shoved a pile of them in his mouth, “Do the red ones actually taste different, or are you just a weirdo?”
“What do you think?” he asked as a goofy grin spread across his face.
“I’m thinking weirdo.” I laughed, and tossed my long brown hair to the side.
Ben tapped his fingers on the table and bit his lower lip, “I’m thinking you’re wrong.”
“I think not.” I snapped back, and heard all our mutual friends snicker from behind me.
He quickly stuck his hand back in the dish and pulled out a single brown and red M&M, “Well then, I guess you’ll have to see for yourself.”
I rolled my eyes, and let Ben place one brown M&M into the palm of my hand. I popped it in my mouth and tasted its milk-chocolate flavour. When I was done, he proceeded to present me with the red one. His smug smile encouraged me to crunch down on the deal breaker with hopes of disproving his theory. But as the red candy coated texture began to melt in my mouth, I hated to admit it, but he was right.
“Well?” Ben asked with a playful glimmer in his eyes.
I nodded in defeat.
Ben triumphantly fist pumped the air and said, “Well, you passed the test. I guess that means we are going to get along just fine.”
That same night, back in the ninth grade, Ben and I ended up secluding ourselves from everyone at the party. We talked about anything and everything in a dark corner of my best friend Jessica’s basement. We quickly realized we had a lot in common. Our sense of humour was the same (deadpan and dry). He also had a father who cheated on his mother (as did I). He sometimes ate pickles for breakfast (also my favorite morning treat). We both preferred bare feet to socks; we both despised Halloween and dressing up in ridiculous costumes; and we both liked spicy food.
There was never a weird lull in our conversation or an awkward pause. I wondered where he had been my whole life, and I thought I had found the perfect friend. It worried me to think that if Jessica were to ever break up with Michael, (Ben’s best friend) I could potentially lose Ben as a friend forever (high school loyalties - you know how it is).
But luckily, their perfect love story lasted all the way through high school, right on through university, and into our young adulthood. It was no surprise when Jessica called me last year on Christmas morning screaming into the receiver that Michael had finally asked her to marry him. Everyone in our long-standing group of friends was so happy for them. After all these years, they were tying the knot, and even better they decided to do it in Costa Rica.
So after a long and winded day at work, I am more than thrilled to be boarding a plane in the morning for this highly anticipated wedding. I unlock my front door and scurry into my bedroom. I have so many things to do before tomorrow, and I haven’t even started packing yet. I flop down on my bed, and pull out the maid-of-honor checklist Jessica made me crumpled up on my nightstand.
Megan’s Maid-of Honour Checklist
By Jessica Marie Ellis (best friend and bride to be!)
1. Four No wait, FIVE pairs of Spanx (Michelle might need to double up. She didn’t lose the 10 pounds like she promised)
Ohmigod, Jessica can be so cruel. Our friend Michelle is far from needing to lose a few pounds. She may be more pear-shaped than the rest of us, but at least she has curves. I would give anything to add some curvature to this rail thin body of mine.
I toss the Spanx into my luggage and move on to the next:
2. Double sided tape is a MUST!!! Oh, and don’t forget to pack a little extra padding for yourself. Flat chests are a no - no on my big day.
Oh, the nerve of her. Just because I am not as well endowed as she is, doesn’t mean she has to remind me. I storm into my closet, rip out my strapless padded push-up bra and a roll of double sided tape to stuff into my luggage.
3. Breath mints. I prefer Altoids, but a Clorets will do. Stephanie always has raunchy breath. It is your duty to make sure she has a pack at all times.
I am actually starting to wonder if Jessica is losing her mind. I am not running out right now to grab a million packs of Altoids to have on hand at any given moment. She can purchase them herself at the gift shop inside the airport tomorrow morning. If she wants to micro-manage our friend Stephanie’s breath mint consumption, than all the power to her. I will not.
I scroll down the list and come across one ridiculous request after another:
4. “Something Borrowed” – You are in charge of this. It better be good. Or else…
5. Completed first draft of MOH speech. (Hopefully you have already completed the second draft, but I am giving you a little leeway here)
6. Aspirin (I may need this after the Bachelorette party…You know how I get…)
7. Turquoise Bridesmaid Dress (If this is forgotten you are a dead woman!!!!)
Number seven makes me chuckle. To some, this obvious item may be a given, but Jessica knows me well enough to know I would forget my head if it weren’t attached to my body.
I move my finger all the way down her impressive list to item number 105. I think my heart stops when I see the one thing I don’t want to do:
105. Get Emily Waterford to answer all work related calls.
I cringe at Jessica’s request. She doesn’t understand how being a realtor in the city of Chicago is not a life of freedom. After Jessica quit her glorified party-planning career in public relations, following Michael’s recent graduation from Med School, she has forgotten what life is actually like for a single workingwoman.
I turn beat red, when I see item number 105 is followed up with a subsection:
105.1. These calls cannot, under any circumstance be forwarded to Ben’s phone. I don’t care that you work for the same company, and I don’t care if he is wheeling and dealing his listings from Costa Rica. YOU WILL NOT!!! Understand? I need your focus to be on the wedding and me, not what property you have listed this week.
Uggh! How did she know I was thinking of tricking her and doing that? I will have to text Emily and let her know I will need her assistance after all. I am sure Ben won’t mind though, he has enough clients to keep his phone ringing off the hook all week while we are away. At least this way, Ben and I won’t have to sneak around behind Jessica’s back to transfer any work related messages.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand. I jump with fright and snatch it up in my fingers. I secretly hope it’s the Wilson’s
ready to make an offer on that spacious four-bedroom ranch style house in suburbia…
But it isn’t, it’s Ben.
“Hey there pretty lady.” He laughs into the phone, and I can tell he may have had a few too many drinks. During our university years, whenever Ben drank alcohol, he seemed to turn into a cowboy, even though he has never been to any wide-open spaces, or even seen a horse.
“What do you want?” I laugh into the phone and continue to make checkmarks along Jessica’s list.
“Where are you?” He asks.
“At home packing, and going over the maid-of-honor checklist Jessica made me.” I chuckle and hear Ben do the same. I pause and listen to the murmur of voices in the background and ask, “Where are you?”
“Are you hungry?” he asks completely avoiding my question. I glance at the clock and see it is already quarter after seven.
“Maybe,” I tease, “Shouldn’t you be at home? We leave early in the morning, remember?”
“I had a date, but I think it’s safe to say I was stood up. I’ve been waiting here for over an hour." He sighs into the phone.
“Are you serious?” I laugh and think something like this would only happen to Ben. He always dates the same type; blonde, young, and dumb.
“Laugh it up chuckles.” Ben moans, “Anyway, I am a block away from your place at Third Rail Tavern. Do you want to meet me for a bite to eat or what?”
I glance down into my suitcase, a disorderly heap of last year’s summer outfits. I contemplate telling him no, worried Jessica would freak if she knew I went out without completing my checklist. But when my stomach begins to rumble, I decide I have no other choice. Besides, it's just a couple of harmless hours. If Ben is allowed to be out and about and he is Michael’s best man, then I don’t see what the big deal is.
“Alright, I will be there in twenty minutes” I say and flip my suitcase shut.
“Awe Megan, you’re the best”
I haven’t been out for so long; I have forgotten what a bar looks like on a Friday night. Leave it to Ben to pick the least romantic setting for a first date. I’m sure who ever this mystery girl was, she must have taken one look at this place, turned around, walked out the door and thought, what a chump. I push through the crowd of people, and see Ben sitting alone at the bar. He is wearing a backwards baseball cap and a tight fitting solid black t-shirt that emphasises his muscular build. He smiles when he sees me, and ushers me into the chair beside him.
“Whoa” I choke from inhaling his cologne, and fan my hand in front of my face, “Are you sure she didn’t leave after she got a good whiff of you?”
“I thought the ladies liked a man who smelled good?” Ben smiles and takes a sip of his rum and coke, then proceeds to wave over the bartender, “Can you get her a vodka water please?”
The bartender smiles at him, and flicks her bleach blonde hair to the side, “Sure thing buttercup.”
She bends down in front of us and pulls out the vodka from the bar rail. Her huge melons pour out of her teeny tiny t-shirt and I catch Ben staring down at them.
“What?” He laughs, caught red handed.
“You're disgusting,” I whisper only half joking.
“Come on Megan, what do you expect? I’m a guy.” He leans back in his chair and reaches across the bar to pull over a vacated menu, “What are you in the mood for?”
“Pretty much anything.” I shift uncomfortably on the wooden bar stool.
“Really? Anything?” Ben raises his eyebrows.
The bartender returns and slides me my drink, and uses this as her opportunity to wink at Ben. He basks in the attention, and gives me a smug grin. “Okay, how about I get us some wings and nachos.”
“Sure thing buttercup,” I sarcastically snort and take a sip of my stiff drink. Ben rolls his big brown eyes at me and relays our order to the bartender. I feel my phone vibrate in my purse, so I pick it up and see Jessica has sent me a text.
See you in 11 hours! Can’t wait!
I giggle and flash my text from Jessica at Ben, “The countdown is on.” I say in a singsong voice.
Ben chuckles and swirls his drink, “Can you believe they are actually getting married? They have been together since we were fourteen. Who even does that?”
He enjoys his last gulp of rum and proceeds to wave down the trampy bartender for another.
“Well, they are in love” I tease, because I know Ben and I are not on the same page about this. He doesn’t believe in love, while I differ that love does exist. It just requires a prenuptial agreement. Unfortunately for us, our outlook on love may be the exact reason why we are both still single on the brink of our twenty-fifth year.
“Oh please” he moans, “Their sex life must be so vanilla.”
“Well at least they are getting some, even if it is vanilla.” I laugh.
When Ben doesn’t reciprocate a chuckle, it quickly becomes silent between us. We glance away from each other and take a long sip from our drinks. I know we are both experiencing a dry season in that department. I am going on six months, while he is probably only on a measly thirty days, but still.
The bartender returns with another round of drinks and our food. We eat in silence, inhaling our cheap bar garble. I watch Ben eat like a caveman and get wing sauce all over his face and fingertips. When I tell him he looks ridiculous, he chomps down into a drumstick and goofily smears his sauced fingers over my cheek. I gasp and I retaliate by shoving a pile of nachos in his face. We both burst out laughing and the song “You’re my Best Friend” by Queen just happens to fill the bar. I can’t help but think over the past couple of years Ben has truly taken the place of Jessica. Especially once Michael and she moved out of the city and into the suburbs.
He wipes his face and slams back another drink, “Alright. Hear me out. We all know you are lacking in the department of getting some.” He immaturely makes a thrusting action with his hips before he leans on the bar top and whispers, “How about we flip a coin for it.”
“How is flipping a coin going to help me in the department of having sex?” I ask biting into another nacho.
“Heads we do it, tails we don’t.” Ben says completely serious.
I practically choke. Never once have we ever talked about us doing that! We have been nothing but friends since the day we met. Besides, it doesn’t even make sense. Why would Ben want to sleep with me? I am a tiny brunette with small boobs and a brain, while he is more into sleeping with tall blonde models that don’t speak the English language.
From my perspective, it is not like I don’t find him attractive. Matter of fact, he has totally changed over the years from a sweaty pimpled teenager into a tall, broad and gorgeous man. The way he rocks a five o’clock shadow is breathtaking and his tanned skin is flawless. His dark eyes suck you into their mystery and even wrinkle around the edges when he smiles. His teeth are perfectly straight and pearly white, not to mention his spectacular physique.
“Come on.” I laugh and playfully punch him in the shoulder.
“No I’m serious.” he says and waves over the big-breasted bartender for us to order another round.
Suddenly, I am starting to feel the four or five vodkas I slammed back in the last hour rush to my brain. Ben has always been known to get me to drink way more than I should. But for some reason, even though I know this is a bad idea, I can’t stop myself when I ask to amuse his bet, “Can I flip the coin?”
“Sure.” Ben smiles and leans back in his chair.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” I joke, suggestively rubbing my hands down my body.
He strokes his chin and takes a sip of his drink, “Oh, Megan Daniels you are too much.”
“Oh, Benjamin Romano, I think you have yourself a coin toss.”
Chapter 2
Ouch! My temples are pounding! I roll onto my side and put both hands to my head. I apply pressure to prevent my brain from exploding due to my vodka hangover, and it doesn’t help matters when persistent beeps blare from my
alarm clock. With much effort, I whack the snooze button and groggily sit up on my bed. The neon lights flash five-thirty in the morning and cause me to let out a monstrous moan. Great. I have to be at the airport in less than two hours. I flip off my covers and gasp when I realize I’m naked. I whip my head around, hazily remembering the events of last night.
Please don’t let him be here. Please, Please, Please.
I rip away my sheets and wrap myself in a cocoon of silk. I am stunned silent when I see Ben lying on my bed in nothing but his birthday suit. His muscular back stretches down from my pillow straight into the middle of my mattress. I stand over my bed, frozen and unable to move. My stomach churns as I watch him peacefully sleeping with his arm draped over the side of my bed.
I exhale and force my eyes shut, trying to shake away my thoughts – this was a big mistake. I rarely make such irrationally impulsive decisions, for the exact reason I would never want to be feeling what I am right now. Regret.
More than anything I want to rewind the events of last night and erase them forever. But I know it is too late. My whole life I prided myself on not being “that girl” who had meaningless one night stands. Instead, I restricted my love making abilities to serious boyfriends only. Even amongst our group of friends, they pinned me as the mother hen and the girl with her head on her shoulders. I was proud to say at twenty-four years old, I had only slept with three men (all serious boyfriends) and nothing in between. Unlike my other two girlfriends, Stephanie and Michelle, who went through more men than underwear, I never once had a random drunken sexual encounter. But even though it was petty, I felt like I had accomplished something they hadn’t.
When my last boyfriend, Marco, dumped me, my friend Stephanie suggested that to get over him, I should let loose and experience the thrill of sleeping with a stranger. I laughed and told her even though I didn’t believe in love, I did believe in self-respect and self-discipline. I graciously thanked her for her unwanted insight into my love life, and said that didn’t really excite me. Stephanie rolled her eyes and said, “Ohmigod Megan. When are you ever going to live a little?” I snapped back that I did live a little, just not with weird random men sweating all over my body. But for some reason, as I stare at Ben, he may as well be a perfectly good stranger snuggled up against my pillow.