by Amanda Cowen
“Yeah, that thing will sell itself in a day or two.” Ben said, but quickly added, “I am about twenty minutes away. What store are you in?”
“Nicole Miller.” I winced, embarrassed of my priorities. I still had yet to re-stock my toilet paper and toothpaste, but I was shopping for dresses I didn’t need.
“Okay, I will be right there. Don’t leave.” Ben said and hung up the phone. I paced around the store and eventually bought a less expensive version of the first dress I had found.
Twenty minutes later, Ben whisked through the doors just like he had said. I remember all the women who worked there checked him out when he waltzed in. It wasn’t unusual for women to become immediately smitten by Ben. I attributed it to a combination of his rugged good looks, paired with his noble confidence, and his ability to rock a smart and sexy grey pin-stripped suit (like the one he was wearing that day). He scanned the perimeters of the store with his soft dark eyes. When he spotted me, and a smile spread across his face showing off his bright white grin.
“What did you buy?” He asked and tried to snatch my bag to peek inside.
“None of your business” I said and shoved my bag under my armpit. Ben rolled his eyes and followed me out of the store.
When we made it out to the street, he immediately divulged into a plan. He suggested we go out for dinner then go back to his place to finish off our “Seinfeld” marathon for the ninth weekend in a row. I playfully moaned, but was secretly excited that the final season would come to an end. That way, we could pick a new series (my pick, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, Ben’s pick, “Dexter”) to continue our weekend tradition.
“So do you want to go somewhere around here to eat? Or somewhere close to my place?” Ben asked.
“Do we have to go out for dinner? Can’t we just get take out? I have been out all day and I really want to get out of these awful work clothes.” I said.
That’s when a flickering gleam lit up in Ben’s eyes, and with much enthusiasm, he suggested we go back to his place and cook a delicious dinner instead.
As a light rain sprinkled in the air, Ben and I ran to the Super Market and Wine Cellar on North Clark Street. Ben took over, whizzing around the store, selecting different vegetables, whole-wheat noodles, spices, and our favorite choice of meat (chicken). He would occasionally look at me and smile from ear to ear, delighted with his idea of becoming Chef Benjamin Romano for the night. While Ben checked out at the till, he asked me to go select a bottle of wine. I flashed him a few choices, but he ended up deciding on a forty-dollar Italian red wine called Bava Barolo. He insisted it was fantastic, and I laughed because he was always so serious about his wine. Unlike him, I would choose the cheapest bottle and go with that.
We made our way back to Ben’s swanky condo, overlooking the magnificent Grant Park and he started pulling out the groceries from their brown paper bags, and sprawled everything out all over his granite countertops. I began to help him sort through them, until he pushed me away and insisted he was going to do the cooking. He ordered me to pour us each a glass of wine, and to plop myself down on one of the stools surrounding his massive island. I watched Ben work his magic in the kitchen and whisk around from the fridge to the stove, back to the island for a sip of his wine, then back to the stove. He insisted on playing twenty questions, another one of Ben’s little idiosyncrasies when it came to passing the time.
Once he was done, he had made and assembled the most beautifully prepared pasta. He mixed chicken, zucchini, spinach, tomatoes and eggplant and topped it off with shaved Parmesan cheese. He also made a mixed green salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette. I even saw him whisking it together in the bottom of a large salad bowl, moments before his big reveal. I clapped at his masterpiece and said I never knew he had it in him to cook. Ben proudly smiled and said he was full of surprises.
Over dinner, he complained about how a new client of his demanded that Ben list their property way over its market value. Ben refused, which ruffled his client’s feathers a bit. But I wasn’t at all surprised by Ben’s blunt approach. It was his confidence and expertise that had led him to be the youngest top seller with Reitman Realty LLC for the past two consecutive years in a row. That was something I could only dream of, and as of last year I was thankful I even made a decent sale ranking.
Then Ben told me about how his sister recently lost a ton of weight (like went from Wynonna Judd size down to an Ashley Judd zero). I was impressed over this recent weight loss, because as long as I had known his sister, she had struggled with her weight. Then I brought up my obsession with Bachelor’s final three candidates, to which Ben rolled his eyes and told me I needed to get a real love life.
A bottle of wine later, and we had chatted about everything and anything. When I noticed it was getting late, I changed into a pair of Ben’s sweats and yelled out from the bathroom door for him to go and make us some popcorn before we started our “Seinfeld” marathon. But by the second episode on the third DVD of season nine, I couldn’t stop yawning. I asked Ben if I could stay over, and he smiled and said, “Of course” while I cozied up on the opposite side of the sofa. Although I can vaguely remember him slipping a blanket over me before he wandered off into his bedroom, I know I can clearly remember thinking how lucky I was to have him as my friend when I slipped into a slumber on his leather sofa.
But right now, all I can think about is how great that night was, how great our friendship was, and how much fun we had together doing absolutely nothing. While I debate whether or not to sit with Ben, or take my own lone seat on the bus, I yearn for that Saturday. I wish more than anything I had a pause button to freeze that night in time before things suddenly became weird and complicated between us. I think of Jerry and Elaine from “Seinfeld” who were best friends that once slept together. Heck! They even continued to sleep together in later seasons and they got along. I purse my lips together and wonder why we can’t be like Jerry and Elaine? So with “Seinfeld” as my influence, I make my final decision and plop myself beside Ben. I playfully nudge him and say, “Would you rather have a rewind button, or a pause button?”
Ben locks his eyes with mine and says, “Definitely rewind.”
Chapter 7
It was atrocious. For approximately two hours and fifteen minutes, Ben and I created enough sexual tension to drive me insane. The whole bus ride, every time I looked at him I wanted to kiss him, but of course I didn’t. Every time Ben would ask me another would you rather question, I found myself losing focus from his voice, and daydreaming to watch his lips. I ached so badly, even biting my lower lip without even knowing it. But when Ben saw this, he playfully pulled on it and I turned crimson red, thinking he knew exactly what was running through my mind. For both of us, it became a serious game of flirtation; something I was not accustomed too. Ben would twirl my hair and make suggestive comments, and I would respond by foolishly laughing and slapping him on the shoulder like a lovesick schoolgirl.
Then, when I asked Ben would he rather have sex with Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie, and his answer was neither; I made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes blazed in my direction and I knew exactly what he was thinking. I of course blushed and looked away. Ben rubbed his hands down his thighs and let out some nervous laughter. By this point, I couldn’t handle any more of our cat and mouse game. I couldn’t handle this forced and suggestive bus ride that made me feel like my best friend was slowly slipping through my fingers.
I missed the Megan and Ben who would creep Facebook together and make fun of the people who put inspirational quotes as their status. I missed the Megan and Ben who would sit and eat a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Heavenly Hash ice cream over a game of Battleship. I especially missed the Megan and Ben who would go for the occasional jog around Millennium Park on a Sunday, just to see all the tourists enjoy the great city of Chicago. So finally, when Ben says something awkward about missing out on the skinny-dipping. I have had it.
“Ben, what is this?” I whisper in a ster
n hush.
Ben looks around to make sure no one else is listening.
“We said what happened wasn’t going to affect our friendship. But right now, thismakes me feel like I don’t even know you.” There. I said it.
“Megan...” Ben lets out a huge sigh.
“No Ben, when you stormed off last night after dinner –“
“Megan stop,” Ben cuts me off, grabs my hand and squeezes it, “I wasn’t that drunk.”
“What are you talking about? It doesn’t matter if you were drunk or not, how you acted was –“
“Megan, I’m not talking about last night.” Ben whispers and pulls me closer. His warm breath tickles the nape of my neck and sends chills up my spine. I take a huge gulp, fully comprehending exactly what he is getting at, when he adds, “I don’t regret what happened between us, and if I could rewind time and do it again, I would.”
I feel myself being sucked into his gaze, losing control of every inhibition. But I snap out of it, and I remind myself he is my best friend and this thing between us could ruin everything. I nervously look away and remove my hand from his. While one part of me is mortified he admitted to not being that drunk, the other part of me is celebrating a small triumph. It’s relieving to know I am not the only confused over this whole ordeal. There is a small part of me that is secretly pleased he has been suffering and fretting over everything too.
But, before I can even respond, the bus comes to a complete halt. The tour guide’s voice booms over the intercom and announces our arrival. Ben and I hold an intense gaze for a few moments, before Jessica leans over our seat, “Are you two ready to zip line or what?”
****
Good God. The hike up the volcano is exhausting. Beads of sweat pour down Matthew’s face as he wipes them away with the back of his shirt. We are all geared up and ready to go, helmets, ropes and all. Jessica is leading our group using her beginner Spanish to communicate with our tour guide who can clearly speak the English language. She keeps on looking back at the rest of us hung-over-good-for-nothing friends of hers, but continues to beam smiles of pure excitement. I feel Ben graze up behind me, and it takes me a second to remember to breathe. He brushes his body against my backside and drapes his arm around my shoulders.
“Are you scared?” he asks giving me a tiny grin.
His voice sends chills all over my body, “I’m more scared of throwing up, than I am to soar hundreds of feet in the air and dangle by a rope over the jungle.” I say and feel butterflies saunter around in my stomach. I am not sure if it is just nerves or Ben’s touch, but I release myself from his grip just to be sure.
Ben laughs, and Eric hikes up beside us, “Well you better hope you aren’t behind me, because I am sure I am going to spew.”
“That’s disgusting!” Stephanie shouts from in front of us.
“Well it’s true!” Eric shouts back to her, “You can all thank Jessica and Michael for that when it happens.”
Jessica turns around and gives Eric the finger, as we all laugh our way up to the zip-lining platform.
The instructor goes over safety protocol and gives us some demonstrations, but I barely pay attention. Ben keeps on looking over at me and it is making me really uncomfortable. But for some reason, I stare back unable to shake away my sudden fascination with his lips. His dark brown eyes gleam in my direction, and his smile is so infectious, I can’t help but blush and smile back. When the instructor asks us who is going to go first, I pull my eyes out of my Ben tunnel vision and see Jessica immediately shoot up her hand, jump up and down and shout, “Me, Me, Me!”
No one argues with her and the rest of us fight for who follows. Finally Michael volunteers to go next, once Jessica gives him a dirty look. Eric suggests the rest of us decide over a proper game of rock paper scissors. He insists this will surely settle the dilemma. But the instructor quickly becomes annoyed, and pulls Stephanie and Michelle in line, then yanks me, to have Matthew and Eric follow, leaving Ben for last.
“Matt can I trade with you?” Ben asks adjusting his helmet.
“Sure man.” Matthew says and walks in behind Eric. I watch Ben stroll up behind me and give me a wink. I turn around and blush hoping no one saw that. But when I hear Jessica screaming and the buzzing of the zip-line, I know everyone is too occupied with fear to notice such an odd gesture from Ben to me.
“Wait for me on the other side?” He whispers in my ear as Michelle is hoisted onto the platform.
I nod acknowledging his request and take a deep gulp before the instructor yells and points to me, “You Muchacha. You’re next.”
****
When we get back to the resort, we trudge off the bus one by one. Jessica still remains her bubbly self, and suggests we have a quick rest before our dinner reservations tonight. Everyone agrees and we begin to chat about what an amazing day we had, thanks to both Jessica and Michael. Jessica beams and says they were honored to do something so nice for us since we have travelled so far and have done so much in preparation of the wedding. Eric gives Jessica a quick squeeze, thanks her, and says she is the best event planner ever. I see Jessica’s eyes go a bit bleak before she makes a point of saying, “Well, I was one of the best party planners in the Chicago, Illinois area.”
Michael lovingly pinches her cheek and says, “Not anymore”
Jessica immediately shoots him an icy stare, but composes herself and says out loud for all of us to hear, “That’s right. Now I am just your unofficial medical office secretary that works out of our empty mansion.”
Oh no, here we go. I really hope I don’t have to intervene in this fight. Michael opens his mouth to say something, but quickly slams it shut. After all the years they have been together, he knows better than to pursue a fight with Jessica, especially in public. She is relentless and doesn’t care who is around.
A few months ago, when we were shopping on Block 37 of State Street for wedding favors for their guests, I was subject to a public fiasco. Jessica forced Michael to come along, and insisted he had to do something in preparation of the wedding (because she claimed she had done everything). She also said his input was required, because she didn’t want his mother criticizing another one of her decisions. We shopped around from store to store, searching for the perfect gift. But after three long hours with no prospects in sight, Michael made the mistake of rolling his eyes when Jessica debated at Barnes and Noble over a book of love poems versus a bedazzled picture frame.
As soon as she caught a glimpse of his disinterest, she went off the rails. She called him inconsiderate and complained he had no interest in the wedding. She reminded him she waited just over ten years for him to put a ring on her finger, and stayed with him while he studied to become a Doctor, so his mother could brag to all her well-to-do friends about how wonderful her son was. All the while, people were walking by watching the dramatic spectacle unraveling in the gift section of the world’s largest bookstore.
So it is almost a relief when Michael just apologizes and tells her she’s right and he was the one who was out of line (which is hardly the case). Suddenly Jessica’s pout disappears and her eyes widen with glee. I follow her gaze, and I am shocked to see Steven standing a few feet away in the lobby. He smiles at me, walks in my direction and hands me a bouquet of tropical flowers. I blush, and thank him to hear Jessica squealing from behind me.
Stephanie and Michelle both chime in with, “Awe” as Jessica squeezes my arm and gives me a wink.
I immediately feel my stomach clench when Ben curiously appears beside me. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and sarcastically says, “Awe flowers...how original.”
I toss my hair off my face and sheepishly smile, “Yes Ben, they are beautiful. Thank you Steven.”
“I didn’t know you were that serious?” Ben mocks, looking from me to Steven.
Goose bumps rise all over my arms, and I can feel the blood boiling under my skin. I become humiliated and enraged with Ben’s snarky and condescending comments. Steven remains poised
and shakes it off with an awkward chuckle, “Serious or not, I thought all women loved flowers.”
I give Ben a dirty look and break free from his hold then smile at Steven, “Well I am a woman, and I do love flowers”
“Since when?” Ben laughs narrowing his eyes at me.
“Actually,” Steven shifts his weight and turns quite defensive “This was my attempt to persuade your friend Megan to have dinner with me tonight.”
Ben crosses his arms in front of his chest. He looks at me with his mouth slightly open, waiting for my response. I stumble through a bunch of noises that sound like a whole lot of nothing. Steven starts to look quite uncomfortable, and Ben basks in his own arrogance. This angers me, and reminds me this is the one quality about Ben that drives me nuts. He can be very intimidating, and sometimes I wonder if part of his realtor success is due to the fact that no one can seem to ever say no to him when he turns on his ego.
“I would be happy to go to dinner with you.” I finally blurt out, shooting eye daggers at Ben.
“So you’re just going to ditch all of us and our reservations for tonight?” Ben raises his eyebrows.
“Ben! Who cares?” Jessica squeals, “Megan, you know we won’t be offended if you have a change of plans. Besides, you two can meet us after dinner for drinks.” She blows me a kiss and walks away.
Ben rolls his eyes and looks directly at Steven, “Just so you know, she likes vodka waters. It’s a sure way to seal the deal.”
My eyes widen in shock at Ben and his complete disrespect. I give him a cold hard stare, feeling absolutely done with him. How could he be so rude? Ben doesn’t flinch from my telepathic waves of anger. Instead he twists his baseball cap backwards, and shoves his hands in his pockets. He wishes us a good night and storms through the lobby.
My heart is wrenched in two different directions. How could I possibly say no to Steven after he has so nicely put forth the effort to greet me and bring me a beautiful bouquet of flowers? Ben has no right to act or treat Steven or me like that. I look at Steven so handsomely dressed in a crisply pressed short-sleeved button up Lacoste shirt and smile. Steven isn’t the kind of guy who would lash out so immaturely like Ben just did. Steven is a refined taste, a real man.