Friendzoned (The Busy Bean)

by Rachel Blaufeld

  Meeting his eyes again, I blurted, “Your patients must all fall in love with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t fish for compliments, Ben. Seriously, it’s not polite.”

  “I see now. You can take a girl out of her fancy digs, but she still has manners,” he teased, but not in a mean way. It only reminded me further about the way he used to joke with me.

  “Hey, that’s not nice.”

  He laughed, his smile widening. “You know I’m kidding. It’s okay to not always be so proper. You’ve got to let loose, Murph.”

  I nodded. “I know. But it’s tough because this is me. I’m wound tight.”

  “You always were. Even back when I liked you, and of course, I knew that you knew. I was pretty much Captain Obvious.”

  Looking down at my sandals, I sighed. “I wasn’t nice back then.”

  “You were nice behind closed doors.” His hand found mine and he urged me close again. “I always felt like I got to see the real you, the version no one else was privy to. For that, I was lucky.”

  “My parents wanted me to be a certain way.”

  “Well, you’re a grown-up now. Making your own way,” he said, tossing my earlier words back at me.

  “That’s right.”

  “Great.” He stood, dropping my hand. “What are you hungry for?”

  “Anything but scones.” I stood to meet him, and seeing myself in the mirror, I held up a finger. “Wait, my makeup.”

  “Forget it. Let’s go to the diner near my office. Best breakfast for dinner and pie you’ll ever have. You won’t see a soul. Come on,” he said, taking my hand again. “They’ve been around for over a hundred years. You don’t need to impress anyone there. Plus, you don’t need makeup.”

  “Ben . . .” I growled out his name, but he had my hand, and I wasn’t ready to let go. I didn’t even bother asking if they had a decent salad.

  7

  Ben

  Walking behind the Jeep to the driver’s side door, I tossed my backpack full of wet clothes in the back and cursed myself for getting involved in this. Murphy was a bad habit I couldn’t shake. I’d never been able to see the bad in her, and there was a lot of it. Then, like an idiot, I’d kissed her, as though I wasn’t punishing myself enough already.

  “Let’s go,” I told her.

  Ignoring the shitstorm in my head, I slid into my seat and turned the car away from Colebury and back toward Montpelier. I didn’t think the Colebury diner was ready for the interest we’d stir up by going there together, and I didn’t necessarily need my sister hearing any gossip about me.

  To be honest, I should have gone into the office, done some charting, and maybe focused on my latest pet project. I had some major things in the works, and getting distracted by Murphy wasn’t in the plan.

  “So, you came back here when? After Harvard?” Murphy asked, but continued to look out at the road ahead of us.

  “Yeah, I decided to do med school closer to home and be near my parents. I missed the solitude, or maybe just the quiet here. I’m not a recluse, but all that keeping up with the Joneses—where they were going, what they were doing, and how much it cost—it was too much.”

  It wasn’t like I was revealing anything Murphy didn’t know. I couldn’t stand any of that shit at Pressman either.

  “I guess I lucked out and matched for my residency in Burlington, and then landed a job in Montpelier when the orthopedic surgeon there retired. Funny, he was the one to take care of my broken arm before I came to Pressman, and also the one to send me for the second opinion on my ankle at Harvard. He was a good guy, big shoes to fill. Worked by himself for years. It wasn’t until his last five years working, they brought a second guy on.”

  “Must be nice,” she said softly.

  “What, the quiet? The regular old homebody part? Retiring,” I said, joking.

  “No. Being near your family.” Murphy’s face fell, sadness dulling her eyes. Even in profile, I could see wetness pool in them. Her family might be a bag of dicks, but they were still her family.

  “Seriously, are you going to tell me what happened with your family? What made you come to Vermont, working as a barista, making it on your own when you come from one of the wealthiest political families in New York?”

  Staring straight ahead, she breathed in, sucking back whatever emotion was ravaging her. “You mean you didn’t google me?”

  “No, why would I do that? I’m not even on Facebook or Insta-whatever-you-call-it. I definitely don’t sit around googling people. I prefer to get my information directly from the people I care about. I guess you can add ‘old soul’ to the list when describing me.”

  I risked a quick glance at Murphy and noted her neck reddening. I wasn’t sure whether fear or shame was causing it, but I didn’t want to push.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it. Is that okay?” When she finally turned toward me, her expression was as fiery as the ambush making its way up her neck and her hair. Her green eyes blazed, daring me to ask for more of an explanation.

  Having no desire to pressure her, I didn’t bite. We might have run hot and cold in prep school, but I knew Murphy’s tics and mannerisms, probably better than anyone, since we spent most of our time behind closed doors with our guards down.

  “Of course it’s okay,” I said gently.

  Murphy would tell me when she was ready. She might have thought it would be easier for me to force it out of her, but that wasn’t my style. Not to mention, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be involved in all this.

  I still couldn’t wrap my head around the contradictions that made up Murphy Landon. We’d done the push-pull thing for four years, and I thought I’d gotten over it. Yet here I was, pulling into the diner parking lot, about to share one of my favorite places with her.

  “Cute,” she said as I opened the door, not exactly the reaction I expected from the prep school princess. Then again, I didn’t think she’d ever eat here.

  “This place helped me survive the early days of working.” I pointed toward a booth in the back and she made a beeline for it, sliding into the bench seat facing the door.

  Taking a menu from in between the salt-and-pepper shakers, Murphy scanned the page. “What’s good here?”

  I realized this might have been a bad idea. “Well, I typically get the Biggie Breakfast, no matter the time of day.”

  She nodded, setting her menu down. “Your love of breakfast food is now coming back to me. You never missed it at school.”

  “Most important meal of the day. Plus, breakfast for dinner is a real delicacy. We used to have it all the time growing up.”

  “I’ve never had it.” Her words came out hushed, but I was pretty sure I heard her right.

  “What? Breakfast? Or breakfast for dinner?”

  “For dinner.”

  “Of course not,” I said glibly. “Not all of us can eat Beef Wellington every night of the week, though.”

  Her head dropped at my dig. “Please, I know that’s how the old us worked. I’d say something embarrassing, and you’d call me out on it. Back then, I’d laugh, but I’m not laughing anymore. Now I realize how horrible I was.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Murph. Shit, look at me. It was more of a dig at myself, you hear me? I was making fun of where I came from, and how I grew up. If anything, I was slipping into old habits, feeling sorry for myself and making jokes to cover it up. It’s an old defense mechanism, but not directed at you.”

  “Let’s just not go there. Okay?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Please don’t go there. The differences, all the poor-boy stuff you used to complain about. Guess what? Now I’m the poor little rich girl. Do you see me throwing that around?”

  “No,” I said softly, shame washing over me.

  Mildred, my favorite server, came over. “Hey there, Ben. Who is this you have with you?”

  She eyed Murphy, and I saw her through Mildred’s eyes. Wavy red hair, beautifu
l face and skin—almost angelic, and definitely too good for me. Murphy might have been dressed in jean shorts and a tank, but I was certain they were some designer brand.

  “I’m Murphy, an old friend of Ben’s.” She looked at Mildred and smiled. “I recently moved to Vermont.”

  “Is that so?”

  Murphy nodded. “I work at the Busy Bean over in Colebury. Do you know it?”

  “I do. Designer coffee, adorable furnishings, attracts all the young folk. We only do the old-fashioned drip here. No frilly stuff. Our pies and cakes are sweet enough, though.” Mildred gave it to Murphy, but I knew she was joking.

  “That’s good, since drip is the best kind. Don’t tell anyone I said it, though,” Murphy said, dishing it back.

  “Never.” Mildred mimed zipping her mouth closed. “You two need a minute?”

  I looked at Murphy and then remembered to ask Mildred, “Any specials?”

  “Chef’s salad with bacon instead of ham, and peanut butter and chocolate chip pancakes. Not together, of course.”

  “Oh, those sound good. I’ll have the pancakes and a coffee. Milk instead of cream?”

  Mildred shook her head. “Only have two percent.”

  “This is New England,” Murphy said with a grin. “I figured as much.”

  I was used to Murphy being sassy in private, but out in public was a whole new experience. I liked it.

  Mildred looked at me. “The biggie?”

  I gave her a quick nod, and she was off.

  “Looks like you’re going to have breakfast for dinner, finally.” I studied Murphy, trying to figure out where she was on the continuum of being okay with all this to being freaking out.

  “It certainly does. My damn sweet tooth gets me into trouble all the time. I’ll need to run an extra mile tomorrow.”

  “You look great, Murph. I know you’re not fishing for compliments, but let it stand for the record. You look great.”

  “Thanks,” she said, pushing her hair behind her shoulder. “Old habits die hard. Every time I eat something with actual flavor, my mom is sitting on my shoulder. I really need to shake her off. My shoulder, that is.”

  “You do.”

  “Hey, Mister I Wanted To Be Near My Family.”

  “I know. Guilty. But I make my own rules, do my own thing, and I don’t beat myself up for it.”

  “I’m doing the same. Making my own rules.”

  Conversation shifted into something a little less serious while we waited for our food. I admitted I was happy for football to be over. “It was a means to an end,” I said aloud for the first time.

  “You still look like you play,” Murphy said in what I assumed was a weak moment, a blush tinting her cheeks.

  “I go to the gym.”

  With that, our food arrived, and Murphy dug into her pancakes. Although she only ended up eating half of them, when she was done, she said seriously, “Pancakes for dinner may be the best dinner ever.”

  She seemed so sophisticated in high school, and now she was like a little girl experiencing life for the first time.

  “Thanks,” she whispered as we walked toward my car after I paid. “That was fun.”

  “Come here.” Snagging her hip, I dragged her close.

  “I don’t know what happened to the old Murphy,” I said, running my hand down her cheek. “But I liked that Murphy a lot. I was almost too wishful back then. But this Murphy is almost too perfect for me. Tell me this isn’t a dream.”

  I didn’t give her a chance to answer. Pressing my mouth to hers, I gave in to my urge to kiss Murphy. I didn’t care that we were in a parking lot, or that Mildred was probably watching from the window. Anyone from the hospital could run over here to pick up a takeout order.

  I. Did. Not. Care.

  Her lips were soft and a small moan escaped them, giving my tongue entrance. I kept it PG-13, only lightly caressing her tongue before moving back to closed mouth.

  I’d waited to do this for so long—almost forgetting over the last few years how much I’d been into Murphy back at prep school. Since then, I’d busied myself in work and other projects, trying to be a deserving man. I’d never wanted a spoiled woman, though. I couldn’t afford a high-maintenance woman’s wants or demands back then, and had no desire to do it now.

  At this moment, though, my mind was in overdrive as I continued to make love to Murphy’s mouth. My heart beat at a frantic pace at the possibilities, and then the skies opened up, rain pummeling us for the second time that day.

  Quickly pulling away, Murphy ran for the car, trying to cover her hair with her purse. “My hair doesn’t get a break here,” she mumbled to herself as we slipped into the car, our wet thighs sticking to the leather.

  Blinking hard, I froze. Her comment was like a knife to the heart.

  I guess she’s the same old Murphy. We just kissed like two long-lost lovers, and all she can worry about is frizzy hair?

  8

  Murphy

  “Well, thanks,” I said as we sat in Ben’s Jeep, outside the crappy duplex where I lived. He didn’t offer to walk me in. The closeness I’d felt earlier between us was gone.

  “It was fun to catch up,” he said, his tone a little curt.

  I told myself to open the door and get out. Old Murphy would have given him a megawatt smile and thanked Ben profusely, then primly got out of the car. But this was a version of myself I didn’t know. Jean shorts, sans makeup, finishing up a date at the diner for pancakes for dinner.

  “Is there something wrong? I feel like the air around us has changed. Did I do something?” The words fell from my mouth faster than I could control them.

  “Everything’s cool,” Ben said, refusing to make eye contact.

  Glancing at my place, I asked, “Is it where I live?”

  Now that got his attention.

  His head swung my way, and his eyes narrowed on me. “Seriously, that’s what you think? I know we haven’t seen each other in years, but you knew me when I had nothing. Do you think I’ve changed that much? That I would judge someone for where they live?”

  Taken aback at the rage rolling off him, I said warily, “You did say earlier you were judging how I lived now.”

  His blue eyes darkened, and his mouth went tight. I recognized that look. Ben was pissed. I remembered back at the after-prom party when Burnett accused him of settling for his sloppy seconds, and Ben lost it. His face had gone tight, and it took Scott Stephens’s steely strength to hold Ben back from punching Burnett.

  “Because this is not how I knew you,” he said sharply. “Jesus, we keep going in circles. You’re not how I remember, and when I ask why, you avoid the question. I think there’s something there, more than could have been between us in high school. Besides the fact that we were just kids, we were from two different worlds.”

  He shifted toward me in his seat and stared me down, his sexy five o’clock shadow momentarily distracting me.

  “Did you hear me?” he demanded. “I thought maybe you were here in Vermont as a sign, like it was our turn to be together. And then you go and talk about your hair.”

  “What?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “The fucking rain.”

  I glanced out the windshield. The rain had stopped again, but it had really poured when we were kissing. “What about the rain?”

  “All you could say was your hair was getting frizzy, Murph. We’d just shared what I thought was an epic kiss, and you were worried about your hair.”

  “Oh. I guess old habits die hard.”

  He slammed the steering wheel. “Don’t do that. You’re better than that. You pulled the same shit at Pressman. Oh, Miffy will be mad if I don’t get dressed up for her birthday party, or I can’t go to the hockey game with you because I have to go with my friends. Crazy thing was, I thought we were friends.”

  He swallowed hard, and I followed the movement of his Adam’s apple and watched the rise and fall of his chest.

  “You know wh
at?” he said with a scowl. “Let it go. This is on me.”

  “Ben . . .” I reached out and touched his forearm. It was so strong, and I couldn’t help but think of him playing football or working hard at his farm. I’d never seen the latter, but in my imagination, he was shirtless and surrounded by hay bales. “We were friends.”

  “Whatever. We were, and we weren’t. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. We were. And I thought the kiss was epic, but I don’t think it’s the best time for me to get involved with anyone. I’m working through a lot of stuff, and clearly, I have a long way to go. I’m truly sorry I hurt you. You make me want to get involved, make me want things I didn’t know existed for people like me.” Begrudgingly, I released my grip on his arm.

  Ben turned away to stare out the windshield. “Thanks, but let’s just forget it all happened. It’s been nice reconnecting and all that, but let’s keep this at old friends, okay? It’s for the best. I have a lot going on too.”

  In that instant, I suddenly knew exactly what Ben had felt like all those years ago when I put him quietly, and often secretly, in the friendzone at Pressman. He’d just stuck me in the friendzone box, and I wasn’t sure there were any passes to get out.

  With nothing left to say—I wasn’t going to beg for more—I opened the door. He hadn’t exactly fought for anything more years ago.

  “Thanks again,” I whispered. With my head low, I ran to my door and quickly unlocked the dead bolt before the tears fell.

  I’d made mistakes before, but this felt like something much larger than what had happened in New York, and that was devastating. But this—this felt like I was tossing away the only good thing I’d ever known, so I did the only thing I knew to do.

  I searched for a cheap packet of Sour Patch Kids.

  On Sunday, we were slammed at the Bean. With my hair stuck to the back of my damp neck and clenching my knees together because I had to pee so badly, I breathed out a desperate sigh of relief as Zara signaled for me to take a break.