Chapter Thirty-Eight: Regret

Abby

*

I slumped into my apartment after a long day at the Intuition offices.  I met with Elizabeth for two hours, going over my September and October itineraries and editing my current piece.  She loved the personal information, but had a lot of comments on my coverage of Spain.  After that, a teleconference with Helen to go over the same piece produced similar results.

*

With the column finally given the green light to be sent to New York, I hailed a cab, too exhausted to walk, and made my way home.  Well, as much home as my flat could be without Ben.

*

I flung my body onto the couch, not bothering to take off my jacket or shoes, and settled in for a nice long nap when Lottie’s familiar knock sounded on my door.

*

“Ugh, go away,” I called half-heartedly.

*

“No chance of that!” she sang as she glided through the door.  “They brought me your letters again.  Since when do you read Sports Illustrated?”  She dropped a bundle of bills and magazines onto my lap, SI right on top.

*

“Oh my God!  I can’t believe it’s here!” I squealed, unable to answer her question.  I ripped the plastic wrap off the cover and sat up at the same time.  Lottie slid onto the couch, taking the space where my head previously rested.

*

“What’s so exciting about a sports magazine?”

*

“Well, him for one thing.”  I pointed at Dejuane on the cover, but didn’t really give her time to look before flying through the pages and reaching the article on Ben’s business, “and him, for another.”

*

Lottie gawked at the picture of Ben filling up the left hand side of the page and turned her eyebrows up at me.  “So your man’s an athlete?”

*

I sighed.  “He’s not my man anymore, I don’t think.  And not exactly.  He owns this athletic complex.  Well, here, read the article with me, you’ll see what it is.”

*

She shrugged her shoulders and scooted closer to me on the couch.  I flipped the page and started at the top.  Each new sentence, each new paragraph filled my heart with a deep sense of pride.  Ben was such a good man.  He’d done such a wonderful thing with his life.  And I had been lucky enough to be loved by him, even for just a little while, even if I’d ruined it by leaving.

*

Silent tears sprang from my eyes by the time I reached the end of the article.  I could just imagine Ben, sitting in his office, reading the same words.  I wanted to call him, congratulate him.  Tell him how wonderful he truly was, how the article couldn’t even capture half of his generous spirit and kind heart.  I actually attempted to find my phone in my purse, before realizing I was probably the last person he would want to hear from.

*

Lottie finished reading a few minutes after me and tugged the magazine out of my hand to get a better view of the pictures covering the pages.  “Ab, why’d you break up with him again?  He seems fantastic,” she asked, never lifting her eyes.

*

“I don’t know.”

*

Ben

*

Two weeks after the SI article came out, it was still all I could think about.  I got calls from dozens of new investors once the issue hit newsstands and the owner of the Red Sox called me personally to congratulate me!  He even wanted to come to the complex and take a tour.  Money came pouring in and for the first time in over a year, all Steve had to say was “Congratulations.” I was elated, to say the least, but tried to remember my duty to my friends as I approached South St. and the restaurant where I was meeting Matt and Trish for dinner.

*

“Matt, what do you want to do for your bachelor party?” I asked, joining him at a table.  As far as I could tell, Trish hadn’t arrived yet.  It was a weeknight, but most of the tables were full and the lights had already been dimmed.

*

“I don’t know.  I hadn’t thought about it.”

*

“You haven’t thought about your bachelor party?  I thought that was the reason you’re getting married!”

*

“Very funny.  I guess I don’t really feel like a bachelor.  We’ve been together forever.”  He scanned the menu and sipped a beer, looking as if he could care less about the end of his bachelorhood.

*

“We gotta do something.  I’m your best man, it’s like the law that I throw you a bachelor party.”

*

He continued looking over the menu, ignoring me.

*

“We don’t have to do the stripper, cigar, get-drunk-off-our-asses bachelor party, but we should do something.” I grabbed my white cloth napkin off the white tablecloth and put it in my lap, looking around for the waitress at the same time.  I really wanted a beer.

*

“Whatever you want, man.  But definitely no strippers.  Trish would KILL me.”

*

“Now who’s whipped?”  I snorted.

*

“Yeah, yeah.  Laugh it up.  Just tell me where and when and I’ll be there, but seriously: no strippers.”

*

“I think you know me well enough to not worry about that.  Strippers aren’t really my thing.”

*

“Yeah, I know.”

*

Trish walked up at that moment and bent over to kiss Matt before sliding into the chair beside him. “What’re you boys talking about?”

*

“Oh, just the usual, strippers, getting wasted,” I teased.

*

“Riiiight.  Ben, I saw the article.  It was fantastic.  Congratulations!”

*

“Thanks.  Yeah, I think it turned out pretty good.  Did you see the page on Dejuane?”  Picking up the menu, I perused the entrees, and tried to mask my true excitement.  I didn’t want to monopolize the conversation, but I also wouldn’t have minded talking about it all night.

*

“Yeah.  It looked good, too.  We’re so proud of you, aren’t we Matt?”

*

“Of course.  Good job, man.”

*

Shaking my head at Matt’s disinterest, I thanked Trish again.  I knew he was happy for me; he just wasn’t the type to show it.  Trish moved on to discussing the wedding and my article seemed forgotten, until the check came and she insisted on paying for me to celebrate it.

*

We were leaving the restaurant after a delicious dinner, when a familiar laugh caught my attention.  My heart skipped and I whipped my head around quickly, trying to find the source.  Scanning the candlelight tables, I found it, in the back corner of the restaurant.  Anna.

*

My brain couldn’t stop my feet from carrying me over to the table where Abby’s siblings were having dinner.   Anna’s laughter stopped as soon as she saw me, but her smile remained plastered to her face.

*

“Ben!  Oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you!”  She hopped up from the table and I couldn’t help but stare at her protruding stomach.  She hugged me firmly, and I actually felt a little punch in my abs.

*

“Anna, you’re pregnant!  Congratulations!”  I grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly, trying to wrap my brain around this new information.  It seemed like something I should have already known, but Abby and I hadn’t talked in months, so how could I have?

*

“Yeah, thanks!  I’m due in November. You should see Will, he’s so excited.  He keeps coming home with baby shoes and shirts and toys.  This little girl is going to have him wrapped her little finger.”  She patted her stomach and grinned back at me.  She was glowing.  A little girl.  My stomach lurched.  At that moment, there was nothing I wanted more in life than a little girl with my throwing arm and Abby’s green eyes.  Snap out of it, Ben.

*

“I’ll bet.  Man, I can’t believe it.  I’m so happy for you.”  I hugged her again then turned to greet Derek and Ashley.  Both got up from their seats, Ashley hugged me, and Derek shook my hand.

*

“It’s good to see you,” he said, griping my fingers, “how are you?”

*

“I’m alright.  How are you guys?”

*

“We’re blocking the aisle, let’s sit down,” Ashley motioned to the server trying to get around us and I took the empty chair beside her.  “Ben, we’ve missed you.”

*

My face grew hot, so when a waitress passed I asked for a glass of water.  “That’s nice of you, Ashley, but we don’t need to go there.  What’s new with you all?  Other than Anna’s pregnancy?”

*

“Not much,” Ashley answered.  “We were actually just talking about Abigail.  She was right about this place, the food is delicious.”

*

As she spoke, alarms went off in my head.  I looked around and realized this was the restaurant we’d gone to on our first date.  The waitress who set a glass of ice water in front of me looked familiar.  Had she been our server that night?

*

Ashley didn’t seem to notice my anxiety attack, because she kept right on talking, “Oh, and her latest article came out yesterday, did you see it?”

*

I gulped the liquid down before responding, “Um, no, can’t say that I have.  I guess I’ll have to pick it up.”  Yeah right.

*

“You should.  I think you’d find it interesting.”

*

“Yeah, well, um, I think I’ve interrupted you long enough.  I know your siblings’ dinner is kinda private.”  Hastily standing up, I gave a half-hearted wave and headed for the door.  I barely heard their cries of “goodbye,” as I joined Trish and Matt.  They had paused to wait for me.

*

“What was that all about?”  Trish asked as Matt held open the door.

*

“Abby’s family.”

*

“Ah.”

*

“Matt, I’ll call you about plans for the bachelor party.”  I turned away from them and hopped on my bike.

*

“What bachelor party?  Wait, were you guys serious when you said you were talking about strippers?”  Trish shot daggers at me with her eyes, but I just chuckled and revved my engine.

*

“Not completely.  Good luck, Matt.” Pressing my helmet over my head, I kicked into gear and zoomed out of the parking lot.

*

On the way home, I thought about what Ashley said about Abby’s article.  I realized I hadn’t read a single one since she’d been gone.  A momentary sense of guilt came over me, soon replaced by resentment.  How could anyone even imagine I’d want to read those articles?  They were the reason she left Boston, the reason she left me.  Vowing to never look at them, I turned into my driveway and went inside the house exhausted.

*

The last six months had put me through every conceivable level of hell.  Anger, pain, betrayal, guilt, remorse, love, and even more pain.  The muscles in my neck and shoulders strained against the stress and I tried to work out the knots with my knuckles.

*

Six months and I couldn’t get over her.  Six damn months.  Fury kept growing inside me until I was so frustrated I balled up my fist and punched it through the wall.  The plaster gave way as stinging jolts rushed through my fingers and blood trickled onto the floor.  Pulling my t-shirt off, I wrapped it around my bleeding knuckles and stretched out on the couch, thankful to the physical pain replacing the ache in my heart.

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-Seven: Angel in the Outfield ******************** Chapter Thirty-Nine: Another Wedding –>

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Angel in the Outfield

Ben

*

July faded into August and the collection of artifacts on my dresser grew to include Abby’s pink Red Sox hat, which I found a week after my birthday hiding under my bed.

*

When I couldn’t sleep, which was pretty often, I’d take her note out of my wallet and re-read the words I’d already memorized.  Some nights the audacity of her phone call and gift would make me livid.  My fists would ball up around the paper and throw it, crumpled, on the dresser along with the other souvenirs.

*

Inevitably though, the next morning, I’d smooth out the wrinkles, neatly refold, and put it back in my wallet.  On those days, I’d seriously consider booking myself on the next flight out of the country, but even the thought of seeing Abby again wasn’t enough to get me through six and a half hours on a plane alone.  At least, that’s what I told myself.  Then, thinking of the distance, fire would rise in my chest and head until I was so pissed off at Abby for leaving, I couldn’t think straight.

*

I repeated the same pattern over and over again, but couldn’t bring myself to dismantle the shrine in my room.

*

“Ben?  Ben! Man, snap out of it!”  Dejuane had to clap his hands in front of my face before I registered that he was in my office.

*

“Oh, sorry.  When did you come in?”

*

“A few minutes ago.  God, you’ve been outta it lately.  Please tell me it’s not still about your woman.”

*

“Says the boy who came to me blubbering like a baby when Sarah broke up with him.”

*

“Man, that’s cold.  That was different, she was already hookin’ up with one of my teammates.”

*

“Yeah, I’m sorry, that was a low blow.  What’s up?”  Swinging my legs until my feet were propped up on the desk, I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in my chair.  Dejuane held out a slip of paper.

*

“I need letters of recommendation for my college applications.  You mind?”

*

“Not at all.  When do you need them by?”

*

“End of the month?”

*

“Sure, that’s no problem, but why so soon?  School hasn’t even started yet.”  I looked over the list; he was applying to twelve different colleges, all over the country.

*

“I wanna get the applications done and out of the way, so I can focus on my game and getting scholarships.  I won’t be able to send them in until after first semester, but they’ll be ready to go.”

*

“How did you get such a good head on your shoulders?” I asked him, amazed at his foresight and dedication.

*

“I don’t know, I guess I had some pretty cool people to look up to.”  He laughed, heading towards the door.  “Hey, the magazine comes out tomorrow!  I can’t believe I’m going to be on the cover of Sports Illustrated!”

*

“I know, it’s crazy.  Who’d want to put your ugly mug on the cover of a magazine?”

*

“Ugly?  Shoot, you wish you were half as good looking as me.”  He strutted out the door, swinging it closed behind him.  I chuckled, feeling blessed to have the kid in my life.

*

I paused after writing the first draft of his letter to check my email and noticed a new one from Gwen.

*

Hey Ben- the article comes out tomorrow.  I’ve messengered over some advance copies for you and Dejuane.  They should arrive this afternoon at the complex.  Let me know what you think!  Gwen

*

Hitting reply, I thanked her, promising to write again as soon as I read it.

*

When the package arrived an hour later, I dropped everything to rip it open.  Gwen sent ten copies, five for me, five for Dejuane.  My mouth stretched into the biggest grin I’ve ever worn as I examined the cover.  Pride.  It was the only word to describe the emotion building in me.  Pride in Dejuane, pride in myself.

*

I scanned the table of contents and found the page with the article.  A picture of myself standing on the baseball field filled two pages with the headline, Angel in the Outfield: Boston’s Athletic Philanthropist.  The title was new.  Gwen tossed several around, but I’d never heard this one.  My face flushed and my palms grew slick as my fingers fumbled with the corner, trying to separate the pages.

*

Benjamin Harris (29, Boston, Massachusetts) is not your typical philanthropist.  He doesn’t donate millions of dollars every year to numerous charities supporting a wide range of causes.  He doesn’t attend benefits or openings of new medical facilities.  Instead, he spends his days on a baseball field, a basketball court, a golf course.  He spends his days providing a safe haven for the kids of Boston.

*

Not exactly the life most children of privilege choose for themselves.  And that’s exactly how the humble Harris describes himself: a child of privilege.  Growing up in Brookline, a wealthy suburb just to the west of Boston, his parents held important roles in the community.  His father was a successful prosecutor-turned-judge, his mother a respected pediatrician.  He attended Tufts University, then Harvard Business School.  “I wanted for nothing,” he explained.

*

With MBA in hand, Harris could have followed in his parents footsteps and gone to medical school or law school.  Instead, he used his trust fund to build Inner City Sports, an athletic complex situated just north of Dorchester that houses basketball, tennis, and volleyball courts, swimming pools, golf course, and baseball field in addition to fitness center, ticket office, sports bar, and memorabilia store.

*

While the complex itself is an amazing achievement, the real story lies in Harris’s motivation for building it and the way he chooses to run it.

*

At the age of 17, Harris joined the Delta Tau Delta fraternity, and volunteered for the Big Brother program at the local YMCA to fulfill his required philanthropy hours.  “I had no idea what the meaning of compassion, or charity, was before I joined Big Brothers,” Harris smiled as he described his first year at Tufts.  “I just wanted to party and have fun, and the frat said I had to do volunteer hours.”  Don’t let his modesty fool you, though.  He put in more hours in his first year with the Big Brothers than the entire senior class of Delta Tau Delta combined.

*

It was while working with Big Brothers that Harris met Dejuane Jackson, then a five-year old kid living with his mom in Roxbury.  With no funds for childcare, and no father at home to provide Dejuane with a positive male role model, Mrs. Jackson signed her son up for the program at the Y, hoping he would find a better way to spend his time than the other kids on their street.  She was in constant fear that one day her son would join a gang and throw away any chance at a future outside of their neighborhood.  Though Boston has seen a reduction in crime since the 1990s, Mrs. Jackson witnessed first hand what the youths of the city were capable of.  Dejuane’s father was killed in a drive-by shooting when Dejaune was just two years old.

*

With Harris as his Big Brother, Dejuane was encouraged to follow his dream of being a professional basketball player (see page 80 for more information on Dejuane’s hoop dreams).  But, as Harris’s school demands grew, he had less time to transport Dejuane back and forth from the Y.  It was during his second year of business school that he came up with the idea of the complex.  He wanted to create a place where Dejuane and others like him could go to “play, have fun, and be kids.”  Where kids without a privileged background could learn to love sports, just like he had as a child.  And in order to ensure that every kid had that opportunity, he arranged van rides from all over the city to the complex, absolutely free of charge to anyone who wanted a ride.  Use of the facilities is free as well.

*

Throughout the building and construction of the complex, Harris still mentored Dejuane and ensured that his schoolwork was his highest priority.  When Inner City Sports opened in 2006, Harris was 25, Dejuane was 13, and they played the first game on the new basketball court together.  When Dejuane turned 16, Harris gave him his first job, as a part-time employee in the complex’s memorabilia store.

*

Today, the two friends still play one-on-one and Harris still looks out for underprivileged youths.  The complex is open seven days a week, 363 days a year (it closes only on Christmas and Thanksgiving), and the vans run from 8:00 AM until 10:00 PM during the summer, 8:00 PM during the winter.

*

While Harris does make a profit from the non-gratis functions of the complex (the ticket office, gym, sports bar, and memorabilia store), he is constantly exceeding it to improve the free programs; often taking pay cuts to make up the difference.  He also lets investors in, giving the complex even more options for expansion and success.

*

When asked how he feels about being a hero in the community, Harris just laughed and waved the label off.  “I’m no hero.  I’m just a friend.  I’m the lucky one to have these kids in my life.  They show me what true joy is, what a free spirit is.  My love of sports led me here, but I’ve stuck around because of the kids.  Every child deserves the opportunity to play.”

*

And the kids of Boston have embraced the world of sports he provides for them.  When SI visited, every court and field was full.  Children and adults of all ages, races, and backgrounds share the complex, filling it with the joy and spirit that keeps Harris going.

*

He may not consider himself a hero, but Dejuane certainly does.  “Ben was a true brother to me.  He’s been there for me every step of the way. I’m going to graduate high school in ten months and I’ll be the first person in my family to go to college.  That never would have happened without Ben.”

*

And the city of Boston wouldn’t be the same without its athletic philanthropist.    Sure, he doesn’t flaunt his generosity and sure, he’d rather play softball than admit his growing impact on the community, but that’s what makes Inner City Sports, and Harris, so special.

*

My emotions and brain were in hyper drive by the time I got to the end of the article.  I couldn’t make sense of my own feelings.  Gratitude, disbelief, overwhelming happiness.  I sat staring at the last page, a cheesy grin spread across my face, the muscles in my cheeks actually hurting.

*

Picking up the phone, I started to dial Abby’s number, but quickly hung up.  I wanted nothing more than to share this moment with her, but I couldn’t bring myself to finish dialing.  She should’ve been there, it should not have been up to me to figure out the time difference to make the overseas call to experience it with her.  She should be here for this, for me.

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-Six: An Invitation******************** Chapter Thirty-Eight: Regret –>

Chapter Thirty-Six: An Invitation

Abby

*

Three rapid knocks on my door alerted me to Lottie’s arrival.

*

“Door’s open!” I yelled from the kitchen, where I was busy chopping vegetables for the stir-fry we planned to make that evening.

*

Lottie danced into my flat, carrying a couple bags of groceries, and floated into the kitchen.  It always amazed me to watch her walk.  For an extremely tall woman, she was over six foot, she possessed more grace than the most poised ballerina and always appeared to be gliding rather than taking steps.

*

“So Ab, how’s it coming?”

*

“Good so far.  Hey, will you grab the bag on the couch for me?  I bought a new wok the other day and forgot to bring it into the kitchen.

*

“Sure.”  She disappeared, singing to herself.

*

When she came back into the room, she carried more than the wok.  “Ab, who is this gorgeous man?”  She held out my photo album, open to the Fall in Love pages.  I didn’t realize I’d left it on the coffee table the night before until I saw her holding it.  I always tried to hide evidence of Ben before someone came over.  It was just too painful to explain why we weren’t together anymore.

*

I set the chopping knife down to reach for the album, but Lottie moved away before I could take it from her and sat on a stool on the opposite side of the counter.  She flipped to the beginning of the album and laughed at my list.

*

“Oh, Ab, this is priceless!  Have you done all these things?”

*

I shrugged and continued chopping.  “See for yourself.”  I wanted to snatch the book out of her hand, close it, and hide it away forever, but Lottie would see that as an excuse to hound and torment me about it for the rest of my natural life.  Probably a little beyond my natural life, too.  Rather than deal with the heckling, I let her look.

*

“I officially forgive you for not going out with tattoo man.  This guy is divine.  That’s it.  If you ever move back to America, I’m coming with you. They don’t make men like this here.”

*

“They don’t really make them like that in America, either.  He’s one-of-a-kind,” I said, without thinking.  I’d planned on keeping silent on the whole thing, but now I’d opened myself up for discussion.  Damn it.

*

“Wait, is this E?” she blurted out after reading the note on the page with list item number eight.

*

“How do you know about E?” I asked, flabbergasted.

*

“Please, hun.  As soon as you told me you wrote for a magazine, I looked it up online.  You didn’t think that just because you won’t let me read your drafts that I haven’t read the published ones?  I’ve read all your articles since you’ve lived here.”

*

“I didn’t know that.  Why didn’t you say something?”

*

“You seemed to want to keep it private.  I mean, as private as you can when you go splashing it around an international magazine.  You’ve never talked about him.”  She pushed the album towards me and I set the knife down again.  Picking up the book, tears developed and pooled in my eyes, but I blinked them away.

*

“Ben.  His name is Ben.”

*

“Ben?  Then why do you call him E?”

*

“It’s an inside joke.”

*

“Explain it to me!  I want to know everything!”  She leaned towards me, propping herself up on her elbows, craning her neck forward to see the album.

*

“Everything would take too long.  You can ask five questions, then we’re moving on to different topics.”

*

“Okay.  Last name?”

*

“Harris.  I can’t believe you wasted one of your questions on his last name.”

*

“When I go to Google him, it won’t feel like so much of a waste.”

*

“Do not Google him.”

*

“Please!”

*

“No!  Come on, the poor guy has been through enough.  He doesn’t need some crazy woman on the other side of the world cyber-stalking him.  Besides Ben Harris, it’s a pretty generic name.  I don’t think you’ll find much.”

*

“Don’t underestimate my powers in the art of snooping.”

*

“Please Charlotte…”

*

“Uh oh, pulling out the whole name.  I know you’re serious when you call me Charlotte.”

*

“Do I?  That’s funny.  I think I actually get that from Ben.  He calls,” I stopped, the word didn’t seem to fit our situation, “he called me Abby usually, except when he was serious about something or mad at me.  Then he called me Abigail.”  A tear slid down my cheek as I tried to bring his voice into my head.  Lottie got up and walked over to me, hugging my shoulder.

*

“Okay, I won’t Google him.”

*

“Thank you.”  I wiped away the tear and she sat back down.

*

“Alright, so question two, when’s the last time you spoke to him?”

*

“July seventeenth, his birthday.”

*

“You spoke to him on his birthday?  Did he mention the articles?  Did you?  When’s he coming to see you?”

*

“Yes, I called him to wish him a happy birthday.  He didn’t mention the articles, neither did I.  As far as I know, he’s not coming to visit me.  And I believe that made six questions, so we’re done talking about Ben.”  I snapped the album closed and took it to my bedroom.

*

I missed him all the time.  All. The. Time.  I wanted to pick up the phone every day to call him, but knew I couldn’t.  It wouldn’t be fair to him.  I wrote to him every day.  The letters stacked up beside my computer, but I never sent them.  Part of me was afraid he’d tear them up and throw them away without reading them, even though I knew Ben would never do that.  I guess I just felt like that’s what I deserved.

*

I only took a minute to look at the last pages of the album before shutting it again.  Lottie stood at the sink, washing chicken breasts, when I came back into the kitchen.

*

“What’s next on your hit list?” she asked.

*

“Oh, um, Germany.  At the beginning of September.”

*

“I love Germany.  Want company?  I can take a few days off work.”

*

“Actually, yeah!  That would be great.”  I turned the stove on and poured a teaspoon of olive oil in the wok before adding the vegetables.  Lottie cut up the chicken and tossed it into the mix.

*

After dinner, we loaded junk food and margaritas onto my living room coffee table and watched the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice.  We’d both seen it about two hundred times, but part of the fun was quoting the lines to each other.

*

“Ah, if only I could find a man like Mr. Darcy,” Lottie sighed as the first part ended.

*

“Yeah, if only…” I agreed, knowing I’d already found, and lost, one.

*

“Oh!  I almost forgot, Ab!”  She jumped up from the couch and flew out the door.  I was too accustomed to her flightiness to be surprised.

*

She came back a few minutes later carrying a stack of envelopes.  “They delivered your letters to me yesterday.”  She dropped them on my lap and snatched the remote, hitting play and starting part two.

*

“Thanks.”  I thumbed through the pile while the credits rolled, most of it was junk, but one thick, ivory envelope stood out.

*

“Oh my God.”  The return address read: Patricia Martin, 125 Trenton St., Boston, MA.

*

“What’s wrong?”

*

“Nothing.  Nothing’s wrong.  This is from my friend, Trish.  I think it’s her wedding invitation.”

*

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

*

“I didn’t expect to be invited.”

*

“You aren’t that close, huh?”

*

“No, that’s not it.  The groom is Ben’s best friend.”

*

“Oh.”

*

We watched the second part of the movie in silence, but when it ended, Lottie turned off the television and faced me.  “Are you going to go?”

*

“I don’t know.”

*

“I think you should.  What better place to kiss and make-up than a wedding?”

*

“Maybe.  But I don’t know if he feels the same.”

*

“Ask him.”

*

“How?”

*

“Whaddya mean, how?  Ring him, email him, write him a letter.  There are a million forms of communication available nowadays.  Or if you’re too chicken to directly contact him, you could just do what you’ve been doing the past couple of months.”

*

“I’m not chicken!  I just don’t want to pressure him.”

*

“Ab, I know I don’t know him, but judging by that album, that boy is seriously in love with you.  Love like that just doesn’t disappear overnight.  I bet he’d be ecstatic if you came to the wedding.”

*

“Maybe.”

*

“You know I’m right.  Where’s the response card?”  She found it amongst the scattered pieces of mail on the table and checked the Yes box.

*

“Chicken or steak?”

*

“I think I should think about it for a few days.  Maybe touch base with Trish and see if she or Matt talked to Ben about it.”

*

“Okay, chicken it is.”  She checked the entrée box, stuck the card in its small envelope and sealed it.  “Alright, love, I’m going to bed.  I’ll put this in the letterbox for you tomorrow on my way to work and we can finish P&P next weekend!”  She floated out the door before I could object, but despite her mailing the card I wasn’t going to the wedding unless I got the okay from Trish or Ben.

*

I went into my bedroom and dug around in my purse for a calling card and my cell phone.  Finding them, I sat on the bed and punched in the code, but when it came time to put in Ben’s number, I froze.  Our conversation on his birthday went well, I thought, but he hadn’t acted like himself.  He didn’t seem happy to be talking to me.

*

I hung up the phone and lay back on the bed, deciding to email Trish in the morning and going for the “chicken out” method Lottie suggested.  If he still cared, he’d be reading the magazine, right?

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-Five: Emotional Rollercoaster ******************** Chapter Thirty-Seven: Angel in the Outfield –>

Chapter Thirty-Five: Emotional Rollercoaster

Abby

*

I never called Billy.  I couldn’t.  I didn’t even want to.  He wasn’t Ben.  My neighbor thought I was crazy for not giving him a shot and constantly reminded me how dull I was. But I still loved my kooky new friend.  One of the first people I’d met since moving to London, Charlotte (Lottie for short), made it her mission to befriend and school me in the ways of the English.

*

“Ab, you’ve got to do something else while you’re here besides being a tourist.  You’re so pretty.  If you would just come to the pub with me once in a while, you’d be able to take a delicious British man back with you to the States next year.  Way better than bloody snow globe souvenirs from the Tower of London.”  Lottie grimaced at the box of gifts I’d collected for my family.  I was working on a column, trying to decide which photo would work best with the article, and she refused to leave my flat, convinced that no twenty-six year old single woman should spend a Friday night alone and working.  I’d never explained to her that the real reason I didn’t want to go out was because I’d already found the perfect guy.

*

“Thanks, but no thanks.  I have no interest in British men right now.”  Or ever, really.

*

“At least come and get pissed with me, then.”

*

“My columns are due Monday.  They aren’t ready yet.”

*

“Can I read them?”

*

“They aren’t ready.”

*

“I’m sure they’re good.  You’re a perfectionist.”

*

I put down the photos and stood up.  “Very true.  Which is why I’m not going out with you tonight.  Have fun though.”  Forcibly steering her towards the front of the apartment, she sent a few choice British curse words my way until finally she was on the other side of my closing door.

*

Instead of exploring the nightlife and social circles of Westminster that night, I finished my articles.

*

My days kept to a similar theme of focusing on work.  In addition to exploring the United Kingdom, I strolled down the Champs Ellysees and window-shopped stores I’d never be able to afford to shop in.  I smoked my first, and last, cigarette sitting at a sidewalk café in Bordeaux and listened to the beautiful strains of La Bohéme seeping out of the Opera House as I rode gondolas through the watery streets of Venice.  Me.  Abigail Bronsen.  I visited libraries and museums in every city and experienced more culture than I ever imagined existed.  It was way better than getting sloshed at a stupid pub.

*

Words flowed easily from my head to my pen.

*

Luckily, Elizabeth was easy to work with, her editing and feedback style more verbal than Helen’s, and she didn’t seem to think that I’d only been acting like a tourist.  Jeanette in New York praised me for being so open and vulnerable in the new articles.

*

“The readers love it!  Letters are coming from all over the country.  People are rooting for you, Abigail.  It’s phenomenal.  Though, I’m guessing you probably won’t want to keep the article going for two years like we planned,” she said during a teleconference at the beginning of July.

*

“I don’t know.  I don’t have any reason not to at this point, but I’ll let you know.  I’ll never leave you hanging.”

*

“Well, that’s good to hear.  We’ll talk in a couple of weeks when I get your next submission.  Enjoy Spain.”

*

“Thanks.”  The conference ended and I left the office immediately to head to the airport.  Whenever I boarded another plane, I thought about Ben, wondered if he had tried any flying since I’d been gone, and hoped that if he had, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

*

Ben

*

By mid-July SI announced Dejuane and seven other high school seniors from across the country would be on the cover of the magazine, representing a variety of sports: basketball, football, baseball, soccer, volleyball, track, and swimming.

*

“This never would have happened if it weren’t for you, Ben,” Dejuane said as we hung out on the courts one afternoon.

*

“You’re crazy.  You got here through hard work and determination.  You set your eyes on a goal and you’re the one getting yourself there.”  I shot from the 3-point line and watched as it bounced off the rim and fell back to the ground.  Dejuane grabbed the rebound and jumped, performing the perfect layup.

*

“Nah, man.  If you hadn’t come along, if you hadn’t encouraged me to focus on my schoolwork, I probably would’ve given up, dropped out of school.  Shit, I would’ve been lost.”  He tossed the ball back to me; I caught it and just stared at him.

*

“Your mom would’ve kept you straight.”  I swallowed the lump in my throat and arched the ball towards the net again.  It tapped the backboard before plopping neatly through the goal.  Dejuane grabbed the rebound again, grinning as he dribbled to half court and showed me what a real shot looked like.

*

SWISH!

*

Showoff, I thought.

*

“Yeah, she would’ve killed me if I dropped out.  So, I guess you both have my back.”

*

“And always will.”  Slapping him on the shoulder, I retrieved the ball and we played one-on-one for another hour or so, until his shift at the store started and I made my way over to Matt and Trish’s for dinner.

*

They took pity on me after Abigail left.  I spent more time with them than with anyone else.  It hurt seeing their unfettered and unabashed devotion to each other, but it also gave me hope that someday I would find that again.

*

I agreed to help them stuff their wedding invitations.  Why?  I don’t know.  Because they’d been there for me without question, without hesitation, I guess.

*

“Okay Ben, it’s really simple.  The invitation and an RSVP card and an RSVP envelope go in this envelope.”  Trish held up an ivory rectangular envelope.

*

“Then, I’ll address that envelope, and Matt you’ll put it in the outer envelope.”  She held up a second ivory rectangular envelope.  They looked absolutely identical to me.

*

“Then I’ll address the outer envelope, stamp it, and put it in the completed stack.  Once they’re all complete, we’ll sort them by address. There are some people living out of the country and we’ll have to send theirs earlier than the others.”  By this time, both mine and Matt’s eyes were glazed over, but I started assembling the packages as fast as I could.

*

“I thought bridesmaids were supposed to help with this kind of thing.”  Stretching my back and arms, I got up from my seat on the floor and did a walking lap around the room.

*

“Ugh, men.  You think everything to do with a wedding is the responsibility of women.” Trish glared at me, looking up from the envelope she was working on.

*

“Sorry, Trish, I’m happy to help.”  I regained my seat and resumed my task with fervor.  Matt chuckled from his corner, so I punched him in the shoulder.

*

“Hey, man, no violence around the stationary.  My little woman will kill me if I get blood on the invitations.”

*

“That’s not even funny Matt.”  She pursed her lips tightly and Matt and I just grinned at each other.  We made a silent pact to stop antagonizing the bride.  We finished addressing and stuffing after an hour and moved on to the next step.

*

Flipping through the already-assembled envelopes to determine which new stack they should go in was a piece of cake.  Trish lightened up when she saw Matt and I focused on the job.

*

In state.  Out of state.  Out of country.  In state.  In state.  Out of state.  The piles grew until only a handful of invitations were left.  I picked up the last one in my stack and glanced at the address before tossing it on the “Out of country” pile.  But something registered in my brain and my hand shot forward to scoop it back up just as Matt tossed an invitation on top of it.

*

“Trish, you’re inviting Abby?”  My heart lodged in my throat as I stared at her name on the envelope.  Surely this was a mistake.  They wouldn’t invite her without talking to me about it first.

*

“Of course.  Didn’t Matt tell you?  He said you didn’t mind.”

*

“Matt?”  My voice came out in a harsh snarl and a red flush crept its way up my neck.

*

“Oh, yeah, um Ben, do you mind if we invite Abigail to the wedding?”

*

“I can’t believe you didn’t even consider asking me, Matt!  What made you think I wouldn’t mind?”  Already on my feet, I headed for the door.

*

“Don’t leave.  Look, I’m sorry.  I guess I thought if she came, you guys could talk.  I didn’t ask because I thought you’d say no and you obviously have some stuff you need to deal with.”

*

“Really?  Are you my therapist now?  Fine, invite her.  I don’t give a damn.  But put us at separate tables on opposite sides of the room.  I don’t have anything to say to her.  She dumped me, remember?  If she wanted to talk to me, or see me, she’s had plenty of opportunities.”  My hands shook as I crossed my arms across my chest.

*

“Ben, what’re you talking about?  She’s been…” Trish started, but Matt cut her off.

*

“Ben, I’m really sorry.  You’re right; I should’ve considered your feelings.  I’m sorry.”  He came to my side and placed his hand on my shoulder.  “I didn’t realize you’d be so upset.  I thought you’d want to see her again.”

*

“It’s not that I don’t ever want to see her again.  I just, I don’t know.  It’s hard to describe.  I can’t get away from her.  Every time I think I’ve moved on, something comes up, her name, something we did together.  I need some distance, some space.”  Silence sank in around us.  Matt’s hand on my shoulder tightened.  He was a good friend.  His heart was in the right place.

*

“I don’t have to send this.” Trish held up the envelope bearing Abby’s name and address in London.  “I don’t know that she expects an invitation.  I mean, we’ve been emailing, so she knows about the wedding, but I don’t think I’ve ever said we’re going to invite her.”

*

“No, you should invite her.  She’s your friend and I’m sure she’ll want to be there for you.  I’m sorry I made a big deal about it.  Just took me by surprise.  We’re done with the invites, right?  I want to head home.”

*

“Yeah, we’re done.  Thanks for all your help.”  Trish smiled.

*

I nodded and left.

*

*  *  *  *

*

With events like these, it’s not surprising I almost forgot my birthday.  I didn’t realize it was approaching until Matt called to tell me he and Trish wanted to throw a party.  I agreed, reluctantly.

*

I finally understood why Abby hated her birthday.  I was not where I should be at twenty-nine.  My business was failing and the rest of my life was empty.  The previous year, my birthday seemed like a fresh start, a new beginning.  Abby and I spent our first weekend away together.  She opened herself up to me.  I introduced her to things she thought she’d never do.  But she was gone and my birthday felt like just another day.  Nothing special, nothing worth celebrating.

*

My family already filled Matt and Trish’s house when I arrived for the cookout.  Tracey and my mother hugged me and Hannah and Joey ran at me, almost knocking me over.  Handing me a homemade card, Hannah wished me a “Habby birfday!”

*

Our softball team showed up with beer and gifts.  Dejuane and his teammates came, too, and took over the hoop in the driveway.  People sat on the porch steps, crowded the couches, played games around the dining table, chatted on the back lawn.  Everywhere I looked, I met a friend.  The chaos surrounded me and I thanked Matt for insisting on doing something.  It felt normal for a change.

*

After the group gathered to sing “Happy Birthday” and watch me blow the twenty-nine candles out, Trish tugged on my arm and asked me to follow her.  She led me back to the guest room and motioned for me to sit on the bed.  Going to the closet, she pulled out a present wrapped in neon green paper.  Handing it to me, she smiled and walked to the door.

*

“I think you’ll want privacy to open that.  It’s from me and Matt.  We love you, Ben.  Happy Birthday.”

*

I watched her leave before glancing down at the gift.  Shaking it, I tried to guess the contents, but it made no sound.  Something was familiar.  I couldn’t put my finger on it.

*

Shouts seeped through the crack under the door, including more than one “Hey, where’s Ben?” and I wanted to get back to the party.  But instead, I ripped the wrapping paper off and threw it on the bed.  A note taped to the top of a cardboard box read:

*

Ben,

I think it’s time you had this back.  Your gift from Matt and I is inside.

Love, Trish

*

I found the flap on the side of the cardboard and lifted.  Tilting the package, a handcrafted wooden box slid out.  Abigail’s grandfather’s box.  I smiled in spite of myself.  Looking down at it, I remembered our last phone call and she was right.  I remembered all the good things about Abby, about us.  Her smile.  Her laugh.  The feel of her hand in mine.  Her beautiful heart.  Her love for me.  I remembered our first date, how she double-checked herself in the mirror before getting out of her car.  The flight to Florida, how she wouldn’t let me be afraid.  The way my breath caught in my throat every time I saw her. My reaction to the invitation suddenly seemed utterly ridiculous.

*

Twenty minutes passed before a glance at my watch brought me to my senses. Shaking my head, I lifted the lid and pulled out a thin envelope.  An open-ended plane ticket to London.  Of course.

*

Tucking the box under my arm, I made my way back out to the party and gave Trish a hug.  “Thanks.”

*

*  *  *  *

*

The next morning, I woke up and kissed my twenty-eighth year goodbye.  Abby’s box sat in its old place on my dresser and it was like she was there with me.  I still hurt, I was still angry with her, but seeing that box made me admit I was also still in love.  I couldn’t get away from Abby because I didn’t want to get away from her.

*

My cell phone rang while I cooked breakfast for myself.  The caller id didn’t recognize the number.

*

“Hello?”

*

“Happy birthday, Ben.”  Abby’s voice.  My heart sang, anger and pain melted away.  It had been too long since I’d heard that sweet voice.

*

“Abby!”

*

“I didn’t call too early, did I?  I’ve been counting down the hours all day, just waiting until I thought you’d be up.”

*

“No, your timing is perfect.  I was cooking breakfast.”

*

“I miss your breakfasts.”  Her tone lost its sparkle and sadness crept in.

*

“How’s London?”  I thought a change of subject would help her sound like herself, but it didn’t.

*

“It’s great.”  Her answer was flat.  She didn’t elaborate.  “How are you?”

*

“I’m okay.  I’ve been spending most of my time at work.”

*

“Me, too.”

*

We both paused, unsure where to go from there.  She spoke again first.

*

“I got you a gift.  Well, I tried to anyways.  My sisters assembled it for me.  I asked Ashley to drop it off this evening.  Is that all right?  If you have plans, she can bring it to you some other time, or if you don’t want it I understand.”

*

“No, tonight’s fine.  I don’t have plans.  We had a party last night.”

*

“Oh.  Great.”  Another pause.  I wanted to tell her I missed her, I still loved her, I wanted her to come home.  But I didn’t say anything.

*

“Um, I guess I should go.  My calling card doesn’t have much time left on it and I don’t want to get caught up in a conversation,” her breathing hitched, “we can’t finish.”

*

“Oh.  Okay.  Thanks for calling.”  Lame, man.  You can’t think of anything better than that?

*

“Happy Birthday.  I, well, I… oh God.  Goodbye, Ben.”

*

“Goodbye.”  I listened to her breathing for another few seconds before she disconnected.  She wanted to tell me she loved me, but she didn’t.  I knew why, she didn’t want to hurt me anymore.  But then why call at all?  The happiness that filled my heart while her voice sounded in my ear faded, replaced by a dull ache.  Was she ever coming back to me?

*

Ashley rang my doorbell at 7:00.  I was glad it was her and not Anna.  I liked both of Abigail’s sisters, but Anna looked the most like Abby.  It still pierced my heart to see Ashley, but it wasn’t as bad as seeing Anna.

*

“Happy birthday, Ben!”  Ashley gave me a hug as she stepped in the door.  It took me by surprise and I stiffened at her touch.  She sensed my discomfort and backed off quickly.

*

“I’m sorry, Ashley.  It’s just, um, you smell like vanilla.”

*

“Huh?”

*

“Never mind.  Come on in.”

*

She stepped inside, bringing with her a flat, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper.  “This is it.  I think you’re going to like it.”  She beamed at me and it shattered my heart.  Her smile looked so much like Abby’s.

*

“Thanks, Ashley.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to open it privately.”  I took it in both hands and set it on the couch.

*

“Of course.  Happy birthday.  Bye.”  She waved walking out and I waited until her car disappeared around the corner before shutting and locking the door.  This package looked familiar too.  A warm sense of déjà vu swept over me as I tore the paper off and held the frame up.  On either side, pictures of the complex and of Dejuane and myself surrounded a mock-up of the article that would be appearing in Sports Illustrated.  A note was attached to the corner of the frame.

*

Ben, Happy Birthday!  Gwen sent me a mock up, but you can replace it with the actual article when it comes out.  You always gave me the courage to go after my dreams and I hope this gives you the courage to continue chasing after yours. I know you have what it takes to keep the complex going.  I am so proud of you.  Love, Abby

*

Her handwriting covered the page.  Her signature.  I looked over the frame, the pictures, and the article.  Folding the note into a square, I pulled my wallet out of my pocket, and slipped it inside.

*

Picking the gift up, I walked to my bedroom, and propped it on my dresser, taking the airplane ticket from Trish and Matt out of her box and placing it face up in front of the article.  I ran my fingers over the destination, then reached down to my sock drawer and pulled out the velvet box.  I cracked the lid open, set the box on top of the plane ticket, then backed up and sat on my bed, keeping my eyes glued to the trio in front of me.

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-Four: All Work and No Play ******************** Chapter Thirty-Six: An Invitation –>

Chapter Thirty-Four: All Work and No Play

Ben

*

By June, I resigned myself to the fact that dating wasn’t an option for me.  I hated how pathetic it was, but I needed to get to a point where I didn’t compare every woman I came in contact with to Abby.  The ring in my sock drawer haunted me; I could sense its presence every time I walked into my bedroom.  I considered selling it, but my heart raced and waves of nausea came over me anytime I attempted to remove it from its hiding place.  The only option I had to get away from it was to stay out of the house.

*

I started spending twelve hours a day at the complex.  Lord knows it needed the extra attention.  School was out and kids crowded the fields and courts on a daily basis but the financial difficulties hadn’t improved.  Steve constantly reminded me how surprised he was that I hadn’t gone bankrupt yet.

*

Meetings consumed my daily life.  Meetings with accountants and financial planners.  Meetings with current investors and potential investors.  Meetings with suppliers and city officials.  Meetings, meetings, meetings.

*

It was hell, but it was better than sitting at home alone.

*

One Monday morning I was working on payroll and taxes when the phone rang.  “Ben Harris,” I answered.

*

“Mr. Harris, I’m Gwyneth Jones with Sports Illustrated.  I was wondering if you would have a few minutes to meet me for coffee today.”

*

“I’m sorry, who did you say you were with?”

*

“Sports Illustrated, the magazine.”  Her voice possessed a sing-song quality to it that didn’t quite seem to match the magazine she worked for.

*

“And you want to meet with me?  Benjamin Harris?”

*

“Yes.  If you are the Benjamin Harris who owns and operates Inner City Sports in Boston, Massachusetts.”

*

“Yeah, that’s me.”

*

“Great.  Can you meet me for coffee?  If you can’t do it today, I’ll be in Boston for a week.”

*

“No, no.  Today is fine, what time?  Where?”

*

“2:00, I believe there’s a Starbucks across the street from your business, is that right?”

*

“Yeah, that’s right.  I’ll see you then.”

*

“Have a good day, Mr. Harris.”

*

“Thanks, you too.”  I hung up the phone stunned.  What could this woman possibly want with me?  I brought my hand to my face and massaged the tension along my jaw, unable to remember what I’d been working on before Ms. Jones’s call.  A knock at the door roused my attention and Dejuane poked his head in.

*

“Hey, come on in!  I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!”  Immediately standing, I went around the desk to meet him.

*

“Hey man.  I know, but with school and basketball, things have been crazy.  I’m glad it’s finally summer.”  He flopped down in one of the comfy armchairs in the corner of the office and I leaned against my desk.

*

“Yeah, me too.  It’s good to see so many people down there,” I gestured out the window and smiled at the view of kids of all ages, races, and sizes connecting on the tennis and volleyball courts.  “So, what’s up?”

*

“I was wondering if I could take some time off from the store.  My coach set up some meetings with different college coaches and they’re all over the country.”

*

“Of course, you can take all the time off you need.  That’s amazing, Dejuane!  What schools?”

*

“It’s a long list.  But I’m really excited about Wake Forest.  They’re not the best team in the country, but it’s my dream school.”  He got up and walked over to my bookcase and looked over my own college memorabilia.

*

“I want that,” he pointed at my diplomas, “more than I want to play.”

*

“You’ll get it.  And you know I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

*

“Yeah man, thanks.”  He started making his way to the door.

*

I stopped him.  “Hey, how long are you going to be around today?”

*

“Don’t know.  I just came to lift weights.”

*

“If you’re still here around quarter til two, I’m going across the street to have coffee with some lady from Sports Illustrated, you wanna come with me?”

*

“Seriously?!?  Yeah, of course.  What’re you doing meeting with someone from SI?”

*

“I have no idea, she just called me a little bit ago and wanted to meet for coffee.”

*

“It would be so awesome if she wrote an article about this place!”  Dejuane enthusiastically punched me in the shoulder and headed out the door.

*

That would be awesome.  That would be incredible.  There aren’t enough adjectives in the universe to describe what an article in Sports Illustrated could do for my business.  Not only would it attract investors and possibly help pull ICS out of the economic sand trap, but would also open up a whole new world of opportunities for the kids.  My imagination went wild as I dreamed of professional athletes running training camps, tickets and box seats to major league games, more funding for upkeep and free transportation.

*

Shaking my head, I got back to work, but every once in a while a new dream would pop up.  I couldn’t be that far off base.  An article seemed like the only possible reason anyone from Sports Illustrated would want to talk with me in person; surely they didn’t handle subscription issues face-to-face.

*

At 1:55, Dejuane and I sipped drinks and discussed his college tours at Starbucks.  It was weird sitting in the same Starbucks where Abby and I ran into each other for the first time after the accident.  I could almost picture her in her favorite armchair, by the fireplace, reading a dictionary-sized novel.  Why, of all places, did Ms. Jones pick this one?

*

“You must be Ben.”  A lanky woman with cropped red hair approached us.  She held out her hand and I shook it.

*

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you Ms. Jones.”

*

“Ah, Gwyneth, please,” she waved off my formality with a flick of her wrist.  “Or Gwen.  Whichever you prefer.”

*

“Well, Gwyneth, this is Dejuane.  He’s a friend and he also works at the complex.  I hope you don’t mind that I invited him along.  If it’s possible, he’s a bigger sports fan than I am and he reads your magazine religiously.”

*

“Dejuane!  I’m so happy you are here, because actually I wanted to speak with both of you.  Ben, did Abigail spill the beans on me?”  She took the empty chair at our table, pulling a notepad and pen out of her bag.

*

I was sipping my coffee when she said Abby’s name and nearly choked on the hot liquid.  Sputtering into a napkin, I looked up and barely managed to speak, “I’m sorry, what?  Do you know Abigail?”

*

“Oh, I guess she didn’t tell you.  Yes, we went to college together.  I was in Europe last week and we had lunch.  I told her I’m relocating to Boston and looking for a human interest story for the magazine to help get myself reacquainted with the area and she suggested I contact you.”

*

“Wait, what?  Abigail told you to contact me?”

*

“Yeah, she told me about how you were a Big Brother in college and how Dejuane inspired you to open Inner City Sports.  So, if the two of you are willing, I’d love to get more of the story.  I can interview you now, or we can set up another time.”

*

“I’m game!”  Dejuane enthusiastically shook her hand again, but I still couldn’t believe what was happening.  Abby told this woman to contact me.  Abby created this wonderful opportunity for me.

*

“Um, yeah, of course.  Now is good.  But the story shouldn’t just be about the complex.  You should watch Dejuane play.  He’s amazing.  He’s going to be meeting with college coaches this summer.”

*

“I’d love that.  I’m sure when the article comes out, even more scouts will be coming after you.”  Gwyneth squeezed Dejuane’s hand then began firing questions at us.  The first several were all directed at me, so I had to pay attention, but I kept wandering back to the nagging question on my mind, Why?  Why did Abby do this for me?

*

I looked to the complex as an escape.  There were no Abby reminders at ICS.  Yet now she linked herself to my job from halfway around the world.  It wasn’t fair.  I’d left her alone.  Why couldn’t she leave me alone, too?

*

Two hours later, once Gwyneth filled at least twenty pages of her notepad and run out of questions, she stood up to leave.  “Thank you both for your time.  I’ll call you with any follow up questions and of course to set up a time to come see you play.”  She smiled at Dejuane.

*

“Oh, and I’ll be sending a photographer to the complex sometime in the next week or so.  I’ll call you with that information as well.”  We both shook her hand again and she headed to the exit.  I watched her leave and made up my mind.

*

“Dejuane, hang here for a minute.  I need to ask her something.”  Without waiting for an answer from him, I leapt from my seat and bolted out the door.  “Gwen, wait!”

*

She turned around, pausing in the middle of the parking lot.  “Did I forget something?”

*

“Oh no.  I just… Well, I needed to ask you, I mean, um…” fidgeting with my hands, I couldn’t seem to form the words.

*

“Yes?”

*

“What exactly did Abby, er, I mean Abigail say, um, about me?” Geez, how old are you?  Twelve?  It’s not like she passed her a note in study hall. I could feel my face getting pinker by the second and dropped my eyes to the ground, but Gwen’s calm tone as she answered gave me courage and I lifted my eyes to see her smiling.

*

“Well, she said if I were looking for human interest, I couldn’t do better than you.  I told her that her being in love with you didn’t make you interesting,” she paused and my cheeks blazed red, “and then she told me about the complex, how you created the business plan while you were in grad school, broke ground only a month after graduation, how Dejuane was at the opening with you, and how you gave him his first job in the memorabilia store.  She went on and on, even though I was hooked once she described the complex itself.”

*

“Oh. Okay.  Thanks.”  I turned to go inside as she got in her car.

*

I don’t know what I’d been hoping for.  Maybe that Abby realized what a mistake she’d made leaving me.  Or that she wanted to call me but was too afraid I’d blow her off.  I wanted some indication that I still meant something to her.  If I was wasting away in Boston, I wanted her to be wasting away, too, and I didn’t really care how selfish and petty that made me.

*

I opened the door and went back to the table where Dejuane waited.  Finishing our coffee, I let him talk non-stop about the article and his excitement.

*

“My mom is going to be so proud of me!  And Coach…” he yammered on and on, but I only caught pieces of it.  My excitement over the article was mixed with confusion over what to do about Abigail’s hand in it.  I mean, I was grateful to her, even while pissed she’d weaseled her way into my work-life, but I didn’t know how to handle it.  Should I find a way to thank her?  Or pretend I don’t know? She hadn’t given me a head’s up; maybe she didn’t want me to know the article was her idea.

*

Gwyneth said Abby loved me, but I’d never really doubted that.  Well, yeah, maybe I did.  She chose her job over me.  If she really loved me, she would have chosen me, right?

*

Gwen called a few times in the two weeks after our meeting to ask follow-up questions and set a time for the photographer to come to the complex.  She told me her editor loved her notes and looked forward to reading the finished article.

*

“Oh, and I heard from Abigail last week.  She emailed me to see how the article was coming along.  I thanked her for recommending you and told her you were doing well.  I hope that’s okay.”  She threw the information in as an afterthought, but I knew she was trying to gauge my reaction.  I don’t know why she cared about my relationship with Abby, but I chose my words carefully anyways.

*

“Yeah, of course that’s okay.  If you happen to talk with her again, please thank her for me, for suggesting the complex.”  There, that was good.  It couldn’t be taken for anything other than indifferent gratitude.

*

Not long after that conversation, I received an email from Gwyneth saying the article would run the third week of August, to coincide with a set of articles showcasing the nation’s most promising high school athletes.  “Dejuane might even make the cover!” her email exclaimed.  I couldn’t wait to tell him when he got back from his college visits, she told me she’d let me deliver the good news.

*

She didn’t mention Abigail again.

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-Three: Ugh, A First Date ******************** Chapter Thirty-Five: Emotional Rollercoaster –>

Chapter Thirty-Three: Ugh, A First Date

Ben

*

At 5:00 the next day I scavenged my closet for a shirt suitable for a first date.   Shit, a first date.  I planned on never going through this again. Grabbing a light blue one off its hanger I started to pull it over my head, when Abby’s voice rang in my ears.

*

How about that pale blue button down shirt you have?  The one you wore on our first date.  It matched your eyes.

*

Immediately, I took it off and threw it on the bed.  It was stupid, but I couldn’t wear that shirt, Abby’s shirt, on a date with Madelyn.  Abby didn’t like Madelyn.

*

Maybe that’s why I was so excited.  I wanted someone who was completely different from Abby.  Someone who wouldn’t remind me of everything we had.  And Madelyn was definitely different.  I needed this.  I needed to feel like a woman wanted me.  And Madelyn always treated me like she wanted me.

*

I grabbed the closest shirt and threw it on.  A black, collared, button down, it fit nicely over my thick biceps.  I checked myself out in the mirror and decided to skip shaving.  I could pull off the rugged look.  Putting a jacket on, I headed out the door, ready to eat and laugh with someone new.

*

When Madelyn came to her front door, my jaw nearly fell off it dropped so quickly.  She wore an extremely low cut, short, tight, black dress.  I was not prepared for the overt sexiness she exuded.

*

“Um, uh, you look great,” I stammered, trying to keep my eyes above her neck.  I don’t think she would have cared if I let them wander, but I was determined to behave like a gentleman.

*

“Thanks,” she crooned.  “I’m so excited.  Where’re we going?”

*

“I was thinking that little French bistro downtown.”

*

“That sounds great.  Let’s go.”  She took my hand as we walked to the car, shocking me with her confidence.  I attempted several topics of conversation on the drive to the restaurant, politics, baseball, family, etc. but she was more interested in laughing at my book of CDs.

*

“Don’t you have any dance music?  Britney Spears?  Rhianna?”

*

“I’m not really a big dancer.”

*

“Oh.”  Silence.  My excitement began to wane.  Did we have anything in common at all?

*

The conversation at the restaurant was even more torturous.  She chatted non-stop about pop culture gossip and Grey’s Anatomy.  I tried to occasionally offer a sentence or two in response, but she didn’t really seem interested in anything I had to say. Who the hell is McDreamy? I wanted to ask, but I’m glad I didn’t. That might have led to thirty more minutes of a conversation I cared even less about.  When she started running her foot up my leg, I excused myself and went to the restroom.

*

Splashing water on my face, I tried to psych myself up for the rest of the evening.  She’s pretty.  She’s good at sports.  She’s friendly.  You can do this, Ben! Luckily, the food arrived by the time I got back to the table and we ate quietly.  When she finished her salad she picked up where she left off, describing last year’s Season Finale.

*

“And so, at the end, you see both Izzie and George.  Izzie’s in the elevator, in the same dress she wore the night Denny died and George is waiting for her when the doors open and he’s dressed in some kind of military uniform…”

*

Who the hell is Izzie?  George?  Denny?  Does she honestly think I’m interested in this show?  God, this is a disaster.

*

“Um, Madelyn, why don’t we talk about something else?  Like your job.  I don’t even know what you do.”  I continued working on my steak, taking a bite as she stared at me incredulously.

*

“I’m a model, silly.”

*

“A model?  Really?  What kind of modeling do you do?”  You’ve got to be kidding me.

*

“Well, I haven’t had any jobs yet.  I’m still waiting for my big break.”

*

Ah ha. “Oh.  What do you do for money?  I mean, don’t you have bills and stuff?”

*

“Nope.”

*

“No?”

*

“My parents pay for everything.”

*

Seriously?  Does she know how pathetic that is? I cleared my throat, “Oh.  Um, how old are you, Madelyn?  I thought you were in your twenties.”

*

“I am.  I’m 23.”

*

“And your parents still pay all your bills?”

*

“Of course.” She frowned at me, like she didn’t understand what I was trying to say.  I decided it would be best to change the subject.

*

“I’m sorry, why don’t you finish telling me about, um, Izzie, was it?”  Her face lit up again and she spent the next half-hour rambling on about the Season Premiere.  I spent the next half-hour trying to quote the entire script of Office Space in my head.  When the bill finally arrived, I paid and tipped our waiter and gave her my hand to help her up.

*

She was just as chatty on the drive back.  Office Space continued playing in my brain.  When we reached the house, I walked her to the door and said goodnight.  She grabbed my face and planted a kiss straight on my lips.   Instinctively, I kissed back for a few seconds, but ended it just as quickly.

*

“Night, Madelyn.  I’ll talk to you later.”

*

“Wait, do you want to come in?” She smiled coyly and took a step inside the house, gesturing with her finger that I should follow.

*

“Sorry, I don’t think I should.  Thanks for going to dinner with me.”  I turned and walked away without another glance.  I didn’t want to hurt her, but she was crazy if she thought I was interested in going any further that night.  Or any night.  The whole thing was a huge mistake.

*

*  *  *  *

*

A week later, Madelyn had sent me a dozen emails and called at least once a day, not to mention the hundreds of texts I received, all asking when we were going out again.  I was as polite as possible, but started getting annoyed.  So, when I sat in my office on Friday afternoon, preparing to go home for the weekend, and my phone rang, I braced myself to tell her we would never be going on a second date.

*

“Madelyn, I’m sorry, I’m just not interested,” I spat out immediately upon bringing the phone to my ear.

*

“Excuse me, I may have the wrong number, is this Mr. Benjamin Harris?” a man’s voice responded.

*

Good going, Ben.  Please don’t be an investor, please don’t be an investor. “Oh, I’m sorry.  I thought, never mind.  Yes, I’m Ben Harris.”

*

“Oh, Mr. Harris.  I’m Henry Clayburn of Clayburn’s Jewelers.  The piece you ordered is ready.”

*

The phone fell out of my hand and landed with a thump on the carpet.   I could hear Henry Clayburn’s voice on the other end, asking if everything was all right.  It took every bit of self-control I had to retrieve the phone and ask calmly, “Can I pick it up today?”

*

“Yes, sir.  We’re open until 8:00 this evening.  I’ll let the sales staff know you’ll be coming.  Are you prepared to pay the balance?”

*

“Oh. Yes.  Of course.  I’ll be there shortly.”  I hung up and grabbed my keys from my desktop.  How could I forget about that?

*

Traffic was crazy, but I managed to weave my bike around the jammed intersections, and parked in front of Clayburn’s within fifteen minutes of leaving the complex.  The woman behind the counter jumped as I hurried into the store and shrank back as I approached.  I must have looked like a crazy person.  I felt like a crazy person.

*

“Excuse me.  My name is Ben Harris and I placed a custom order a few months ago.  Mr. Clayburn called to let me know it’s ready.  I’d like to pay for it and pick it up, please.”

*

“Of course, Mr. Harris.  I’ll get that for you right away.”  She scampered through the door behind her and I looked down into the glass cases framing the room.  Hundreds of necklaces, earrings, bracelets, and rings stared back at me.  Gold, silver, big, small, elaborate, simple.  Each design was different, unique.

*

It seemed like years ago that I first came into the store, but it was only February.  I planned on resetting my grandmother’s diamond from her engagement ring into a new setting and proposing to Abby on her birthday when she looked through the album.  But, when we finished the design, Mr. Clayburn informed me it wouldn’t be ready by March.

*

“That’s okay,” I had said, “I can wait another month or two.  I’ve been waiting my whole life for her.”

*

Henry Clayburn swept out of the backroom and extended his hand over the glass case to me.  I shook it, but immediately turned my eyes to the velvet box in his hand. “Ah, Mr. Harris.  Welcome back.  I didn’t expect you so soon.”  He placed the box on the counter and nudged it toward me.  Never taking my eyes off it, I gently picked it up and popped the lid.

*

There it was.  Abby’s ring.  It was absolutely perfect.  My grandmother’s one-carat diamond surrounded by sapphires and set in platinum.  My eyes filled with tears as I imagined slipping it on her beautiful hand.  I should’ve told him I didn’t need it anymore.  That he could sell it to someone else.  But, my mother would’ve killed me if I sold her mother’s diamond and the thought of anyone but Abby wearing that ring made me sick.  I clutched my stomach with one hand and put the ring down, pulling out my wallet to hand Mr. Clayburn my credit card.

*

“Just put the balance on that, please.”  I gingerly lifted the ring out of its box and looked at the engraving on the inside of the band, With My Whole Heart, I Love You.  Tears splashed on the counter, but I wiped them away with my sleeve and replaced the ring by the time Mr. Clayburn returned with my receipt.

*

“Thank you, Mr. Harris.  And congratulations.  I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with it, it’s beautiful.”

*

“Yes, it is.  Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Clayburn.”  I turned and left the store, the ring heavy in my pocket.  I had to wait a full ten minutes before my eyes were clear enough to drive home.

*

I stuffed the ring and its box into the sock drawer of my dresser as soon as I entered the house.  Was God trying to punish me?  For what?  For taking out Madelyn, for leading her on?  For letting Abby leave without putting up a fight?  Why couldn’t I just get her out of my life?

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-Two: Starting Over ******************** Chapter Thirty-Four: All Work and No Play –>

Chapter Thirty-Two: Starting Over

Abby

*

Everything in London was different.

*

I found Kaffeine my second week in the city.  It was nothing like Starbucks: the music was always fresh, I never heard the same song twice, and the employees knew every customer by name and their order by heart.  I wrote my columns there, usually.  I’d sit in the shop, or just outside on the wooden bench, with a latte and my notebook and watch the Londoners around me.  I got to know the barristas pretty well, they always laughed when the quiet American came in and were constantly trying to get me to drink tea.  One of them looked a lot like Ben.  Same height, same light brown hair, broad shoulders, and amazing forearms and biceps.  I was tortured by the resemblance every time I walked through the door, but for some strange reason, I felt compelled to come to the shop every day.

*

“Why are you so nice to everyone but me?” he came to my table and asked after a couple of weeks.

*

“Huh?”  I stared down at the notes for my column, looking into his face hurt too much.

*

“You smile and say hello to everyone when you come in, but whenever you see me behind the counter, you take a seat and wait for someone else to take over before ordering.  You might as well have a sign that says ‘Piss off’ on your forehead.”

*

“Are you allowed to speak to customers like that?”

*

“Yes.”

*

His matter-of-fact manner and the seriousness of the question caused me to look up from my notebook.  His eyes were brown, not blue.  Thank God.

*

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing personal.”

*

“Bloody well feels that way.”

*

“Listen, um…”  I glanced at his nametag, “…Austin, it has nothing to do with you, not really.  You just look a lot like my ex-boyfriend.”  Ex-boyfriend.  It was the first time I’d said the word out loud.  When I started crying, Austin teetered back and forth on his heels, looking like he wanted to run away as fast as humanly possible.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he pulled a napkin out of his apron pocket and handed it to me.

*

“Hey, I’m sorry.  What’d the bloke do?  Shag someone else?”

*

“No, no, nothing like that.  It’s my fault.  I took a job here and he…”

*

“…lives in America?”

*

“Yeah.”

*

After that, Austin avoided me whenever I came into the shop.

*

My apartment, well, my flat as everyone kept correcting me, seemed huge compared to the broom closet I called home in Boston.  I even had a guestroom.  And it came fully furnished, so nothing looked like it belonged to a broke college student.

*

I only went to the Intuition offices once a week, to update Elizabeth on the progress of my column or to teleconference with Helen or Jeanette back in the States.  I didn’t have an office and I wasn’t expected to keep a nine to five schedule.  Mostly, I traveled, visiting as much of the United Kingdom as I could, and never having enough time to see everything I wanted to see.

*

At night, alone in my flat, I’d pull out my photo album and look over the blank pages.  Sometimes I added a picture to it.  My first week I visited the home in Chawton where Jane Austen spent the last eight years of her life.  Walking through the drawing room, imagining her sitting there, writing and editing and playing the piano, I knew I’d done the right thing in coming.  But as I placed photos from the outing in the album, I thought of Ben.  I thought how proud he’d be of me for fulfilling that dream.

*

I thought about him all the time.  But I never saw him or talked to him.  The loneliness should have been familiar, I’d been alone for twenty-five years before him, but it was the most different thing about my new life.

*

Ben

*

“Ben!  Hey Ben!”  Matt yelled as I pulled my motorcycle into the parking lot.  It didn’t take long for me to get in the habit of riding it everywhere.  The freedom and independence of the ride countered the memories of Abby that arose whenever I got on.

*

“Hey, man.  What’s up?”  I slapped his shoulder as I approached and gave Trish a quick one-armed hug.

*

“Not much.  We’ve been waiting for you, let’s play!”

*

Teams formed quickly and my excitement increased as I took the lead and began assigning positions.  We were in the field first, so I claimed my spot at shortstop and heckled Trish as she stepped up to bat.

*

She struck out and so did the next two batters.  Our team scrambled to the dugout.  I was sixth in the batting lineup and wasn’t sure if I’d get the chance to hit that inning, so made myself comfortable on the bench with a bottle of water.

*

“Hey, Ben, you’re looking good today,” Madelyn trilled as she sat beside me.

*

“Oh.  Thanks, Madi.  You look nice, too.”  And she really did.  Her long blonde hair was swept off her face in a ponytail and tiny red shorts showed off tan, muscular legs that went on and on.  She wore less makeup than usual, allowing her natural beauty to shine through.

*

“Thanks,” she giggled, slapping my knee.  “Do you have plans for after the game?”

*

“I thought everyone could come back to my bar and hang out for a bit.  The Sox are playing tonight.”

*

“That sounds like fun.  I’ll definitely be there.”  She let her hand graze my arm as she spoke, then got off the bench and grabbed a bat, “I’m up next, wish me luck!”

*

“Good luck.”  I watched her walk away.  God, she’s sexy, I thought.  I hated to admit it, but it was true.  Every move she made was deliberate and the graceful swaying of her hips as she walked caught every guy’s attention.  Why haven’t I been interested before? There seemed to be so many reasons I stayed away from Madelyn and her twin sister, Carrie, in the past, but I couldn’t think of any of them.  Geez, Ben, keep your head in the game!

*

I went up to the plate first in the bottom of the second inning and a surge of adrenaline rushed through me as I gripped the bat with both hands and released a few practice swings to warm up my muscles.

*

Matt was pitching and gave me his most evil grin; he had no intention of going easy on me.  The first pitch sailed over the plate.  I knew from the windup it would be a curveball and decided to wait for his fastball, he was just cocky enough to throw it last.

*

“Strike one!” the umpire called.

*

Next pitch, another curveball.  Again, I let it fly by me.  Again, the ump called a strike.

*

Matt’s smile disappeared as he furrowed his brow and clutched the ball inside his glove.  Kicking up his leg, his shoulder swung forward and the ball came hurtling towards me.  Wait for it… I grasped the bat tighter, preparing for impact, then swung with every ounce of strength I could muster.

*

THWACK!

*

The ball went zooming over the heads of the outfielders.  The bat was still vibrating in my hand when I flung it aside and ran to first base.

*

“Homerun!” the ump cried out.  The ball had crossed over the fence and lay somewhere in the next field over.  Rounding second and third, I winked smugly at my teammates then strolled across home plate.   They waited for me in the dugout with cheers and slaps on my back.

*

“Way to go, Ben!”  Madelyn threw her arms around my neck.  I just barely registered she was there, when she backed off and went to take a seat on the bench.  Grinning, I joined her, and we spent the rest of the game talking and laughing at the expense of our friends.

*

“Madi, do you want to ride with me to the bar?”

*

“I’d love to!  Where’s your car, I don’t see it.”  She hooked her arm around mine and tossed a glance back at her sister.  Carrie shot her a nasty look and rolled her eyes, but shrugged her shoulders and turned her attention to one of the other guys.

*

“I didn’t bring my car.  I drove the bike over.”

*

“Oh.  Never mind, I’ll get a ride with my sister.”  She dropped my arm and walked away.  Great.  I put myself out there and she doesn’t like the bike.  I thought this girl would do anything to get in good with a guy she liked.  Maybe that’s my problem.  I misread the signs.  She’s not interested in me.  God, what an idiot I am!

*

I made it to the bar at least ten minutes before the rest of the team and prepared the staff for the ambush about to storm through the doors.   Luckily, a few tables sat open in the back corner and I kept them clear while waiting for the group.

*

“First round is on me!” I announced as everyone filled the seats and raucously shouted orders at the waiters.  They cheered for me and turned their attention to the big screens playing the game.  I took a chair next to Trish and enjoyed the chaos for a few minutes, until Madelyn maneuvered her way beside me.

*

“Hey, sorry ‘bout not riding with you.  I just don’t like motorcycles.  They’re so scary.”

*

“Have you ever ridden on one?”

*

“No.”

*

I nudged her shoulder.  “Maybe they wouldn’t seem so scary if you tried it.”

*

“No, I couldn’t.  I can’t even do roller-coasters,” she giggled and placed her hand on my arm as the waiter set a pitcher of beer on the table.  I poured her a glass and she sipped quietly for a few minutes.  “So, what’s up with your girlfriend? What’s her name?  Anabeth?”

*

“Abigail.  And she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”  So, she is interested. I knew Madelyn knew we’d broken up and I knew she knew her name.  The games girls play don’t make any sense to me.

*

“Oh, I’m soooo sorry.”   She let the “o” drag out and moved her fingers down my arm to rest on top of my hand.  “Can I do anything for you?”

*

What the heck, I’m not getting any younger. “Yeah.  How about dinner tomorrow night?”  If I’m serious about moving on, that means dating someone new, right?

*

“Yes!  I’d love to have dinner with you.  You wanna pick me up around six?  In your car?”  Her face broke out into a megawatt smile and yet a momentary sense of dread washed over me.  I shook it away and returned her enthusiasm.

*

“Six sounds great.”

*

Abby

*

Walking into the tattoo parlour, my blood ran cold.  I wanted to do it.  I needed to do it.  But I couldn’t do it alone.  Who was I kidding?  I needed Ben to hold my hand.  Plus, he really wanted to get a tattoo.   I should wait until we can go together, I thought.  But reality reared its ugly head.  You’re not going to be able to go together.  You aren’t with him anymore.  He probably hates you.

*

I turned to leave, but a tall man with dirty blonde hair and tattoos running up the entire length of his arm stepped forward before I could make it out the door.

*

“Can I help you?”

*

I looked around the shop again before answering.  It looked clean at least, more cheerful than I was expecting, with bright white walls, stainless steel tables, and red chairs.  Not dodgy in the least, like several of the ones my neighbor recommended to me.  I’d passed by it at least once a week on my way down Great Portland Street to and from the Intuition offices, but this was the first time I’d summoned the courage to come in. “Um, I’m not sure.  I was kinda thinking about getting a tattoo.”

*

He looked startled for a second and I couldn’t understand why until he asked, “Yank?”

*

“Huh?  Oh, am I American?”

*

He nodded.

*

“Yeah.  Just moved here a little over a month ago.”

*

“I like your accent.”  He grinned and motioned for me to take a seat at a table near the door.

*

“I like your’s too.”  I blushed as he sat opposite me and pulled out a couple of design books.  He had a beautiful smile, with pink full lips and straight white teeth.  He looked like he came straight out of a toothpaste ad.

*

“I’m Billy,” he thrust his hand out and I took it to shake.  There were calluses covering his fingers, but the roughness of his skin only gave him a more manly quality.

*

“Abigail.”

*

“What were you interested in getting done?”

*

“Oh, I don’t know.  I’m not even sure I want a tattoo.”

*

“Then why’d you come in?”

*

“I’m trying to live more.”

*

He laughed.  An earthly, round laugh.  It had a soothing effect to it.  Suddenly, I felt safe in his hands.  “Then you definitely need a tat.  Here, look at some of these books and see what you think.  Or we can always design something for you.”  He flipped through a couple of pages and pointed out a few.  “Now, I take you to be a hearts and stars kinda girl, whaddya think?”

*

I looked over the cupid’s hearts and cheesy shooting stars and crinkled my nose.  Did I look that frilly?  “Um, no.  I don’t think so.  Actually, I was thinking maybe a tribute to my grandfather.  We were really close, but he died ten years ago.  He grew anemones in his garden.  Do you have any of those?”

*

“Anemones?  Never heard of them.  Is that a flower?”

*

“Yeah.”

*

“Let’s look it up.”  We walked over to another table with a computer and pulled up some images.  I pointed out a few and he sketched them on a blank pad.  When I choose the one I liked best, he ripped it out and drew it on a fresh page.

*

“Where do you want it?” he asked, preparing the needles and ink he’d need to impale me with the design.

*

“Oh.  I don’t know.  What’s popular?”

*

“Hang what’s popular.”

*

I laughed.  “What about right here?”  I held my left hand out and pointed to the outside of my wrist, right above where the arm met the base of my hand.

*

“Looks good.  I hope your boss won’t mind such a visible tattoo.”

*

“Oh, I’m a writer, I think the editors will be okay with it.”

*

“Then that’s where we’ll put it.”

*

My hand shook as he descended upon it with the needle.  I had to press down on it with my other hand to control the tremors, and even that didn’t work.  I yelped the first time he pierced my skin, but after that, I kept my eyes closed tight and bit down on my bottom lip to stop from screaming.  Billy chuckled gently to himself, but would stop and ask if I was okay any time my arm tensed up.

*

At one point he paused and asked, “Does your boyfriend dig tattoos?”

*

“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

*

“You’re too fit not to have one.”

*

I swear flames erupted on my face.  “Well, be that as it may, my ex lives in the States, and yes, he does like tattoos.”

*

“Ah.  Must be a real prat to let you get away.”

*

I was too embarrassed to respond further, partly because I was flattered and partly because it didn’t matter how cute and charming Billy was, he wasn’t Ben and I didn’t want to continue the flirtation.

*

Two hours later, he cleaned up the artwork with a damp paper towel and placed a white bandage on it.  I stared at my wrist in amazement.  I’d done it.  I’d gotten a tattoo.  All by myself.  Holy crap!

*

“Come back in a couple of days and I’ll touch up any areas that need it and get a photo for my portfolio.”  He was still holding my wrist, examining the bandaged area, but he brought his brown eyes to mine as he spoke.  My stomach did a little flip.

*

“Okay, sure.  Thanks so much.  You made this really easy.”

*

“It was my pleasure.”  He smiled at me and my cheeks reddened once again.

*

I paid him and left the shop quickly, anxious to get back into the spring air, to cool off my head.  There was something so familiar and comforting about him, but it made me uneasy.  I reached the corner and heard footsteps behind me.

*

“Abigail!”

*

I turned and Billy headed straight towards me, that brilliant smile radiating as he held out a slip of paper to me.

*

“I think you left this in the shop,” he said.

*

“What?  I don’t think that’s mine.”  I took it from him without thinking and he grinned before turning on his heel.

*

“It’s for you,” he called over his shoulder.

*

I opened the paper as he disappeared back into the parlour and couldn’t believe my eyes.

*

Call me sometime— (020) 1050 5690

-Billy-
*

*

<– Chapter Thirty-One: Picking Up the Pieces ******************** Chapter Thirty-Three: Ugh, A First Date –>

Chapter Thirty-One: Picking Up the Pieces

Ben

*

With Abby gone, I had no choice but to get back into the swing of things.  Since we’d started dating, I’d neglected the other people in my life.  Mainly my family.  I wanted to make it up to them.

*

Tracy hugged me quickly as she ushered me into the house.  “Ben, thank you so much for taking Hannah and Joey today.  Ike was supposed to be home, but he had an emergency at the hospital.”

*

Joey came running into my arms and I squeezed his little body to my chest.

*

“No prob, Tracey.  You know how much I love hanging with my little buddies.”  I tickled my nephew’s stomach and he squirmed and squealed, giggling and begging for more.  I obliged for a few more minutes before setting him on the ground.  He ran out of the room and Tracey grabbed my arm.

*

“How are you holding up?”  She gave me the same sympathetic, I’m-here-for-you look she’d given me after every major breakup in my life, but then she did something different.  She pulled me into a hug and rubbed my back, “You know I’m here for you if you need anything.”

*

“Geez, Trace.  It’s not like she died.  She broke up with me.  I’m fine.”  Pushing her away I went in search of Joey and Hannah.

*

She called after me, “I’ll be home at 2:00.  Call if you need me.”

*

I didn’t need her.  Finding Joey and Hannah in their playroom, I sat down and began building a tower of blocks that my niece promptly knocked down.  I built it again, she knocked it down again.  If it weren’t such a metaphor for my life, I would have enjoyed playing the game with her.

*

“Hey, do you guys want to go see a movie?” I asked when I couldn’t stand to build the tower again.

*

“No!” Hannah cried.

*

“Yes!” Joey shouted.

*

“Hannah Banana, I think you’re outnumbered, because I want to get out of the house!”  After getting their shoes and jackets on, we went to see the newest animated movie.  I felt better almost instantly.  With Joey and Hannah I didn’t have to endure the constant stream of sympathy I got from everyone else.  They just had fun with Uncle Ben.

*

The movie was actually funny.  Abby would have liked it.  She liked all kinds of movies.  God, I can’t believe now I’m the one bringing her up.

*

It had been so easy, at the beginning of our relationship, to learn the little things about her, to put her wants and needs before my own.  I didn’t even hesitate.  I enjoyed making her happy, my heart soared when her face lit up, when she smiled, when she laughed.  But I needed to retrain my brain to remember how I reacted to the world before her.  I could do that.  Hannah and Joey’s laughter brought me out of my own head, somehow managed to get me in a positive mood, and after the credits, I took them to Chuck-E-Cheese for lunch and games.

*

A single parents’ group was gathered around a table nearby and several of the young mothers smiled at me as I cut Hannah’s pizza into bite-size pieces.  I tried to ignore them, but the constant stares finally broke me.  I bowed my head and smiled back.

*

“Hey, would you like to join us?  We usually have a couple other single dads in the group, but they couldn’t make it today,” a pretty blonde said, catching my eye.

*

“Oh, thanks.  But I’m not a dad.  These are my sister’s kids.”

*

“Well, that’s okay, you’re still welcome to sit with us if you want.”  Her grin widened and I swear she actually batted her eyelashes at me.  Great, I must be wearing a sign that reads “Back on the Market.”

*

“We’re leaving soon.  But thanks.”  I turned back to Hannah, and made sure to keep my back to the group the rest of the time we were there.  The blonde was cute and friendly, but I wasn’t ready to flirt and date again.  I needed time to think about what I wanted.

*

“Uncle Ben?” Joey asked as I strapped him into the car.

*

“Joey?”

*

“How come Aunt Abigail didn’t come with us?”

*

My heart sank.  I’d been doing great since the movie, where’d he get the idea she was his aunt? “Abigail isn’t your aunt, Joey.”

*

“Mommy says she’s going to be, so I should call her that.”

*

“When did Mommy say that?”  I put Hannah in her seat.

*

“I don’t know.  Where is she?  She likes trains, like me.”  He made choo choo sounds to make sure I knew what he meant.

*

“She had to go away.  She had to move because of her job.  I don’t think she’s going to be your aunt, so you probably shouldn’t call her that.”

*

“But I like her.”

*

“I like her too, buddy, but sometimes that isn’t enough.  Now, let’s go home.  Mommy will be back soon.”  He didn’t argue, so I got in the driver’s seat and drove back to their house.  Tracey’s car was already in the garage.

*

“Hey guys!  I missed you!”  She gave each of the kids a kiss and hoisted Hannah up so she rested on her hip.  “Thanks again, Ben.  I got a lot of work done.”

*

“Yeah, no sweat.  Hey, can we talk for a minute?”

*

Her face immediately transformed back into the pity-party from earlier.  “Of course.  Let me put Hannah down for her nap and pop a video in for Joey.”  I followed them into the house and helped Joey pick out his DVD while we waited for Hannah to fall asleep.  A half hour later, I was alone with my sister in the living room.

*

“What’s up?” she asked, putting her hand on my arm.

*

“When did you tell Joey that Abigail was going to be his aunt?”

*

“What?  Why, did he call her that?”

*

“Yeah.  When did you tell him?” I tried to keep my voice steady.  I shouldn’t have been angry about it, after all, it’s what I planned on for the past six months at least, but my emotions seemed to have minds of their own.

*

“I don’t know Ben.  Not that long ago, I guess.”  She removed her hand and tucked her arms across her chest, refusing to meet my gaze.

*

“Before or after the break up?”  It was after, I just know it.

*

“After, I think.”  She paused, but continued, “We all know the two of you are going to end up together.”

*

“Yeah right.” I rolled my eyes and got up from the couch.  I grabbed a foam football from where it lay in the corner of the room and squeezed and pounded it in my hands, trying to beat out my frustration.

*

“I saw the way she looked at you, Ben.  She loves you.  She only broke up with you because she felt guilty for leaving and didn’t think it was fair to you to continue the relationship when you could find someone here.”

*

“If she knew me at all she’d know that was crazy.”

*

“Really?  You mean you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing if you’d been in her shoes?”

*

“I would’ve chosen her,” I spat the words out and realized for the first time why I was really upset.  Given the choice, I would’ve always chosen her.  I wanted to scream, to purge myself of the anger, pain, and betrayal clogging my heart.  I wanted everyone else to feel as miserable as I did.

*

“I gotta go.  I already tried to explain the situation to Joey.  I’d appreciate it if you’d back me up and not continue telling him that Aunt Abigail is coming back to play with him.”

*

“Don’t leave angry.”

*

“I’m not angry.”  I grabbed my jacket and stormed out of the house.  But yelling at Tracey didn’t make the continuous ripping of my heart heal itself.  Guilt spread through my conscience for taking my resentment out on her, but she went over the line.  Ugh!  Can I just get out of here?  Find a place where no one knows me or knows about Abby and me?  I’m sick of the whole damn thing!

*

*  *  *  *

*

My bike hummed beneath my thighs as I tore down the highway.  The wind rushed at me in currents and the cautious recklessness of the ride comforted me.  I hadn’t mapped out a plan or selected a destination.  I just rode into the night, ready for whatever fell my way.  It was almost midnight and I started getting sleepy, man, you’re getting old, so I decided to stop in the next town and get a hotel room.

*

It didn’t take long to find a motel and check in.  Dirty and run down, the place was perfect for a man of my circumstances.  I found my way to room twenty-five and locked myself in for the evening.  The queen size bed had a broken leg, with newspaper stuffed beneath it to level the frame.  The faded floral comforter and pillows smelled musty, but it was something different.  I threw myself on it and fell asleep within minutes.

*

This can’t be the last conversation we have, the last time we see each other, the last time we touch.  Don’t wait for me, move on with your life, but don’t ask me to say goodbye.  I don’t want to end it like that, I don’t want to think it’s over.

*

Abby’s last words to me tortured my sleep that night.  No matter how far away I got, my subconscious wanted to think of her.  Wanted to hold on to her.  I woke up several times and tried to push the words away by watching television, reading the magazines stacked on the nightstand, even playing games on my cell phone.  But each time I closed my eyes again, her green stare met me.  I gave up sleeping in order to get away from it.  My heart bled enough in the daytime, I couldn’t take the grief in my dreams, too.  Wasn’t the idea to get away from her memory, not get more acquainted with it?

*

When enough light shone through the windows to make it acceptable to be up and about, I checked out of the room and found my way across the street to a small diner.  The breakfast special consisted of three eggs cooked to order, bacon, sausage, and whole-wheat toast.  Sounded pretty good to me.

*

“Would you like coffee, honey?”  The waitress set my plate and silverware before me.

*

“Ugh, no.  Just another glass of orange juice, please.”

*

“Sure thing, sweetie.  You going to the baseball game today?”

*

“Baseball game?  Sorry, I’m not from around here.”  Salting my eggs and unfolding my napkin, I waited for her to leave, but she just stood beside me, staring out the window.

*

“It’s going to be a good day for a game.  You should check it out.  You look like a sports fan.”  She nudged the rim of my baseball cap and finally walked away.  I watched her go.  A baseball game actually sounded like fun.  I hadn’t seen anyone other than the Red Sox play in months.  When she returned with a glass of OJ, I asked her how to get to the game.

*

It didn’t take long to find the field and the bleachers were already half-full when I took a seat on the highest bench.  Kids ran back and forth in front of the crowd, playing a no-rules version of “Tag” and mothers laughed and snapped photos as the audience waited for the ump to start the first inning.  The teams looked like a hodgepodge of characters and I instantly thought about my friends in Boston and longed for the feel of the ball in my hand.

*

As the teams stepped onto the field, the now-full bleachers stood, howling and applauding.  Several players were called out by name, many waved to acknowledge their family and friends in the stands.  As play began, I turned to the person closest me, a teenage boy, and asked him if the game was part of a tournament of some kind.  He laughed at my ignorance.

*

“Nah, just a couple of rec teams playing a rematch.  It was rained out a few days ago.”

*

“Why is everyone making such a big deal about it?”

*

“Whaddya mean?”

*

“Well, the stands are full, everyone’s clapping and cheering like they’re at a major league game.”

*

“We just like to support our people, I guess.”  He turned to his friends and made several, not-so-quiet, jokes at my expense.  I had to chuckle along with him.  My knowledge of small-town life was restricted to stereotypes from movies and television.

*

I got caught up in the game.  It didn’t feel like two small-town teams battling for bragging rights at the local bar.  It reminded me more of the final game of the World Series.  The crowd cheered for every play, every strikeout, every homerun, every error, every bad play the ump called.  They knew nothing about what was going on, but by the end of the game, I cheered along with them.  Every play got the crowd excited and I found myself swept up in the energy.  As the teams exited the field, I jumped to my feet, yelling and clapping with all my strength.

*

Rejuvenated, I got on my bike and hit the road again, heading back to Boston.  My life before Abby hadn’t disappeared.  I longed to get back on the softball field, to get to the complex and begin new plans for advertising and create new projects for the kids, to spend time with friends, to hang out with my sister.

*

I pulled into Matt and Trish’s driveway at a quarter til six.  The look of surprise on Matt’s face was priceless when he opened the door.

*

“Ben!  Hey, what are you doing here?”

*

“I just came over to celebrate.”

*

“Celebrate what?”  He stepped aside to let me in, confusion replacing surprise in his features.

*

“Your engagement, of course!”  I pulled him into a hug and he slapped a hand on my back.

*

“Thanks, man.  Trish!” he called out, “Ben’s here!”  Trish came out of the kitchen and immediately hugged me.  I squeezed her and offered my congratulations again.

*

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend when you first told me.  I just needed some time for the shock to wear off.  I’m really happy for both of you.”

*

“Well, that’s good, because we’ve already set a date.”  Trish smiled warmly at me, happiness diffused over her face.  The bride-to-be glow suited her.  Why had Matt waited so long?

*

“Oh, yeah?  When’s the happy day?”

*

“September eighteenth.”  Matt slung his arm around my shoulder.  “And I’d like you to be my best man, whaddya think?”

*

“Of course!  Of course I’ll be your best man!”  We hugged again and Trish laughed at us.

*

“Am I going to have to start warning you two about PDA?”

*

“Haha, very funny.”  I took a few steps away from him.  “Wait, September, that’s only five months away.”

*

“My parents’ country club had a cancellation and my dad really wants to throw the wedding, so we didn’t have much of a choice,” Trish explained.

*

“Well, whatever you guys need me to do, just let me know.  I’m really thrilled for you.  I know you guys are going to be happy together for a long time.  At least until Trish realizes the mistake she’s made.”  I jabbed Matt in the stomach.

*

“Hey, you’re my best man now, save those kind of jokes for your toast.”

*

“Oh, don’t you worry about that.  I’ve got enough dirt on you to toast your second and third marriage, too.”

*

“Hey, now, I don’t find that particularly funny.”  Trish wrapped her arms around Matt’s waist and lightly kissed him.  Suddenly, my happiness for them drained out of me.  Seeing them so happy brought memories of Abby rushing to my head.  How many times had she held me like that?  Countless.  Bracing myself, I forced my smile back into place and told them I’d interrupted their evening for too long.

*

They walked me to the door and Trish gave me one last hug before I left.  They stood hugging in the doorway as I revved my engine and flew down the street.

*

It will only get easier with time, I thought to myself. I really am happy for them.  I’d be happier if Abby were here to celebrate with us, but that’s not going to happen.

*

As I entered my silent house it felt like days since I’d been there, but I’d only left the afternoon before.  Immediately, I went to the calendar hanging on the fridge and marked September eighteenth.  My dreams were peaceful that night; I woke the next morning ready to reacquaint myself with my former life.

*

*

<– Chapter Thirty: Aftermath********************* Chapter Thirty-Two: Starting Over –>

Chapter Thirty: Aftermath

Ben

*

I woke up the next morning and immediately reached for her.  I don’t know why I had that reflex.  I guess the habit developed quickly after New Year’s.  But it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t there.

*

The first hour of the day was spent clearing my house of her things.  She would be moving soon, if I didn’t pack up her stuff, she might leave without it, and I couldn’t bear the thought of constant reminders.

*

She left a couple pairs of shoes and a few sweaters hanging in my closet.  Taking a familiar lavender one of its hanger, I caught a whiff of her scent.  Vanilla.  Tears came to my eyes.  God, what a pansy you’ve become. Stuffing the sweater into a box, I grabbed the rest of her clothes and went into the living room.  The album I’d made sat on the coffee table, glaring at me.  I flipped through it one last time before putting it in the box with the rest of her things.  Now what?

*

I dialed her sister’s number.

*

“Hello?”

*

“Anna, hey, it’s Ben.”

*

“Ben?  Oh my goodness.  Are you okay?”

*

“I’ve been better.  Listen, I know she’s going to be leaving soon and she left stuff at my place.  I don’t think I can see her again.  Do you mind picking it up?”  I coughed into my hand to hide the despair in my tone, but I knew I wasn’t fooling her.  Get a grip, man!

*

“Of course.  I’ll come by after work tomorrow.  Ben, listen…”

*

I cut her off, “Thanks, I’ll see you then.”  I hung up and picked up the box, setting it beside my front door so I would have easy access to it when Anna stopped by.  It wasn’t going to be easy seeing her, either.  She looked too much like Abby.  God, you’re pathetic.

*

I went back to my room for my wallet and keys, realizing as I walked in the door they were in the box she gave me for my birthday.  I snatched it up and dumped it on the bed.  Picking what I needed out of the pile, I left the remains scattered on top of the comforter and took the box to put with the rest of her things.  No way I was going to leave that memento lying around.

*

I locked up the house and made my way to the complex.  Matt planned to meet me there at noon.  We were going to play basketball and I was going to forget about last night.  She was gone.  I wallowed.  It was time to move on.

*

And I tried, I really tried to move on.  I tried not to think about her when Anna stopped by to pick up her stuff.  I tried not to think about her every time I sat down to dinner or went to bed alone.  And if I’d had more time, maybe I would have succeeded.

*

A week and a half after she dumped me, I was still in the process of forgetting when, toweling off after a long, hot shower, I noticed my phone glowing: one missed call, one new voice mail.  Flipping it open, Abigail’s picture and name stared at me.  Why hadn’t I deleted her from my cell yet?  I threw the phone on my bed and got dressed, then went into the kitchen to make myself dinner.  I wasn’t interested in what she had to say.

*

Oh, who was I kidding?  I was extremely interested.

*

I tried to eat my dinner calmly, but my thoughts kept wandering back to the phone.  Fine.  I’ll listen to the message.

*

“Ben, hey, it’s me.  I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight, and I just, I just wanted to hear your voice.  I know I don’t deserve it, but if you could call me back in the next hour… well, no, I’m sorry.  Okay, Anna gave me the stuff I left at the house, your house, and um, I just wanted to let you know…” the message cut off, ending my brief moment of bliss.  Her voice had been shaky and full of pauses.  I hated listening to the pain in her words, but still, it made me feel a little better.  At least I wasn’t the only one going through hell.  I contemplated calling her back, when the phone started buzzing in my hand.  Her again.

*

“Abigail?”

*

“Ben!”  Neither of us spoke for a minute, I couldn’t think of what to say to her.

*

Finally, she broke the tension, “I’m sorry I called, but I got cut off on the last message and part of me was hoping you’d call back, and well, I just couldn’t imagine leaving the country without talking to you…” her voice trailed off.  I still didn’t speak.

*

“I know you’re upset, angry with me.  I won’t push you; if I were in your place I wouldn’t talk to me either.  I just wanted to tell you I left my grandfather’s box, your box, with Trish.  I understand if you don’t want it right now, but it’s yours, I gave it to you, and maybe someday you’ll be able to look at it and remember the good things about me, about us.”  Her voice broke, and muffled sobs made their way to my ears.  I hated to hear her cry.

*

“Thanks, Abby.  I’ll get it from Trish when I’m ready.  Hey, good luck, and have fun.”

*

“Ben, I…”

*

“Yeah, me too.  Bye.”  I hung up before she could say anything else.  The pain in my heart deepened as I stared at the now-silent phone in my hands.  Tossing it back on the bed, I grabbed my keys and headed to the complex, to my bar.  Six tequila shots later and I felt much better.  For the first time in my adult life, I enjoyed the taste of liquor as it slid down my throat, helping me block out the last month, helping me forget.

*

Abby

*

He hung up without letting me say I love you.  Probably a good thing.  Why make it even more difficult on either of us?  I snapped my phone shut and let it fall into my lap, tears flowing freely down my face.  My sobs grew louder and I struggled to take air into my lungs.  People stared as they walked by, but I couldn’t control myself.

*

With every sob another memory flashed before my eyes: our first kiss, the first time I said ‘I love you,’ meeting his family, Ben holding his own against my father.  I could barely see through my tears, but pulled the photo album out of my carry-on bag and opened it to the last page.  Still unable to see the pictures before me, I hugged the book to my chest, closed my eyes, and tried to remember the warmth of Ben’s arms holding me.

*

It didn’t work.

*

Oh God.  What have I done?  He’s never going to forgive me for this, is he?  Is it too late to take it back?  To run back into his arms?

*

Yes.

*

“Ladies and Gentleman, we are now boarding for flight number BA0238 Boston to London.”  A woman’s chipper voice came over the loudspeaker.

*

I let a few more sobs out as I repacked the album into my carry-on and gathered the rest of my things.  Taking a final look at what would be my last view of Boston and the US for several months at least, I breathed in deeply and stepped towards the gate.  My hand shook as I handed the attendant my boarding pass, I.D., and passport.

*

“Welcome to British Airways, enjoy your flight,” she said, smiling and giving my license and passport back.  I gulped and followed the passengers ahead of me onto the plane.  No turning back now.

*

I cried throughout the entire trip.  All six and a half hours.  The flight attendants stopped asking what was wrong by hour two.  I knew I was being ridiculous.  I broke up with him.  The pain in my heart was my own doing.  But it still hurt.

*

*

<– Chapter Twenty-Nine: Tough Decision********************Chapter Thirty-One: Picking Up The Pieces –>

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Tough Decision

Abby

*

The week was hell.  How was I supposed to choose between the two things I wanted most in life?  It didn’t seem possible to have both the career I’d been working for the past four years and the man I loved more than life itself.  I couldn’t concentrate at work.  I burned everything I tried to cook.  There was a distance between Ben and I that never existed before.  It was the toughest decision of my life, but by Thursday I’d made up my mind.

*

As soon as he opened the door, tears welled up in my eyes.  His face was vacant, his eyes dead.  Was he trying to hide his anguish?  Make this easier for both of us?  Nothing could make what I was about to do any easier.  He stepped back wordlessly, inviting me in.  Neither of us spoke for ten minutes.

*

“I love you,” he said, the blank mask disappearing, his eyes searching my face for a sign of hope I couldn’t give.

*

“I love you, too.”  I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach; all breath seemed to escape me at once.  I wanted to reach for his hand, feel the warmth of his touch, but I knew if I did, he would put his arms around me, he would comfort me, and that wasn’t fair to him.  This was my choice; I had no right to be comforted.  I searched my brain, looked into his eyes; is there anyway I can do this without hurting him?

*

“No,” he said, as if reading my mind.  He turned away and walked to the window.  “It’s raining,” he threw out, “only fitting, I guess.  We’ve come full circle.”

*

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and followed his gaze out the window.  Thunder clapped, interrupting our silence.  Would it be better now if I just left, without saying another word? It broke my heart to say goodbye- maybe if I didn’t say it I wouldn’t regret the choice I’d made.  I heard the jangle of my keys, heard my footsteps as I walked towards the door, but didn’t feel the motions.  My heart remained where it was: standing in his living room, watching him.

*

“Don’t leave.”  He turned with pleading eyes and made a step towards me.

*

“I don’t want to,” I admitted, hand on the door.

*

“Then why?” Another step.

*

“Because I have to.  This is my chance to do something special, to be someone special.”

*

“But you’re special to me.” Another step.

*

“But not to myself.  And you don’t deserve that, and I don’t deserve you.”

*

He crossed the room, his hand touched my face, wiped away my tears.  I reached up and grasped his hand with mine, gently removing it.  I kissed his palm and guided it back to his side.

*

“Don’t make me say goodbye,” I pleaded, my eyes focused on the doorknob.

*

“Goodbye?”  His voice suddenly stronger, deeper.  “Is that what this is?”  His hand closed around mine, preventing me from turning the handle.  I didn’t answer.

*

He grew angry, “If that’s what this is, then you can’t pretend we aren’t saying goodbye.  You don’t get to have it that easy.  If you’re going to end this, you have to do it.  If you don’t say goodbye tonight, then you better be planning on coming back tomorrow.”

*

His stare pierced my heart.  “I meant it when I said I was ready to spend my life with you.  I’m not the one giving up.  If you don’t want me, you have to say it!”  The blue eyes I fell in love with sparked with fire, I couldn’t look away, even though I wanted to.

*

“It’s not that I don’t want you.”

*

“Then why?” He almost screamed the words, but his volume didn’t change.

*

“You don’t understand and I don’t expect you to.  I don’t want to leave you, I don’t want to end this.” I placed my free hand on my heart then on his, like so many months ago in Florida when I told him I was finished doubting his feelings for me.

*

“If there was a way to have both… But I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask you to do long distance, to ask you to wait for me when I have no idea when I’ll be coming back.”  I paused, waited, hoped he’d tell me I was wrong, that we could handle anything together.  But he said nothing.  His free hand clutched at mine, still pressing against his chest.  His silence strengthened my resolve and shattered my heart.

*

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.  I’ve worked so hard, my entire life, and I’ve never gotten anywhere.  I’ve been stuck in limbo, struggling to move forward.  If I don’t take this opportunity, I’ll regret it forever.  I’ll always wonder what if.  You and I, well, I never thought this was in the cards for me.  I went so long without caring for anyone, without anyone caring about me, I imagined I’d never get that opportunity.  And then you came along and you are so perfect.  I couldn’t have dreamed you any better.”  My hands trembled and the words shook coming from my mouth.

*

“I love you in a way I never thought I could love anyone.  I don’t want to say goodbye, because I don’t want it to be over. This can’t be the last conversation we have, the last time we see each other, the last time we touch.  Don’t wait for me, move on with your life, but don’t ask me to say goodbye.  I don’t want to end it like that, I don’t want to think it’s over.”  My lip quivered as I finished, I bit down to stop the tremors.

*

“You can’t do that to me.  You can’t have it both ways.”  Tears formed in his eyes.

*

“I’m sorry.  But, I need to know that I can do this.  I need to know I can do it on my own.  I don’t want to live without you, but I need to know I can.  Then someday, if I have the chance and I choose to be with you, you’ll know it’s not because I need you, but because I want you.”

*

He didn’t answer, but his grey-blue eyes clouded over, a tear broke out and streaked his handsome face.  I hated myself for the agony I was causing him.

*

“I’m so sorry.”  The words were so pathetic I wouldn’t let my voice get louder than a whisper.  I leaned forward to kiss his cheek, but he moved swiftly, suddenly, and our lips met before I was aware of what he was doing.  His hands released mine and moved to caress my face.  They grew firm, holding me to him.  Instinctively, I threw my arms around his neck, pulling his body closer to mine.

*

And that moment became my past, my present, and my future.  His arms moved again, now clasping around my waist.  We felt like one person: no beginning, no end.  My eyes closed tight, but I could see his face- smiling at me, eyes focused.  No pain, no tears.  We could have stayed there forever; I could have stayed there forever.  But I knew it was only making the separation more excruciating for both of us.

*

I tried to pull away, but he drew me closer.  I let him.  A few more seconds wouldn’t kill me.  But what about him?  The thought of extending his pain hurt worse than my own, so I broke free.

*

“I love you.”  I turned the knob and walked out the door.  Rain fell on my hot skin, but it couldn’t cool down the fever raging inside me.  I didn’t look back.  I already regretted leaving and knew if I saw his face again, I wouldn’t be able to resist him.  I prayed this wasn’t the end.  I prayed someday circumstances would change and one of us would find the other.  I knew in my head I was doing the right thing for me.  I knew in my heart how selfish it was.  And I hated myself for it.

*

Ben

*

As I stood on my front porch, watching her walk out of my life, I couldn’t distinguish between the drops of rain pelting my face and the tears falling from my eyes.  My whole heart, my whole soul ached; the pain intensified with each step she took.

*

I knew I couldn’t stop her.  I knew she had to leave, but I couldn’t prevent myself from running down the stairs and following the path of her taillights as they glided down the road and eventually disappeared.

*

She was gone.  Out of my life as quickly as she had entered it.

*

When there was no longer hope of her headlights reappearing, I went inside.  The house I planned on being our home felt completely empty.  Glancing around the living room, a scream built up inside me.

*

Why, why would she do this to me?  Doesn’t she know how much I love her?  Doesn’t she remember all of the things we did together, all of the fears I helped her face? Anger rose in me and I slammed the door shut behind me, trying to close out the world.  What now?

*

My cell phone rang, and I lunged for it, knocking it off the arm of the couch and sending it clanking to the floor.  Scrambling to pick it up, I tripped on my own feet and fell headfirst into the hardwood.  I didn’t care.

*

“Hello?  Abby?” I answered, breathless and wincing.

*

“No, it’s Matt.  Didn’t you look at the caller id?”

*

“No, I was just hoping.”

*

“Geez, man.  You are soooo whipped.”

*

“Not anymore,” I muttered.

*

His voice lost its sarcasm. “What do you mean?”

*

“She broke up with me.  She’s moving to London.”

*

“No shit!”

*

“Yeah.”

*

“I’ll be right over.”

*

“No.  Don’t.  I want to be alone tonight.  I don’t want to see anyone.”  I covered my eyes with my hands and massaged my forehead.  I couldn’t stand being around Matt right now.  He’d be really supportive, but his idea of support would be trashing Abby for hours and goading me into telling him all the reasons why I was better off and I couldn’t take that right now.  Because I wasn’t better off and nothing could convince me that I was.

*

“Well, what about tomorrow, you want to go shoot some hoops?”

*

“Maybe.  Hey, what were you calling for?”  I wanted to talk about something else.  Anything else.

*

“Oh, um.  Well, it can wait,” his voice cracked.

*

“Just spit it out, Matt.”

*

“I don’t think now’s a good time.”

*

“For Christ’s sake.  Just tell me.”

*

He was silent for at least a minute.  I was about to hang up when he blurted out, “Trish and I are engaged.”

*

“Oh my God.”  I tried to say more, but I couldn’t speak.  My best friend needed me to be excited for him, but all I felt was emptiness.

*

“Listen, I know you’ll be happy for us when you wake up tomorrow, so you don’t have to say anything.  Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”

*

“Yeah, I’m sure.  Um, congratulations.”

*

“Thanks.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

*

“Okay. “  I hung up without waiting for his reply.  Matt and Trish are getting married and Abby and I are broken up.  What the hell is going on in the universe?

*

*

<– Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Hard Truth ******************** Chapter Thirty: Aftermath –>