Mixed Signals (22 page)

O
n this beautiful fall day, Mr. O'Brien has his living room windows wide open. His television is loud enough for me to hear the football game that he's watching. The Patriots are humiliating the Bills. A U-Haul box truck bumps up the road, with Ben's car trailing behind it. I rise from the step I'm sitting on as Ben, Lucas, and another friend step out of the vehicles onto the driveway. Ben heads toward the walkway to greet me while his friends circle around to the back of the truck.

Mr. O'Brien steps out onto the porch as Ben pulls me into an embrace. “Need a hand?” the old man asks as the truck's back gate rumbles open.

“The guys and I have it covered, but thank you.” Ben walks across the porch to shake my landlord's hand. Lucas carries a large box up the stairs. He bobs his blue cap in Mr. O'Brien's direction.

After six months of dating, Ben is moving in today. Other than the apartment being more crowded with his belongings, it won't be much of a change for us, because he's pretty much been living here since the day he called into the radio show. Before we made it official though, Ben insisted on getting Mr. O'Brien's permission.

We had the old man over for dinner and Ben asked him if he minded if there was another tenant living in his duplex. I expected Mr. O'Brien to lecture Ben about how back in his day a man didn't live with a woman unless he was married to her. Instead Mr. O'Brien pointed out the window at Ben's Charger. “That thing doesn't leak oil, does it?” he asked with a laugh. He slapped Ben on the back. “You better do right by her.”

“Count on it,” Ben answered.

Ben's other friend struggles to lift a chair out of the truck. Mr. O'Brien and Ben go down to help him. With the five of us unloading, the truck is empty in no time at all. Ben's friends drive off, Mr. O'Brien returns to his apartment to watch the game, and Ben and I unpack his boxes in the living room. The television is tuned to the football game, but neither one of us is really paying attention to it.

“I'll be right back,” Ben says. “There's still one more box in my car.”

I glance at the television while he's gone. The Patriots' receiver catches a ball near the forty yard line and runs all the way down the field, extending his arms toward the goal line as he gets tackled. “Is he down on the one yard line or did he make it to the end zone?” the announcer asks. “They're reviewing the play now.”

Ben returns with a small box. He kneels on the floor in front of me, opens it, and pulls out the most beautiful diamond ring I have ever seen.

Next door, Mr. O'Brien yells, “Touchdown!”

Though she always dreamed about being the shortstop for the Boston Red Sox,
Diane Barnes
is a marketing writer in Massachusetts. She received her Bachelor of Arts degree in journalism from Saint Michael's College in Vermont. She participates in two monthly writing groups and regularly attends novel writing workshops in Boston and Worcester, Massachusetts. Readers can visit her website at
www.dianembarnes.com