On an Edge of Glass (29 page)

But
I can’t help but revel in the little moments with Ben.  Like the way that the heat of his body melds into mine when we’re standing next to each other.  Or the gentle brush of his fingertips on my wrist when we’re walking next to each other.  I’m all flurry and fluttering heart.  It’s like now that the idea of wanting Ben is back, I can’t contain it.

We enter the café and are seated a
t a small round table.  Beside us is a window that opens out onto the street.  Ben scoots his chair closer to the edge of the table and asks, “So what do you think about Asheville so far?”

I frown. 
“We’ve been downtown for about forty-five minutes, right?”

“Yeah…” he says slowly, his eyes
trained on me.

“Well,” I say,
fussing with my silverware.  “I decided approximately forty-
four
minutes ago that I’m in love with this city.”

I know that
my statement makes him happy because of the way that he smiles and ducks his head so that his hair covers the flush creeping into his cheeks. 

The waitress, an attractive
woman a few years older than us, with a tattoo of a peacock on her forearm, comes over to take our order.  I try not to bristle when she barely smiles at me, but cranks it up to full wattage for Ben’s sake.  When her large, globe-like breasts skim his shoulder as she points out the soup of the day on the paper menu in his hands, I have to remind myself for the second time in the last five minutes that I’m not on a date with Ben. 

“J
ust holler if you need anything.  I’m Amy,” the waitress hedges as she deposits our drinks on the table.  “Your food will be out shortly.”

I’m not even going to
acknowledge the hungry look that she gives Ben or the way that she waggles her butt in his face when she walks away from our table.  God.  I’m like a rabid dog with my hackles up.  I take a long breath and exhale through my clenched teeth.

“So…
”  Ben says.  He folds his hands on the table in front of him and points his index fingers up like a steeple. 

“So…” I mirror.

Ben chews his lip and considers me.  “Are things between us back to being weird?”

I purse my lips and crinkle my nose
.  “Possibly.”

He chuckle
s. 

I can’t think of anything to say, so I take a sip of water and look out the window at Asheville.  I really do love it.  It’s small and quirky in an artisanal kind of way.  It’s the type of city that makes you want to grow your hair out, learn how to build hand-carved furniture, and start brewing your own beer. 

“Do you want to talk about law school?”  Ben asks finally.

I shake my head and frown.  “Not really.  I
applied to a bunch of other places, but I can’t really think about that now.  I’d prefer to talk about something else.”

“I get that,” Ben says. 
So, he tells me more about his brothers, and what it was like for them after his dad died six years ago.  And then he talks about classes and describes the auditions that he has coming up. 

“Seattle?” 

“Yeah.  And Monterey and a couple other places in California.”

“Oh,” I murmur,
dropping my eyes to my burger.  It arrived a minute ago.  “That just seems really far away.  I thought that you were going to try for New York, or Boston, or someplace else on the East Coast.”

Ben doesn’t say anything right away.  “I
was
planning on New York, but lately I’m not so sure.  I’m starting to feel like I need some distance.”  He looks down.  “The guys in the band say that they’re flexible.  Nick does computer stuff so he can be pretty much anywhere, and Taylor and Connor will probably just look for bartending jobs.  They say that it’s up to me.”

“And y
ou’re going to continue to lead this double life?  Symphony by day and Accidental Sweet Tea by night?”

Ben shrugs his shoulders.
“At least until we figure things out or get some sort of deal that can pay the bills.  If that never happens, then I’m still okay.”

“What about Mia?”  I blurt out.

Ben pauses, a sweet potato fry perched between his fingers.  “What about Mia?”

“I don’t know.  I guess I’m wondering if she’ll be going with you
wherever you end up after graduation.”  I’m flustered, shaking my head and moving my hands too much in an attempt to distract from the prickling jealousy in my voice.  

Ben is watching me.
  He picks up his glass slowly. “Mia was helping out for awhile because Connor was dealing with some stuff at home, but she’s not a regular band member.  Plus, she still has another year of school before she graduates so…”

“
Oh.  I’m sure that she’ll miss you.”

God, I am so obtuse
.  I can’t believe that I just said that. 

“Ellie,” Ben says in a tone that forces me to
look up at him.  “Mia and I—”  He drops his voice.  “Mia is a lesbian.  You didn’t think that we were involved or anything like that—did you?”

I automatically shake my head, my heart beating spasmodically.  A
lesbian
?  How in the hell did I miss that? 

“
Oh, right.  I knew that,” I say even though I’m pretty sure that it’s clear that I didn’t know that.

“How about you?”  He asks
gently.

I look him
directly in the eye. 

“Me?” 
My mouth goes slack.  Is he being serious?  “I-I’m not a lesbian.”

Ben’s laugh is raucous.  T
he couple at the table next to us looks over.  From the hostess station, Amy, our flirty waitress flashes me a dirty look. 

“
No,” he says, catching his breath.  “I meant… what about that guy you were seeing?”

My brain spins. 
Does he mean Evan?  How in the world does he even know about my date with Evan?

“I
overheard Payton and Ainsley talking.  They said that you had a date with a guy from one of your classes.  Some political science major,” he qualifies when I don’t answer right away. 

I think about
how there are so many parts to this story between Ben and me.  How words and mistakes have made everything between us so muddled. 

“That was nothing,” I say, moving forward through t
he murkiness.  “It was just one date.  And, it didn’t end well.  I’m not going to go out with him again.”

Ben’s f
ace breaks into a relaxed smile.  I get the sense that my answer mattered to him.   

I don’t know how to describe what happens next.  How everything change
s.  The music gets louder.  The sun seems brighter.  The air thins out, making it easier to breathe.

After lunch, we explore t
he rest of downtown Asheville.  We duck into used bookstores and small gift shops that sell handmade soap and vinyl records and crocheted scarves. 

I lean in while Ben points things out to me
, his breath coming out in warm clouds.   I don’t mean to let my thoughts get away from me, but they do.

We pause at a corner
where the sidewalk slopes down and wait for the light to change.  The sun is behind us, casting long shadows of our bodies that extend from our feet out into the asphalt street. 

“I feel better,”
I say, knowing that Ben will understand what I mean. 

His gaze on me is unbreakable.  “Me too.”

Ashes! Ashes! We All Fall Down

Beyond the window of the car, the shadowy mountains cut a jagged black line against the dark sky. 

             
“Time’s running out.”  Ben prompts.

             
“I have to think about this one!” I whine.

             
We’re back to playing the guess-which-song game.  Once again, I am losing.  No surprise here.

             
“Led Zeppelin?” I ask cautiously.

             
Ben opens his mouth and flicks a baffled look at me. “I can’t believe you just said that.  This isn’t Led Zeppelin.  This is Rolling Stones, Ellie. Rolling. Stones.”

             
“And?”

His eyes widen.  “How do you not know
that this is a Stones song?”

“
Honestly, I think that I should be praised for at least guessing a band from the same time period.”  I smile in amusement.  “I told you the first time that we played that I would be terrible at this.  You forced me to play again and now I’ve lost twice to you.”

             
“And you lost at Scrabble,” he adds.

             
“Hey hotshot!  I think I beat you at cards and that you actually surrendered the Scrabble game to me, so I don’t think you can tally it as a win on your side.”

             
Ben blinks and stiffens his shoulders.

             
My cheeks flush with heat when I register what I’ve said.  Ben
did
surrender that Scrabble game to me, but only because I seduced him.  I can tell by the way that his breathing changes and the hard movement of his throat that he’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking. 

             
“So I did,” he says unsteadily.  He turns the steering wheel onto the curving street that leads to his house.  I notice that his knuckles are squeezed white. 

             
He parks the car and turns to me.

             
“This weekend...” He clears his throat and starts again.  “This weekend has been really great.”

             
My breathing is too shallow and it’s causing my head to spin.  This weekend
has
been great.  It’s Sunday night and we’re leaving to go back to school in the morning and I don’t want to.  I’m afraid that this shift between Ben and me will shift again, and I’m not looking forward to going back to the way things were.

             
Yesterday we spent the entire day with his mom and younger brothers.  We seemed to find a million innocent ways to touch each other.  There were countless seconds of lingering gazes and widening smiles and speeding heartbeats.  Today, Ben took me to his favorite music stores in Asheville.  We had dinner with his two best friends from growing up.  It’s been, in a word,
amazing
.

“Yeah,” I say cautiously
, feeling my eyelashes flutter against my cheeks.  “It has been a good weekend. 
Really
good.  I’ve barely thought about the letter from Columbia at all.”

             
Ben squeezes his eyes shut.  “Good,” he says rigidly, swinging his legs to get out of the car.  “That was the idea.” 

             
For a few seconds I don’t move.  My thoughts are unraveling like a spool of yarn that’s been dropped.  I know that I did something wrong.  I fling open my door and the cold outside air knocks into me.  I trip as I step around to the front of the car where Ben is.  My fingers wrap around the fabric of his jacket and I pull him to a stop beside me.   

             
“What?” I ask, sounding more desperate than I intend.

             
Ben turns his head back so that I can see his face.  Eyes, wide and shiny, blink solemnly down at me.  His firm mouth is set in a straight line.   

             
“Nothing,” he says.

             
“Why—what did I say wrong?” 

             
I lift my cold fingers to his cheek.  He flinches and I jerk my hand back. 

             
“It’s nothing,” he says again.  Then he smiles a sad kind of smile and goes inside the house. 

             
I am left standing outside, my feet and hands tingling with cold, wondering what just happened. 

I don’t bother to put on my pajamas.  I tug my shirt over my head and slip my jeans off my legs and push myself under the covers
in just my bra and underwear.

             
I could stare at the dark ceiling of Ben’s childhood bedroom for hours and still have no answers.  I’ve replayed the conversation in the car a hundred times already.  Did I freak him out?  Was it because I brought up Columbia?

             
I’m all confusion and wrong directions and missed turns.  I roll over and pull one of the bed pillows down over my head. 

I almost miss the soft sound.

Tap, tap, tap

              I sit up, holding the covers up to block my state of undress, and listen carefully.

             
There it is again.  More distinct this time.  A single finger against the door.

             
“Yeah?”  I whisper, my breath funneling out of my lungs.