Between Friends

Chapter 6

The next morning, I wake up from the sunlight beaming through the patio doors. I kick off my blankets feeling flush, and wipe away the sticky sweat dripping from my forehead. I pry my eyes open, but the pain of the bright sun locks them shut. I groan, wishing somehow I were still submerged in my dream: I was sitting on the beach with the sun warming my skin and the wind blowing through my hair. Steven appeared with a smile and pulled me gently into his arms. But when I leaned in to kiss him, he morphed into Ben. I pulled away from him, confused and scared. I tried to resist him, but he pinned my hands above my head and forced me into the cool damp sand. As soon as our naked bodies touched I crumbled in his arms and let his lips passionately press against mine. It was enough to both arose and frighten me before my mind involuntarily awoke me.

I flip and flop from side to side to try and fall back asleep. I pull a pillow over my head, count sheep and even take deeps breaths. I am purposely trying to put myself back into the realm of my dream. There was something about it that was so real, so intense, and I wanted him. Just like I want to feel Ben inside me right now. This sudden realization not only excites, but petrifies me, and there is no way I am going to be able to sleep with these crazy feelings welling up inside of me.

On the other hand, I can’t help but think what a nice evening I had with Steven. He was poised, courteous and even offered me his suit jacket when it got a bit cooler in the early morning hours. While everyone else was skinny-dipping and splashing about in the Pacific, Steven and I were having a mature discussion about our jobs, our hobbies, and our families. I liked him and found him cultured, even though he grew up on a small farm in Connecticut. But despite our differences: he liked eating steak and potatoes, while I liked eating chicken and broccoli. He liked lifting weights at the gym, while I preferred taking a spin class. He didn’t like the last two seasons of “Arrested Development”, while I found those to be the best two seasons ever. I still thought we really hit it off.

Of course I still had Ben in the back of my mind. How could I possibly forget him storming away from the table like a pouty child? But last night, after some thinking under the starry sky, I was able to put his behavior into perspective. It was clear he was tired. We travelled five hours by plane, ate a whack load of food and consumed an absurd amount of alcohol. I am actually surprised all of us didn’t do the same as he did and head back to our villas as soon as we got the chance. Besides, it would be next to impossible to believe the way he acted had absolutely anything to do with us. Therefore, it didn’t take long for me to decide that Ben and I desperately had to get our friendship back on track for a few reasons:

1. Losing him as a friend would be like losing an appendage.

2. I need to enjoy this vacation (because I rarely ever get the time to have one).

3. If Steven and I are to ever progress, I need to smooth out this sex disaster with Ben before it takes a turn for the worst.

I toss my pillow from my head and sit up. I see Michelle passed out on the floor fast asleep. I stumble across the smooth marble tiles and gently nudge her to wake up. She chokes back the drool trickling down the side of her mouth, and wipes it away with the back of her hand.

She sits up disoriented and squinty, and raises her hand up over her eyes, “What am I doing on the floor?”

“I don’t know” I groan and pull her up to her feet.

She moans and pushes me away, then staggers over to the bed. She flops down beside Stephanie, whose head in pressed into a pillow and grumbles, “Honestly Megan, you are the worst morning person ever.” Then she tries to swat me away with her hand.

I secretly laugh to myself and think back to when Michelle, Stephanie, Jessica and I lived together. It drove them crazy that I would bounce around the apartment everyday at six in the morning. I would whip up scrambled eggs, make coffee, read the daily newspaper, and even work out to the latest Jillian Michaels DVD.

Michelle starts to kick me with the back of her legs, but I refuse to let them sleep through our whole entire vacation. I rip the pillow out from under Michelle’s head, and playfully swat at her. She tosses her arm’s up and screams at me to stop being so annoying. Our altercation startles Stephanie who opens her eyes, kicks off the blankets and whips a pillow at my face. I dodge it, and watch it smack against the wall. I laugh and insist the longer we laze around the room, the less likely we are to get a good lounging spot by the pool.

Michelle rolls her eyes and gives me a dismissive wave, but Stephanie groans, trudges out of bed and says, “I am only getting up if we head down to the buffet first. I’m starving.”

Twenty minutes later, the three of us are eating our breakfast. Michelle forces her elbows on the table and presses her fists on either side of her head. Her black oversized sunglasses hide her puffy bloodshot eyes, and her hair is tossed in a sloppy bun. She downs two coffees and occasionally pokes at her toast. Stephanie on the other hand is more energetic, and pounds back a bowl of cereal and a few strips of bacon. She chats with me about her grand plans to wear her bandeau bikini top (so she can get a kick ass tan without the lines), and then hopes to pass out on a lounge chair by the pool. I tell her that sounds like a pretty good plan and glance down at my own pasty white skin. I polish off my eggs, bacon and toast and lean back in my chair to take an indulgent sip of my delicious coffee.

I startle when I see Steven and his family walk into the breakfast buffet. I smile at him and he gives me a polite wave then proceeds to pull out the chair for his mother. Wow, that is a true gentleman. Steven has yet again earned himself another point on his growing list of great boyfriend qualities. I watch him smile at his mother, and laugh with his father, which makes me do something I remember Michelle once telling me. She said that when you first start seeing a guy, if you can actually see yourself with him, then you should be able to envision your life together before it actually happens. So I decide to engage myself in this little exercise, and with minimal effort, I can suddenly see Steven and I holding hands and walking into the restaurant behind his parents. His mother would call me “Dear” and I would call her “Ma”. Steven would first pull out the chair for his mother, and then of course for me. He would gently kiss my cheek and tuck in my chair from behind me. He would whisper in my ear how beautiful I looked, and I would thank him. Then we would all turn our attention to his father, who would say how lucky Steven was to find a girl like me. His father would raise his coffee cup and we would all raise ours to meet his, and clink them together to toast the day.

It seemed simple enough, Steven and I in an actual real relationship. Besides, Jessica knows me better than anyone. If she had any doubts Steven and I wouldn’t hit it off, she would have never introduced us. I hold still in that thought, and wonder if Jessica knew Ben and I slept together (without Steven in the mix), what she would think about that. Would she tell me she always thought Ben and I would hook up one day? Or would she freak out and tell me sleeping with Ben was the stupidest thing I could have done? For a moment I actually consider spilling the beans to her as soon as I get the chance, because maybe if I did, it would make my feelings about Steven (whatever they are) a bit clearer, especially if Jessica thought the latter.

“Oh great.” I hear Michelle groan, knocking me out of my fantasy. I look up to see Jessica’s bubbly self, standing over our table with a bunch of brochures fanned out in her hands.

“Good News!” Jessica shrieks, “I just booked all of us a full day trip to the Volcano. There are zip lines, mud baths, hot springs, it’s a dream come true.”

She passes us each a brochure and vibrates with excitement. Michelle dramatically whacks her forehead on the table and tosses her arms in front of her head. Stephanie’s bottom lip protrudes and her brow furrows. She quietly pleads, and asks Jessica if we can go tomorrow instead, but Jessica immediately cuts her off, “No it’s already booked. It is going to be like old times with all eight of us.”

I remain quiet, nervously thinking about seeing Ben. When Jessica doesn’t see my enthusiasm, she stomps her foot and shouts, “Megan, say something! Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course” I smile, “Who wouldn’t want to zip line through the jungle hung over?”

****

An hour later, we are in the lobby waiting for our shuttle. Jessica is zipping around, talking to the hotel concierge, then whisking over to the tour guide, then back to us to update us on the itinerary for the day. She claps her hands together, and bounces up and down as she tells us that the bus ride to the “best day of our lives” is going to be about two hours. Michelle groans over the extensive travel time and flops down on a floral printed chaise, pulling her sunhat over her face. Jessica sits down beside me, huffs, and glances down at her watch. She crosses her legs and nervously bounces them, resting her elbows on her knees, “Where are the guys? The bus will be here any minute.”

“I am sure they are on their way.” I assure her.

“Michael is late for everything.” She groans.

“Well as long as he isn’t late for the altar.” I chuckle. But Jessica shoots me a cold stare and stands up to pace around the lobby.

A few more minutes pass before, Michael, Eric, Matthew and Ben make their way into the lobby. Jessica dramatically winds up and proceeds to start bickering with Michael about his tardy entrance. I quickly look away, and pull a Travel Costa Rica magazine off of the table beside me. I flip through the pages and keep my eyes down, but Eric’s stagy entrance distracts me and causes me to look up. I watch him stumble through the lobby hunched over in a stretch for the nearest sofa. His hair is a mess, his clothes are wrinkled, and his face is a pale yellow. He moans when he makes contact with a sofa, and exasperatingly whips his arm across his eyes.

My breathing quickens when I finally lock eyes with Ben. He looks fantastic. His dark hair is poking out from under his backwards cap and his crisp clean turquoise t-shirt clings to his muscles. His dark eyes are soft and sullen, and his face is cleanly shaven. I gulp and look away, but I can feel him staring at me. He sits down beside me and drapes his left arm along the back of the sofa. I pretend to busy myself by searching for something in the distance, but he places his thumb and index finger on my chin and turns my face towards his.

“Megan.” Ben whispers with a hint of desperation in his voice.

“What?” I say keeping my eyes on the ground and fiddle with the fringe of my shirt.

A lingering moment passes between us, and Ben drops his hand from my chin and runs it through his dark hair. He hesitates, taking a deep breath, but as Ben tries to speak, Stephanie shouts, “What’s going on over there?” and suspiciously crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Nothing,” I say and scoot back on the sofa. I lift my eyes to Stephanie, but I am worried she will be able to see everything all over my face.

“I was just telling Megan I was sorry I missed out on last night.” Ben calmly says.

Stephanie glances back and forth between us. She furrows her brow and un-crosses her arms, now completely oblivious. “Well, you did miss out on a good time.”

“It’s always a good time when boobies come out.” Matthew says and pokes Michelle in her coma-like state.

Ben leans back on the sofa, turns away from me and clears his throat, “Whose boobies?”

“We all went skinny dipping.” Stephanie laughs, “It was hilarious.”

Eric gives a thumbs-up from the sofa, and Matthew laughs and nods in agreement. Ben gives me a sideways glance, and even though I do want to clarify I was not amongst the skinny dipping crew, I don’t. For some reason, I have this silly immature instinct to let Ben wallow in the idea that I bared my birthday suit. Maybe part of me wants him to think that if everyone else has seen me naked, it somehow minimizes the fact we slept together.

“The bus is here!” Jessica shouts and waves us over towards the tour guide.

Ben pounces up from the sofa and leaves the rest of us behind to climb his way onto the bus. Jessica remains next to our tour guide as we all line up single file. I can hear her pestering him about making sure we are back on time for our dinner reservations when I slide past her and find my way into the wonderfully air-conditioned bus. I notice right away, Ben is sitting in the very back, gazing out the window. He shifts his eyes up to see me, but quickly turns them away. Old times would have dictated we definitely would have sat together. We would have played the, would you rather game, something we always did when we travelled on the subway or in a cab. Ben would always start by asking a question like, “Would you rather live in a boat, or in a motor home?” I would always laugh and wonder where he came up with all his questions. I even accused him of carrying around a journal and jotting down his dumb rathers, just so he could be better prepared than I was.

Part of me really wants to go back to those moments, and play a simple game of would you rather, but the other part of me wants to rip off his clothes again. Everything about our demeanor to one another has so quickly changed over such a short period of time. I can’t even look Ben in the eyes anymore! This is the same guy I used to have intense staring contests with so I could win the last handful of chips (corner crumbs are hands down the best part of the bag. Who wouldn’t want to win that stare down?). So I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness mixed with sheer fondness, when I think of the last Saturday before we slept together.

It was around four o’clock, and I had just finished showing a cute two-bedroom condo in Old Town. I had to run a few errands, and by errands I mean I stopped into Nicole Miller. I was browsing around, enjoying my moments of solitude and contemplating a purchase of a new little black dress when my phone rang.

“What’s up?” Ben’s chipper voice beamed through the phone.

“Just running some errands” I lied, looked at the dress’s price tag and immediately shoved it back on the rack.

“Where are you?”

“In Old Town. I just finished showing that great two-bedroom condo about an hour ago.”

“Yeah, that thing will sell itself in a day or two.” Ben said, but quickly added, “I am about twenty minutes away. What store are you in?”

“Nicole Miller.” I winced, embarrassed of my priorities. I still had yet to re-stock my toilet paper and toothpaste, but I was shopping for dresses I didn’t need.

“Okay, I will be right there. Don’t leave.” Ben said and hung up the phone. I paced around the store and eventually bought a less expensive version of the first dress I had found.

Twenty minutes later, Ben whisked through the doors just like he had said. I remember all the women who worked there checked him out when he waltzed in. It wasn’t unusual for women to become immediately smitten by Ben. I attributed it to a combination of his rugged good looks, paired with his noble confidence, and his ability to rock a smart and sexy grey pin-stripped suit (like the one he was wearing that day). He scanned the perimeters of the store with his soft dark eyes. When he spotted me, and a smile spread across his face showing off his bright white grin.

“What did you buy?” He asked and tried to snatch my bag to peek inside.

“None of your business” I said and shoved my bag under my armpit. Ben rolled his eyes and followed me out of the store.

When we made it out to the street, he immediately divulged into a plan. He suggested we go out for dinner then go back to his place to finish off our “Seinfeld” marathon for the ninth weekend in a row. I playfully moaned, but was secretly excited that the final season would come to an end. That way, we could pick a new series (my pick, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, Ben’s pick, “Dexter”) to continue our weekend tradition.

“So do you want to go somewhere around here to eat? Or somewhere close to my place?” Ben asked.

“Do we have to go out for dinner? Can’t we just get take out? I have been out all day and I really want to get out of these awful work clothes.” I said.

That’s when a flickering gleam lit up in Ben’s eyes, and with much enthusiasm, he suggested we go back to his place and cook a delicious dinner instead.

As a light rain sprinkled in the air, Ben and I ran to the Super Market and Wine Cellar on North Clark Street. Ben took over, whizzing around the store, selecting different vegetables, whole-wheat noodles, spices, and our favorite choice of meat (chicken). He would occasionally look at me and smile from ear to ear, delighted with his idea of becoming Chef Benjamin Romano for the night. While Ben checked out at the till, he asked me to go select a bottle of wine. I flashed him a few choices, but he ended up deciding on a forty-dollar Italian red wine called Bava Barolo. He insisted it was fantastic, and I laughed because he was always so serious about his wine. Unlike him, I would choose the cheapest bottle and go with that.

We made our way back to Ben’s swanky condo, overlooking the magnificent Grant Park and he started pulling out the groceries from their brown paper bags, and sprawled everything out all over his granite countertops. I began to help him sort through them, until he pushed me away and insisted he was going to do the cooking. He ordered me to pour us each a glass of wine, and to plop myself down on one of the stools surrounding his massive island. I watched Ben work his magic in the kitchen and whisk around from the fridge to the stove, back to the island for a sip of his wine, then back to the stove. He insisted on playing twenty questions, another one of Ben’s little idiosyncrasies when it came to passing the time.

Once he was done, he had made and assembled the most beautifully prepared pasta. He mixed chicken, zucchini, spinach, tomatoes and eggplant and topped it off with shaved Parmesan cheese. He also made a mixed green salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette. I even saw him whisking it together in the bottom of a large salad bowl, moments before his big reveal. I clapped at his masterpiece and said I never knew he had it in him to cook. Ben proudly smiled and said he was full of surprises.

Over dinner, he complained about how a new client of his demanded that Ben list their property way over its market value. Ben refused, which ruffled his client’s feathers a bit. But I wasn’t at all surprised by Ben’s blunt approach. It was his confidence and expertise that had led him to be the youngest top seller with Reitman Realty LLC for the past two consecutive years in a row. That was something I could only dream of, and as of last year I was thankful I even made a decent sale ranking.

Then Ben told me about how his sister recently lost a ton of weight (like went from Wynonna Judd size down to an Ashley Judd zero). I was impressed over this recent weight loss, because as long as I had known his sister, she had struggled with her weight. Then I brought up my obsession with Bachelor’s final three candidates, to which Ben rolled his eyes and told me I needed to get a real love life.

A bottle of wine later, and we had chatted about everything and anything. When I noticed it was getting late, I changed into a pair of Ben’s sweats and yelled out from the bathroom door for him to go and make us some popcorn before we started our “Seinfeld” marathon. But by the second episode on the third DVD of season nine, I couldn’t stop yawning. I asked Ben if I could stay over, and he smiled and said, “Of course” while I cozied up on the opposite side of the sofa. Although I can vaguely remember him slipping a blanket over me before he wandered off into his bedroom, I know I can clearly remember thinking how lucky I was to have him as my friend when I slipped into a slumber on his leather sofa.

But right now, all I can think about is how great that night was, how great our friendship was, and how much fun we had together doing absolutely nothing. While I debate whether or not to sit with Ben, or take my own lone seat on the bus, I yearn for that Saturday. I wish more than anything I had a pause button to freeze that night in time before things suddenly became weird and complicated between us. I think of Jerry and Elaine from “Seinfeld” who were best friends that once slept together. Heck! They even continued to sleep together in later seasons and they got along. I purse my lips together and wonder why we can’t be like Jerry and Elaine? So with “Seinfeld” as my influence, I make my final decision and plop myself beside Ben. I playfully nudge him and say, “Would you rather have a rewind button, or a pause button?”

Ben locks his eyes with mine and says, “Definitely rewind.”