On an Edge of Glass (25 page)

             
I try to remain still but he must sense the movement, because his fingers tighten, then relax on my skin.  I turn over and the hand rolls with me, sliding over the bare surface of my stomach.

Everything about the moment is in slow motion.  It’s like the molecules in the atmosphere have slowed down just so that Ben and I can have t
his handful of seconds for a bit longer.  I savor the feel of his fingers dragging over my skin, brushing across my bellybutton.  I hear him suck in his breath and I look up.              

M
uted light from the television plays over his face, making new shadows, blue and silver, that run along his narrow nose and straight mouth to the hollow at the base of his neck.  He’s staring down at me with hooded eyes, lazily blinking away clouds. 

             
I could go back to sleep, or I could stand up and walk into my bedroom and close the door.  I
could
do a lot of things.  But what I actually do it this: I lift my hand and push aside the rumpled dark hair that has fallen over his cheeks. 

             
And everything is different.  It’s changed somehow in the moments between sleeping and waking. 

             
“Hi,” he says softly.

             
“Hi,” I echo, my voice just as airy as his.

             
He shifts closer.  “Hi.”

             
The mask is gone—thrown off.  Discarded.  And I know that he is going to kiss me.  I can see it all playing out in his eyes. 

             
This time I’m not looking for oblivion.  I don’t want to get lost.  I want to be found.

             
With my eyes open, I move closer.  Ben moves also.  His head tilts.  So does mine.  And I think about that art project we did in kindergarten where you drizzle paint on a piece of paper and then fold it in half and smush the sides together. 
Symmetry. 
  That’s what Ms. Simon had called it. 

             
Symmetry.

             
I’m so focused that at first I don’t recognize the sound of my own name.  Then she calls it again, scratchy and weak. 

             
Ben’s forehead creases and he looks over his shoulder into the dark hall.

             
I close my eyes and take a breath.  “Payton,” I whisper to him.  “She needs me.”

If this were a movie then things would go like this: I’d help Payton flop back into her bed, and
I’d stay with her until she falls asleep, and then I’d go back to the living room and find Ben waiting up for me.  We’d laugh and then we’d pick up right where we left off. 

             
But, this isn’t a movie and that’s not how things go.  I end up falling asleep sideways across Payton’s bed and I don’t wake up until many hours later.  A crunchy streak of dried drool runs down my left cheek and my hair is going a million different directions, like an exploded firework.  

Ben isn’t waiting for me on the couch.  He’s not even home. 

             
And
, I think as I eat a piece of toast coated in peanut butter and honey, maybe the things that happened in the early hours of the morning were part of a dream, or the kind of magic that vanishes in the light of day.

             
I get dressed and make plans with Mark.  Stepping outside the house, I see that the afternoon sky is filling with billowing grey clouds.  The biting wind shifts toward me.  I pull my hood up around my face and glance up at the sky again.  This time, when I look, I see that the clouds mean snow.

The Chunky Monkey’s Out of the Pint

I still have questions.

             
Lots of them.

             
I’m guessing that Ben does too.

             
We’ve been dancing around each other all week.  Not friendly exactly, but not indifferent either.  So, that’s something.             

             
On Monday, while I was eating breakfast over the kitchen sink with crumbles of strawberry frosted pop-tart on my bottom lip, he passed by.  Instead of keeping his head down, eyes on the floor, he smiled and waved to me before pulling his coat on and heading out the front door.  It wasn’t much, but it was a definite improvement from six weeks of acting like I don’t exist.

             
He ate dinner with us Tuesday night.  Ainsley had a hankering for Chinese and mentioned it to him when he walked in from band practice.  I thought he’d shrug off, but he stopped, tucked his hair behind his ears, and asked her to order him Kung Pao Chicken with extra fried rice.

             
By Wednesday, we were up to a real conversation.  Sure, it was about a stupid cat video that went viral on the internet.  But, it was a conversation with sentences made up from a collection of words.  Actual words.  Maybe they weren’t the right ones.  I didn’t say: hey, what’s with you being engaged and not telling me?  And he didn’t reply with: why did you push me away?  But, we watched the video on my laptop and we laughed.  Then, we watched it again. 

Not too long ago, a ten minute discussion about a cat video would have felt li
ke wasted small talk, but today it feels like progress.

Thursday I find a flyer for a photography exhibit slipped under my door. 
Unsolicited submissions welcome
it says in typewriter font across the bottom.  I know that it’s from Ben, and that knowledge sends a tingling sensation down my spine.

Still, there’s been
no acknowledgement of the kiss-that-wasn’t.  I’ve been tempted to corner him and ask him about it, but what would I even say? 
Oh, hey!  Funny bumping into you here.  I’ve been meaning to ask you…  Were you going to kiss me the other night? 

Thinking about that night
causes me to start thinking about Ben’s lips and the way that they curl in the corners when he thinks something is funny.  And about how they feel on my mouth, guiding my tongue out, sliding down my neck, and over my—

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying?” Payton asks
, snapping me back to reality.  She’s holding the remote control in front of her chest like a light saber.  Last weekend she got bright, platinum blonde streaks added to her bangs and I’m still adjusting to the change.

“I
am
studying,” I say, glancing down at the laptop resting on my knees.

Ainsley pipes up.  “Ellie, you’ve been staring out the window for the last thirty minutes with a strange look on your face.”  She’s on her back with her legs propped up on the couch.  There’s an open magazine face
down on her stomach.  “You looked like this.”  She contorts her features.

“
So, I looked like I have leprosy or some irreversible distortion of my facial muscles?”

Ainsley laughs.  “No, you just looked… sad or something.”

I let my head fall
forward so that my hair makes a sort of curtain to mask my eyes.  “I was thinking about stuff,” I say glibly.

“About a boy?” She asks, craning her neck around.  Sh
e and Payton exchange a look.  It’s a look that I don’t like.

Choosing
to ignore the question and whatever else is going on here, I turn my attention to the television.  “So, what are we watching?”

Payton shrugs.  “I’m s
earching for something ridiculous and mind-numbing.  Those are the only parameters.”  She glances at me.  “But, you didn’t answer Ainsley’s question.  Are you having boy problems?”

I shake my head.  “No boy
problems.  My date with Evan was just ‘meh,’ you know?  I told him that I didn’t think we should go out again.  No boys, therefore no boy problems.”

Little lines appear on Payton’s forehead.  “We didn’t mean
Evan
.  We meant
Ben
.”

             
It’s funny really.  How the air in the room stills.  How all sound ceases.  How I look at my friends and realize that I’m the last one in on the joke. 

             
“I—I—ah—” I sputter, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

             
They look at each other crack up.  Ainsley’s shoulders are shaking and Payton is laughing so hard that tears are dripping from her eyes.

             
“I’m sorry,” Payton says, sucking in a breath and wiping her face.  “But, your face…”

             
“How did you guys…”  I’m still floored.  “H-how did you know about Ben?”

             
Payton lifts one eyebrow and gives me this glare like she can’t believe that I’d have the nerve to ask such an absurd question.  “Come on Ellie.  You are about as terrible at being sneaky as we are good at being clued in.”

             
“And these walls are paper thin,” Ainsley adds with a grin.

             
When I grasp her meaning, I turn a new shade of scarlet.

             
“I—I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to lie to you two,” I defend.  “It’s just that I made you guys promise to stay away from him, and then I… well, I guess you sort of know what a stellar job I did at enforcing that rule.”  I close my eyes and take a steadying breath.  “I am officially the worst roommate.  Ever.”

Ainsley sits up, letting the magazine spill to the floor.  “Ellie,
stop right now.  We don’t really care about the stupid ‘no sex’ rule.  Well, maybe we did for about five minutes. But, then it was fine.  At first, I think we both thought it was a fling or no big deal, but then after break…  I guess what I’m saying is…” she pauses and looks at Payton, “What
we
are trying to figure out is… what happened between you guys?”

“Am I that obvious?”

Payton smirks.  “Jesus, girl.  You could put a thirteen year old girl to shame with the amount of angst that you’ve been emitting since we got back from break.  Ben too.”

I sigh.  “
Everything is so messed up.”

“
Obviously,” Ainsley chirps.  “Now, tell us the story.”

So I do.

It’s strange after all the time I spent trying to keep my secrets from Payton and Ainsley, to be sitting here on the floor, spilling my guts out in between bites of Chunky Monkey.  That’s right.  Chunky Monkey.  Payton pulled a pint out of the freezer ten minutes into my telling of the Ben Hamilton chronicles.  She claimed that for this level of drama we needed the “big guns.”

“
So
, you’ve barely spoken since that night we all went to The Hill?”  Ainsley asks, licking the spoon.

I nod. 

Payton speaks.  “Except for the almost-kiss last weekend.”

I nod again.  “Right.  Except for the almost-kiss.”

Payton’s eyelids lower.  “Yeah, the almost-kiss sounds pretty goddamn sexy.  And I’m sorry about that.  If I had known that I was interrupting I would have suffered through my drunkenness in complete silence.”

The serious look on her face
has me chuckling.  “It’s okay Payton.  You had no idea and I know that you would have done the same for me.  Kiss or no kiss.”

Ainsley takes another bite
of ice cream.  She shares a look with Payton.  “And I think we’re both sorry that we called you out for not dating enough in front of Ben.”

Payton nods. 
“We thought if we brought it up and made things awkward, you would come clean.”

I chuckle.
  “Don’t worry about it.” 

Ains
ley inclines her head.  “You know what I didn’t see coming?”

Payton and I
both shake our heads.

Ainsley’s eyes widen.  “The engagement.  I had no idea.  I
t’s kinda like we’re living through an episode of
One Life to Live
.”

“I think that show was cancelled,” I say, grabbing the ice cream container from her.

“Naw…” Payton intones.  “You’re confusing
One Life to Live
with
All My Children
.  But whatever.  This is not a conversation about soap operas.  Let’s focus on the fact that, in the not-so-distant past, our roommate, Ben Hamilton, was planning to spend the rest of his life with one person.  He wanted to get freaking
married
.  How insane is that?  Married sounds like something parents do—not hot-ass young musicians.”

Married
. 
I let the word bounce around my head for a bit.  Then, I anchor it down and examine it.

I’m starting to get why Ben didn’
t tell me that he and Lily were engaged. I don’t like his reasoning, but I’m starting to understand it.  He said that he didn’t tell me about the engagement because he knew that I’d freak out. And, he was absolutely right.  I did freak out.