It’s not a terrible idea. Closure, and all that.
“I guess I could call him up for coffee or something,” I mutter.
“You sure vodka wouldn’t be the better choice when meeting one’s ex?”
“Nah. I’d want a clear head,” I say.
We start walking again, both of us quiet. I know why I’m quiet, but I can’t quite figure out why Ben’s all lost in thought.
“Did my mom say anything else?” I ask. “You seem sort of…pensive.”
“Pensive, huh?” he says. “That sounds kind of sexy and brooding.”
“It can also be annoying, so spit it out, Heathcliff.” I nudge his elbow playfully with mine.
But his next words are anything but playful.
“I don’t want our friendship to change,” he says.
My footsteps falter, and then I skip ahead so I’m in front of him, holding up a palm so he has no choice but to stop as well. “Wait, what? What the heck did my mom say to you?”
Honestly, this isn’t like Ben at all, and I don’t know that I like it.
I rarely have a cross thought about my mother, but I’m not exactly loving that she’s somehow changed my best friend into a reserved shell of himself tonight.
Ben looks away from me. “It’s just…I guess I’m realizing that we can’t be like this forever. Carefree and going off on vacations together whenever we want.”
“Yes, we can,” I say stubbornly.
His smile is a little sad. “Can we? What happens when you meet someone? I mean not just a good-looking guy in a bar, but like…someone. Or when I do? What about when one of us gets married?”
If I thought that my brain shied away from the memory of Lance dumping me, it’s nothing compared to the way my brain refuses to comprehend the thought of Ben getting married.
“Have you met someone?” I force myself to ask. “I mean someone…special?”
“No. Not even close. It’s just…it’s going to happen someday, you know? For both of us.”
It’s a weird role reversal for us. Him being all reasonable and forward thinking, and me being stubborn and in-the-moment.
“Yeah, but maybe it doesn’t make sense to be thinking about that now,” I say slowly. “It may be our future, but it’s not our present, you know?”
He turns and looks out at the water before looking back at me. “You’re right. Sorry. Man, your mom’s a pro about getting inside someone’s head, huh?”
“Apparently at getting inside your head,” I tease.
We begin walking, and the tension seems to fade, and I think we’re back to normal. Back to where we should be.
But then…
Ben slowly reaches out a hand toward me, and I’m confused right up until the moment his fingers brush mine.
The gesture is tentative. Sweet. And maybe just a little bit desperate for something that neither of us want to name.
Ben—my best friend in the whole world—is holding my hand.
And despite the fact that my brain is completely freaked out, my fingers seem to know what to do as they intertwine with his, and we walk hand in hand on a quiet beach, each of us lost in thought.
But for the life of me, I can’t muster the courage to ask him if his thoughts are as dangerous as my own.