“Ssh, I’m busy.” Peyton looks lost in dessert heaven. She closes her eyes with each bite she takes and moans. “I need to come here for my honeymoon.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“We haven’t decided yet. We’ve bought a few travel magazines to look for places, but ultimately, Noah’s going to make the decision and surprise me.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It is, and I don’t mind as long as we’re together.” We let eating take over, neither of us talking until we’ve made a dent in the sundaes. “So about Ben?” Peyton leaves her question wide open, leaving it to my interpretation.
“The more I think about his birthday, the more I think we slept together, and if we did, I didn’t treat him very well the next morning.”
“Maybe you should ask him.”
“I did. He said no, but I don’t believe him. I think he’s covering for me because I had been drinking. I remember arguing with him over something, and then nothing until I woke up.”
Peyton sighs and sets down her spoon. I have a feeling I know what’s coming. I sit up straight and ready myself for her lecture.
“I’m very proud of you. I know you’ve struggled since my accident, but it seems like you’re trying hard to make a change. It hasn’t gone unnoticed by me that you haven’t had a drink since we arrived.”
“I’m trying, P. I really am. Dad put a lot of things in perspective and this situation with Ben, it’s because of something I’ve done. I have to fix it because not having Ben in my life isn’t an option.”
“He’s your Noah,” she says.
I look at her for a long minute before tears start to fall. Ben is my Noah, and it’s taken me years to realize it. Maybe once it sinks in, I’ll figure out a way to right my wrongs with him.
16
Ben
Despite having traveled many times with the James’ family, I’m not prepared when I enter baggage claim and see a man standing there with my name on a sheet of paper. If it didn’t say Benjamin Miller with the firm’s logo on it, I probably would’ve continued to walk by and do my own thing.
“I’m Ben,” I say to the man, sticking my hand out to shake his. He gives me a small smile and reaches for my hand, not to shake it, but to take my bag. In broken English, he tells me to follow him. I do, not because I need a ride, but because he has all my things on his pushcart and while I have a longer than normal stride, this man is weaving in and out of the New York airport population like his tail is on fire forcing me to jog to keep up.
The words sorry and excuse me are flying out of my mouth as quickly as the steps I’m taking. I bump, slam and sideswipe my fair share of people as I follow my driver. When he finally stops, I almost crash into his back. He turns and glares at me over his shoulder. I want to be like “what” but heed the advice of every online forum I read about New York, and keep to myself.
Once we’re in the parking garage, this Mario Andretti walking version slows down and walks a normal pace. Maybe what I witnessed back there was a challenge between him and the other drivers as if they need to be the first ones out of the airport or they’re being timed.
My driver doesn’t ask where I need to go and I don’t volunteer the information because frankly, I have no idea where I am. A major drawback of being in an unfamiliar city, I’m utterly lost. However, I’m excited to be here and get my feet wet, so to speak. One of the things my brother put in his note, was for me to explore. He listed places I need to check out, most of them within walking distance, and the ones that weren’t, he gave me directions via the subway.
I pull out my phone and text him, letting him know I arrived. I leave out ‘safely’ because it’s yet to be seen if I’ll make it to my destination in one piece.
Brad: Good, I’m glad. Have fun. Work hard. Meet a nice woman.
The last part stings, but Brad’s right. I don’t know how to get over the feelings I have for Elle, but I need to try. It’s not healthy for me to continue to pine for someone who isn’t ever going to reciprocate my feelings. It’s not fair to me, nor is it fair to ask her. In all the time I’ve known her, she’s never indicated we are anything more than friends. This should’ve been my clue years ago.
After what seems like an eternity but in reality is about thirty minutes, the driver pulls up in front of a building. He opens my door and rushes to the back to grab my luggage. I can’t believe this is where I’ll be living. The building is enormous and surrounded by others equally as tall with a few smaller ones mixed in. Honestly, this is a dream come true, a city high rise. I don’t care if it’s only for ten weeks. This is like something out of a television show.
The driver leaves my suitcase at my feet and is down the road before I can than
k him. I watch everyone around me. Men and women of all ages move at a frantic pace. I used to think Los Angeles was fast, but I think New York is winning the foot race. A few people who are walking toward me veer off to their right and climb the wide concrete stairs leading to my apartment. For some odd reason, this makes me giddy. They’re my neighbors or will at least be sharing an elevator ride with me.
I do the same after picking up my suitcase. All in all, it’s about twenty steps until I’m opening one of the glass doors. There’s a couple of men in dark suits sitting behind a massive desk. I approach them with a renewed confidence.
“Hi, I’m Benjamin Miller. I believe you should have the key to my apartment.”
He presses the buttons on the keyboard and the lack of expression he had, has now morphed into confusion. “Mr. Miller, I’m not showing you as a tenant.”
“One second.” I slip my backpack off my shoulders and dig through the packet of papers Mr. Jacobs gave me before leaving. I hand him the slip, showing my address on there.