Forever, Interrupted(10)

“Hi,” he said. It took me a second to confirm he was, in fact, speaking to me. That easily, my interest was piqued.

“Hi,” I said back. I tried to let it hang there, but I was bad with silence. I had to fill it. “I should have just had it delivered.”

“And miss all this?” he said, referencing the tacky faux-Italian decor with his hands. I laughed. “You have a nice laugh,” he said.

“Oh, stop it,” I said. I swear, my mother taught me how to take a compliment, and yet each time I was given one, I shooed it away like it was on fire. “I mean, thank you. That’s what you’re supposed to say. Thank you.”

I noticed that I had subconsciously shifted my entire body toward him. I’d read all of these articles about body language and pupil dilation when people are attracted to each other, but whenever I got into a situation where it was actually useful (Are his pupils dilated? Does he like me?), I was always far too unfocused to take advantage.

“No, what you’re supposed to do is compliment me back,” he said, smiling. “That way I know where I stand.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, it doesn’t really tell you much if I compliment you now, does it? I mean, you know that I’m complimenting you because you’ve asked . . . ”

“Trust me, I can still tell.”

“All right,” I said, while I looked him up and down. As I made a show of studying him, he stretched out his legs and lengthened his neck. He pulled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. I admired the stubble on his cheeks, the way it made him look effortlessly handsome. My eyes felt drawn to the strength of his arms. What I wanted to say was “You have great arms,” and yet, I didn’t have it in me. I played it safe.

“So?” he said.

“I like your shirt,” I said to him. It was a heathered gray shirt with a bird on it.

“Oh,” he said, and I could hear honest to God disappointment in his voice. “I see how it is.”

“What?” I smiled, defensively. “That’s a nice compliment.”

He laughed. He wasn’t overly interested or desperate. He wasn’t aloof or cool either, he just . . . was. I don’t know whether he was this way with all women, whether he was able to talk to any woman as if he’d known her for years, or whether it was just me. But it didn’t matter. It was working. “Oh, it’s fine,” he said. “But I’m not even going to try for your number. Girl compliments your eyes, your hair, your beard, your arms, your name, that means she’s open to a date. Girl compliments your shirt? You’re getting shot down.”

“Wait—that’s not—” I started, but I was interrupted.

“Ben Ross!” the cashier called out, and he jumped up. He looked right at me and said, “Hold that thought.”

He paid for his pizza, thanked the cashier genuinely, and then came and sat right back down next to me on the bench.

“Anyway, I’m thinking if I ask you out, I’m going to be shot down. Am I going to be shot down?”

No, he was absolutely not going to be shot down. But I was now embarrassed and trying hard not to seem eager. I smiled wide at him, unable to keep the canary feathers in my mouth. “Your pizza is going to get cold,” I told him.

He waved me off. “I’m over this pizza. Give it to me straight. Can I have your number?”

There it was. Do-or-die time. How to say it without screaming it with all of the nervous energy in my body? “You can have my number. It’s only fair.”

“Elsie Porter!” the cashier yelled. Apparently, she had been calling it for quite a while, but Ben and I were too distracted to hear much of anything.

“Oh! Sorry, that’s me. Uh . . . just wait here.”

He laughed, and I walked up to pay for my pizza. When I came back, he had his phone out. I gave him my number and I took his.

“I’m going to call you soon, if that’s okay. Or should I do the wait-three-days thing? Is that more your style?”

“No, go for it,” I said, smiling. “The sooner the better.”

He put out his hand to shake and I took it.

“Ben.”

“Elsie,” I said, and for the first time, I thought the name Ben sounded like the finest name I’d ever heard. I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it. He smiled back and tapped his pizza. “Well, until then.”

I nodded. “Until then,” I said, and I walked back to my car. Giddy.





JUNE


I tear the Georgie’s magnet off the refrigerator and try to rip it in half, but I can’t get it to succumb to my weak fingers. It just bends and stretches. I realize the futility of what I’m doing, as if removing this magnet, destroying this magnet, will ease my pain in any way. I put it back on the refrigerator door and I dial Susan.

She answers on the second ring.

“Susan? Hi. It’s Elsie.”

“Hi. Can you meet this afternoon to go over arrangements?”

“Arrangements?” I hadn’t really thought about what Susan would want to talk about. Arrangements hadn’t even occurred to me. Now, as I let it register, I realize that of course there are arrangements. There are things to plan, carefully calculated ways to grieve. You can’t even mourn in peace. You must do it through American customs and civilities. The next few days will be full of obituaries and eulogies. Coffins and caterers. I’m shocked she’s even contemplating me being a part of them.