Sixty
The news of Ben’s accident and pending departure left an air of resignation hanging over Saturday lunch at Maggie’s, the usual laughter and eighties tunes sadly absent.
A wet paper towel traveled across the counter underneath Maggie’s hand, mopping up melted butter and eggshells. “I feel completely useless,” she said quietly.
You and me both. Riley stuffed her hands in oven mitts and squatted down, keeping an eye on the skillet underneath the oven’s broiler, their spinach, cheese, and red pepper frittata gifting the kitchen a delicious aroma—not that anyone was hungry. How am I gonna eat this? I feel sick.
“I wish I could make them change their minds.” Maggie dropped the garbage in the bin and washed her hands, her face still wide-eyed with shock. “You’d think they’d make an exception on compassionate grounds…”
“I don’t think immigration knows what compassionate means.” Leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, Ben pulled up a pair of ill-fitting purple sweatpants. That morning, Riley had helped him shower (with a plastic bag covering his cast), but afterward, Ben realized he couldn’t do up the buttons on his jeans by himself. Riley raced over to the NYU bookstore, returning with the deeply discounted—and ugly—sportswear. If there ever was a reason to learn how to fasten buttons one-handed, those sweats were it.
“It’s just wrong, making you leave now,” said Maggie. “You’re not fully healed from surgery, and you’ve got doctors here who know your case inside out.”
“I told them that, but they didn’t care.” Ben shrugged. “One of the immigration guys laughed and said, ‘Nice try, buddy,’ like I was moaning about a cold or something.” He caught Riley’s gaze and smiled softly. “It might take a while, but I’ll find a transplant specialist on the NHS to keep an eye on me.”
“You won’t have to pay for checkups, right? England has national healthcare?” Maggie set down three plates and dug around in her cutlery drawer.
“Yeah, thank God. They’ll take care of me.”
“Where will you live?” asked Maggie.
The lump grew in Riley’s throat. Far, far away from here…might as well be another planet. For Ben’s sake, she was trying to be upbeat, but it felt like her heart was being crushed.
“Walthamstow, northeast London. I sweet-talked Spencer, my old flatmate, this morning. My old room’s full of her wakeboarding stuff, but I can have it as long as I pay the back rent I owe. Hunter’s spotted me some money, so that’s taken care of. I’ll give Mark a bell, too. See if he knows of any work going.”
“Thank goodness you’ve got people there who care about you…but I still think you should be staying here.”
“Well, Maggie, at least part of me is staying here.”
Maggie laughed and stepped over to Ben, hugging him softly so the embrace didn’t hurt him. “Saying ‘thank you’ will never be enough. After everything you’ve done for us…” She sighed. “It all seems so unfair.”
You belong here with me. Riley could feel Ben’s eyes on her. She glanced over her shoulder and Ben was already there, waiting for her.
“I’m going to miss you both something rotten.” He sniffed, a lost look in his eyes as he mouthed, “Love you,” to Riley.
“We’ll miss you, but just think how happy your mom will be to see you. You are such a credit to her.” Maggie’s voice broke. She cleared her throat and loosened her hug.
Thanks, guys. Now I’m gonna cry again. Riley pulled a loose thread on Maggie’s oven mitts, busying herself so she could blink away tears unnoticed.
Maggie returned to the drawer, gathering forks and knives. “Before you two head back on the ferry tonight, I’ll give you a note for your mom, Ben. Don’t let me forget.”
A quivering smile betrayed Ben’s usually easygoing façade.
“We’ll just have to come visit,” said Maggie with a confident nod. “Take that trip we’ve planned forever, right, Riley?”
The smell of burning egg and cheese urged Riley to remove their lunch from the broiler, giving her an excuse to answer without meeting Ben’s gaze. “Yep!” The empty promise pinched her heart. Mom’s trying to keep things positive, but she knows we can’t afford a UK trip—not now or anytime soon. She pulled out the frittata, and its eggy smell stoked another wave of nausea in her belly. I have to face the facts: Ben will go back to London, and we might never see each other again.