Sixty-Nine
As the express train roared through the countryside, Riley filled every awkward silence with stories about her roommate and her first two days at the BBC. She told him about her mega-accomplished female boss and the welcome flowers waiting on her desk. Ben nodded and smiled and asked thoughtful questions, but his mind kept veering off track as they traveled towards his truth.
My hands are clammy and I’m sweating like mad under this puffer vest. Riley’s been sweet and hasn’t said anything—God, I couldn’t love her more, but will she feel the same when she finds out? I thought I’d have more time…I’m not ready for this, and I don’t know if she is either. She seems happy, chattering away, but she’s talking way too fast and is stress-eating cookies.
“…Ben’s all silent and closed off now.”
Eh? Hearing Riley speak his name, Ben’s attention swerved back to his girlfriend. He shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. “Sorry, who?” Me?
Riley brushed cookie crumbs from her lips. “Big Ben.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, he’s being restored.” Ben looked out the window, the sensation of the train slowing down, teasing the butterflies in his belly. “You won’t hear his bongs or see him without scaffolding, not for four years.”
“That sucks.” She half-laughed, nervously.
“Uh, this stop’s ours…” He let go of her hand and fumbled in his pocket, pulling out their tickets.
Riley stashed the bag of half-eaten cookies in her tote.
“Here…” He handed her two tickets. “The top one you need to exit at street level. Feed it into the barrier and it’ll open. The second one is your return trip.”
“Okay, cool.” She glanced at the orange and yellow tickets, spotting ‘Reading Stations’ in a smudged computerized font.
Leaving their overheated train carriage, the midafternoon sunshine was no match for the biting wind and plunging temperature outside. Riley shivered and fought with her parka’s stubborn zipper as she copied Ben’s long strides, hurrying across the station courtyard. She yanked sharply on the zipper’s pull and lost her return ticket to the crisp March breeze.
“Shit!” She chased after it, leaving Ben alone at the station’s taxi line.
“Riley, it’s okay…I’ll buy another.” Ben pressed his lips tight and leaned into the open front window of a black cab, giving the driver their destination. He reached for the door’s handle as Riley returned, shaking her head.
“Sorry, I’m such a klutz.”
She’s nervous. She’s not the only one. He opened the door, letting her climb in first.
The driver joined the Saturday afternoon traffic and left central Reading. Neither Ben nor Riley spoke. Ben fidgeted with the knotted leather bracelet on his right wrist, the healed fracture aching from the damp. Riley watched town center businesses, narrow streets, and small terrace houses morph into suburban shopping plazas, tree-lined roads, and large semi-detached homes.
“Oh.” Ben sat up suddenly, leaning toward the opening in the clear partition separating the cabbie from his passengers. “Mate, can we stop here?” He turned to Riley. “Won’t be a minute.”
The cab pulled into a gas station and Ben dashed out the door, picking up several skinny bouquets of daisies from a bucket outside the kiosk. While he paid, Riley reapplied her lipstick and pulled her hair into a neat ponytail, still unsure where they were headed.
Jeez, could they look any cheaper? Ben hopped back in the taxi, handing Riley two modest bunches. “Just a little…something.”
“They’re pretty.” A sweet happiness brightened her face, erasing her confused pout. “Thank you.”
Shit petrol station flowers, no proper kisses—this is the most awkward reunion ever, and it’s not her fault…it’s all on me. Heart pounding through his chest, Ben shook his head, his hand clasping two identical bouquets. I wish we could do this over—do it all over. He pulled his phone from the pocket of his vest.
Riley’s eyes fell to the cellophane-wrapped flowers crinkling in his hand. “Who are those for?”
2:45 P.M. We’re good for time. He stuffed his phone back in his vest. “My mum.”
“Your mom?!” Eyebrows raised, Riley’s grin grew and nudged her voice up almost an octave. “Oh! I was hoping we might be going there!”
Ben slumped against the window, his eyes darting from one impressive detached home to another, their mature leafless trees guarding the upscale road. I wish we were going anywhere but there.
Watching the increasingly luxurious houses fly past, Riley took in her jeans, old parka, and worn sneakers. A self-deprecating chuckle slipped into a whisper. “I wish I’d dressed up—” She frowned and dove into her tote, her fingers finding something that reunited her cheeks with her smile. “Oh, I totally forgot…”
“Forgot?” Ben glanced over as Riley pulled out a plastic bag…with flats. She set the shoes down on the cab’s floor.
“I usually leave these under my desk at work, but I’m so new there, it felt…oh, I dunno…” Nervously rambling, she bent down, tugging off her socks and sneakers. “I forgot they were in here. At least I’ll look a little more presentable now.”
“You look fine, Riley, really, you don’t need to…” Ben pulled off his wool hat, dumped it in his half-zipped backpack, and patted down his hair, but it stubbornly flicked up again. His hand skidded across his forehead as the taxi drove through a set of stone gates and down a long driveway. Shit. I’m burning up.
Leaning over, Riley’s head hovered at her knees. “I hope I look fine!” She slipped her bare feet into the flats and rubbed away a scuff mark.
I need air. I can’t…breathe… A thickness plagued Ben’s throat, not helping his already queasy stomach. He stared at the familiar landscape of scattered brown leaves, bare trees swaying in the wind, and the winter-scarred grass, the hint of sunshine chased away by clouds. He tilted toward the cab’s partition. “You can stop here, mate.”
The taxi rolled to a stop and Riley stuffed her sneakers in the plastic bag before placing it into the tote. She lifted her head, her eyes drifting from Ben stuffing a ten-pound note through the hole in the cab’s partition to the wilted flowers and weathered gravestones waiting outside.