If I Stay (18 page)

I smiled into the fabric of his coat, loving every word that fell from his lips.

“And Ramona and I are no longer in touch, for the record,” he added. “We never saw each other again after that misadventure.”

“Do you ever wonder where she is?”

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “But the truth is, as with anything in life, we are so fantastically capable of moving on. It's the greatest defense mechanism that we humans have, and with Ramona, given that there was never any romantic attachment, I suppose that made it all the more easier. I loved her, you know? And that's not to say relationships without romance are for nothing. I wrote a book to preserve what I could remember. But that time in my life was so fleeting that it's hard to hold onto when I really sit and try to bring the images back.”

His hand tightened around mine, and I kept my eyes on Orion's Belt. The only constellation that I could actually identify, and even then, I wasn't too sure if my eyes were deceiving me or not.

“Would you have so easily moved on from me?” I asked. “After all, this has moved quickly.”

Ben sat up, his free hand brushing away a bit of snow that gently tickled my nose. He looked serious, almost too serious.

“Absolutely not,” he answered. “And that, Gemma Davies, is also not a line.”

“But you would have, eventually,” I told him.

Ben remained quiet. Glancing up at the sky, at the snow, and finally meeting my eyes again.

“I would have held on to the memory of you for as long as I could. I can promise you that, Gemma.”

We decided to go for a walk, even if there was really nowhere to walk to. That was fine with us. It was perfect, just listening to the sound our feet crushing against the slick, ice-covered snow as we sipped hot coffee and I thought, just for a second, about whether or not it was impolite for me to
not
eat whatever Ben had packed. Still, I was nervous. I was giddy and excited and anxious as Ben carried my hand like something special, and everything, all of what surrounded us, was brand new. We had managed to escape.

“This feels so nice,” I said. “Just walking around with you, all surrounded by snow. Although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't anxiously waiting for warmer weather on some days.”

“Do you enjoy the Spring?” Ben asked. I nodded.

“Yeah. Brandon and Sacha and I always seem to spend more time together in the warmer weather, too. It's like we sort of hide away when the weather is cold and none of us really want to travel.” I laughed a little, but mostly to myself. “Although I'm not sure what this Spring will bring, especially with all the changes.”

Ben's eyebrows raised.

“My ex,” I finally divulged. “We broke up about six months ago, but he was my first, and we dated for a few years. I mean, I'm so much better than I was. Time, I guess as you said, has allowed me to move on. But there's still that uncertainty when it comes to wondering about those dumb, little things. Like the seasons, and what they used to mean, and what we have to transform them into once those old meanings die.”

“You are so poetic,” Ben smiled. “I'll admit that my last relationship, which was about a year ago, ended amicably. I suppose I was lucky in that, too. It was a year of great friendship, but in the end, we just weren't compatible. That, and I was much too absorbed in writing
Sideways
that I couldn't give her what she needed. It was all for the best.”

“Do you miss her?” I asked.

His shoulders lifted and fell, and he sighed.

“As a person. As I'm sure you miss fragments of your old relationship,” he said. “But you know, Gemma. If there's one thing that I would ever hope to leave you with, it's the understanding that love doesn't have to last to matter.”

“You did mention that,” I said. “In your oh-so popular book. Will they include that line in the movie?”

“Yes,” he answered gleefully. “But I think we should end this talk of exes for now. All in the past, after all.”

I nodded, more than content to halt the discussion on past flames and past lives. Grabbing my hand, Ben and I ran through the snow, kicking up ice and powder as we threw ourselves with a delightful
thud
on the ground. Spreading our limbs, we made snow angels in the white dusting, our eyes on the stars and the sky and the thin, wispy clouds that covered the moon in veils of black cotton. Panting, breathless, and full of an almost childlike awe, I kissed Ben's lips as he cradled my face in his hands.

“I still believe in love, though,” Ben said. “And I endeavor to be the most sappy, hopeless romantic that you've ever met. Even if it drives you up a wall.”

I kissed him again, and he pulled me close. Even the bitter bite of cold wind couldn't have torn us apart.

“You know,” I said quietly. “That's the one thing that parents or these formal institutions never really prepare us for. Maybe that's why we end up failing so many times before we finally find that one person and get it right. Nobody ever really teaches you just how hard it can be to love someone.”

After another gust of wind that nearly swept us up, we made the trek back to our picnic set-up, and I carried the blanket while he carried the basket.

“But belief is key,” he said as he drove, and we both ate the slightly-chilled tomato and basil sandwiches.

When home, I hugged him tightly, sad to watch him go but filled with a lingering happiness that lasted long after I was back in the apartment. Dancing through the living room without a single care as Brandon peeked out skeptically from his bedroom.

“I don't want to know,” he said. “But if I can join the dance party, I promise to not make fun of you for the fact that you are presently all googly-eyed over Benjamin McMansion-Cullen.”

I pulled him into my room, and the two of us danced even though there was no music, and we laughed like we always had all those years of our stupid, ridiculous, wonderful friendship.

The best part of it all? I finished my assignments at the stroke of 10 o'clock. I slept soundly. And when I woke up – I was still smiling.

SEVENTEEN

I started working more after that night. Not so much in hours at the clothing shop, especially after Ben's generous gift had lessened the financial burden, but in drawing. When I wasn't in class, or pulling a few scheduled shift hours, I was working at home or in the studio, sketching away the afternoons that had slowly but surely become warmer as March overthrew the bitter love-month that was February, and April wasn't far behind.

Sacha was still taking pictures, Brandon was still being Brandon, and I couldn't seem to stop grinning like a total goon at just about anything and everything. And aside from Sacha still seeming a little sad about my telling him that he and I wouldn't end up together, things for the most part had resumed into a typical kind of normal.

“You know what's funny?” Sacha asked as we were seated on the living room couch, flipping through our few TV stations. Brandon was sprawled out on the floor, laughing hysterically at a Charlie Sheen WINNING compilation. “Brandon has about the mental capacity of a twelve year old, and yet there's a strong likelihood that he will, in fact, end up far more successful in his future ventures than either you or I.”

I sighed in agreement. Fine Arts? Who was I kidding. My work was great, and I was feeling more than optimistic about the pieces that I was pulling together for the Celebration of Arts gallery, but still.

“That's what you get for making the brilliant decision to major in Philosophy, genius.” Brandon slammed his laptop shut. “I can't wait until the day that I'm walking around in an expensive, fitted suit, laying down some serious business...and you're serving up french fries at McDonalds.”

“Piss off, Brandon. We all know that you'll end up getting fired for having Staple Gun wars and shooting one of the fucking staples into someone's eye. Remember what happened when you worked at the Office Depot?”

“First off, no staples ended up in anyone's
eye
. Secondly, I wasn't fired. I politely withdrew from the position, and took the stapler with me. Besides, that was forever ago.”

“That was last year.”

“Stop being such a whiny girl,” Brandon grimaced, then glanced at me. “Actually, I take that back due to Gems being here. You're not being a whiny girl. You're being a whiny whale.”

He then proceeded to start making whale-call noises, and Sacha threw the remote at his head. Brandon dodged this, of course, with his fantastic ninja skills that he picked up from ample hours spent watching Bruce Lee movies, and then proceeded to run into his room and slam the door.

“You are SUCH an asshole,” Sacha yelled. Brandon then emerged from his room, his bass guitar slung over his shoulder. Both Sacha and I looked at him, and at this point, I was more than thoroughly entertained.

“I wrote a song for you, Sacha.” Brandon swayed a little, his voice seductive. “Would you like to hear it?”

“No.”

“It's called:
jump off a cliff and take your Hipster bullshit with you
. It's pretty personal.”

“You're pretty much the biggest bastard alive.”

I watched them bicker, loving every moment of their back-and-forth remarks. If there was one thing that I always seemed to be able to count on in the ups and downs on my college years, it was Brandon and Sacha getting into a pissing match over just about anything.

I retreated to my room, sat down at my desk, and looked over my latest drawing. It was of
Ben, standing at a faraway distance with his hands in his pockets, his face not directly turned towards the viewer, but rather directed at something else. I hadn't drawn him entirely realistic, opting for a more realistic-looking cartoon in the vein of something like Lemony Snicket. Wide eyes, sharp features. A smile as cunning as the real one. Still, he was looking away, and at what, I wasn't even sure. My own drawing was still partially a mystery. And I think I liked it that way. It was a great thing to feel so consistently inspired.

I snuck a look outside the window, remembering how Ben was standing there, smiling in the nightfall. How we'd escaped – if only for a short period of time. How I knew that the two of us together in any way, shape, or form was wrong...but somehow justified the actions by thinking, well, at least we weren't actually getting
too
physical. It was just a little romance. And we met in an entirely separate situation, after all.

The excuses sputtered like water through a leaking faucet, dribbling out along with my sighs as I drew the blinds closed, welcoming the warm shadows that danced across the walls. I made a shadow puppet, a dog, and silently barked.

It wasn't okay. I couldn't deny it. Ben knew that it wasn't okay. He couldn't deny it.

And here we were, still going onward.

And here I was, still thinking about him.

And there Sacha was, standing in my doorway as I swiftly covered my drawing with a notebook, relieved that his eyes had been elsewhere – on a collage of he, Brandon, and myself that was hung above my bed.

“You okay?” he asked. I nodded.

“Chipper as can be,” I assured him. “I just didn't want to interfere with you and Brandon getting all awkwardly lovey-dovey.”

“Sacha wishes I wanted him in that way,” Brandon exclaimed from the doorway.

“Jesus, do you ever go away?”

Sacha shut the door, grinning sheepishly. Sitting down on my bed, he moved a few of my textbooks to the side, where on top rested my copy of Ben's book.

“He's like a gnat,” I laughed. Sacha laughed, too. Picking up the heavy book and regarded it quizzically.

“I never asked if I could read this,” he said. “Do you think maybe I could?”

“By all means,” I said. “Feel free to borrow it.”

He flipped through a few pages, then shut it without taking another look. A part of me was wondering if he had more to say about the two of us, but he really seemed pretty settled with everything. It was strange and relieving and yet still oddly hanging in the back of my mind.  Even if it was just a scratch on the surface of all things heartbreak – I did want to know that he was really and truly alright.

Sacha was half-smiling when I looked at him, his light brown hair all wind-swept and messy. His green eyes were happy, bright and glowing in a way that reassured me that maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't end up like some kind of soap opera. Our friendship would endure this momentary bump in the road.

Time.
I told myself.
It's all about time.

“Well, I don't know about you,” he said. “But I could go for a coffee. Care to join me? My treat.”

“That sounds beyond amazing,” I told him. Remembering to grab the copy of
Sideways
, the three of us went and had coffee, laughing like we always had as we talked about school and projects and even things that weren't related our education that was slowly but surely coming to an indefinite close. Sacha complained about Travis clogging up the toilet again with his toy race cars, and Brandon went on and on about how much he liked the guy that he'd still been seeing. His name was Caleb, and he was really such a sweetheart. I'd met him several times, and the two us actually watched a movie together after Brandon had fallen asleep.

“What about you, Gemma?” Sacha asked. “How are things on your front?”

I gave my best secret-smile, laughing as I took a sip of my iced mocha latte and thought about Ben, and what his own smile did to me. What everything he did was capable of doing to me. How wrong it was, but how right it all felt.

“Amazing,” I finally said. Which it was.

Everything, despite the lines that may have existed, felt amazing.

If there was one secret delight that Brandon had, it was comparing our grades in Ben's class. He got a kick out of seeing whether he'd scored higher on an assignment than I had. Which, admittedly, was slightly more often than I would prefer to admit.

“Let me see what he gave you,” Brandon hissed, his paper still face down after Ben had handed it back. Groaning, I turned my paper over and glanced immediately at the grade.

“Ninety,” I mumbled. “Go ahead, Brandon.”

He turned his over, grinning like a fool.

“Ninety-two. Yes! I win.”

“This has nothing to do with a competition.”

“It does to me.”

I shook my head, turning a quick look over at Darcy, who sat with her focus on some magazine that she was reading. She had quieted down some, piping up less during discussions and no longer hanging around Ben after class. Word around the halls was that she had started dating some new guy – a much older new guy – who had graduated in years past. Whether there was any valid truth to the claims, I really had no idea. 

“Here.” Sacha dropped Ben's book on my desk, the weight rattling briefly. “I read it last night.”

“What did you think?” I asked.

Sacha shrugged, which left me wondering if he'd actually finished it.

“It was okay,” he finally said. “I mean, it wasn't terrible or anything. But I found the writing slightly pompous.”

I couldn't help it. I kept my mouth shut, but my face started burning. There was no part of me that felt okay with Ben's book getting any kind of criticism – whether my reaction was logical, or even justifiable.

“I guess we all have our opinions,” I said dryly.

Happily, Ben quickly swept the class up into a roaring laughter when he decided to read aloud some of the fan mail that he'd received over the past several weeks. It was a fun little break from the monotony that his class typically operated in: morning writing, class opportunity to share, talking about writing-related things, and then ending with our instructed assignments and reading.

One of the letters was from a young girl, who told him that he was her hero – which definitely resulted in a few drawn-out
awww
's from the crowd. Another was a proposal from a young woman, complete with an actual ring. Everyone laughed, urging him to say yes. The room was a fit of giggles and begging for him to continue reading letters, which to our disappointment, he eventually put away in the suitcase that I will always remember accidentally locking myself up in a hotel bathroom with.

“That was definitely fun,” he said. “Now, we've managed to cut into our class writing time, but I did want to give you the opportunity to respond to any of the remarks I've made on your recently returned papers. Of course, if you'd rather speak to me after class, that's certainly fine as well.”

The room was quiet, and Ben waited a few moments for anyone to speak up. After a passing minute, I watched to my complete surprise as Sacha raised his hand. His arm shot up like single flower in patch of nothing but soil.

“I actually had a question about something you wrote,” he said. Ben raised an eyebrow, but mildly replied.

“Go ahead, Sacha.”

“Well, you wrote on my assignment that my tone was rather agitated – which is fine and everything. But what sort of has me scratching my head is why you would have written that I should be careful about using writing as a weapon. I'm just not sure why you wrote that.”

Everyone seemed to turn their gaze to Sacha, and then to Ben. The thickening in the air was unmistakable. Ben took the small span of time between breaths as his eyes shot down to choose his response in a way that would get his point across, I could only assume. The difficulty, I also knew, was in remaining professional.

“Given the content of your piece - which I would not ask you to read out loud, certainly – I was simply implying...”

“No,” Sacha stopped him. “I'd like to read it. If that's alright, professor.”

Ben's lips parted, a small nod bringing his chin to fall slowly. He crossed his arms, his clothing a bit more formal than had been typical for the past few weeks. His tall frame was clad in a simple gray button-down, black tie, and black dress pants. His shoes, too, were of the same color.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

Sacha unfolded his paper, which I only then saw had been crumpled us as if out of frustration. Taking a quick breath, he began to read. It was very brief, but there was a definite poignancy in the brevity of his words. It was a short story about a boy who was very much in love with a girl, who was so close and yet always so far away. He went on to express how he hated sitting next to this girl that he loved so dearly, but didn't love him back. How he hated that she didn't see how often he was looking at her when nobody else was. When her ex-boyfriend was gone, leaving her cold on the sidelines. Sacha wrote how he'd always been there, and how it sucked to feel so lost and to care about someone so much but in the same breath to feel such an anger as he felt. And even though he hated himself for even thinking it, he wished that she, for an instant, would understand how it felt to hurt as badly as he did.

In the end of the story, he walked away from her forever.

I understood without a second thought why Ben had written the remark that he did. He knew that Sacha had written the piece about me, and felt inclined, in some way, to defend me. However, Sacha had no idea of this. Nor, do I imagine, did he ever think that he'd be reading the piece out loud.

And here we all were. Ben was staring, Brandon was staring. The entire class was staring. I was, too. Staring while at the same time trying not to faint right there on my desk.