“HI,” BEN LOOKED especially cute today in a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off strong forearms. He’d combed his thick dark hair back from his forehead and trimmed his beard. “I didn’t think you’d want to come in here, after . . .”
Amanda laughed, feeling heat creep up her throat and into her cheeks. He’d thought about their conversation? About her?
“We live in the same building, Ben. It’s not like I thought we’d never bump into each other again. And besides, I’m not about to give up the lemon scones. I could go over to the Green Bean, but they don’t even sell lemon scones, they only have plain. And if you’re going to eat a scone, you should make sure you get a good one . . .”
She was babbling. Amanda bit back the words that wanted to tumble out of her mouth. Ben carefully put down the jugs of coffee he’d been replacing.
“Amanda, listen. I have something to say.”
She waited. He didn’t say anything. She’d wait another few seconds, she thought, before she gave up waiting. Then, to save them both the obvious embarrassment of her presence, she’d get out of here. Clearly Ben didn’t want to see her around, and while she wasn’t about to give up her great apartment because of some stupid misunderstanding with a guy she barely knew, she guessed she could learn to like her scones plain.
“I’m sorry,” Ben blurted.
It was not at all what she’d been expecting him to say, but the surprise was a pleasant one. Amanda turned her mug around in her hands, studying the way the liquid shifted from the motion. Then she looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“Tesla told me I have a certain . . . demeanor.” Ben looked uncomfortable. Then determined. “Is that true?”
“I would agree with her. Yes.”
He sighed, shoulders slumping for a minute, before he gave her a surprisingly sweet smile. “Well, there’s not much I can do about that, I guess. But I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. I should’ve known better.”
“People make mistakes. It’s all good. Thank you for apologizing.” Another flush of heat tinged her face. Could he see her blushing? Amanda took a quick sip of coffee to cover up the awkwardness.
“I brought fresh. Let me dump that for you. Grab a clean mug.” He gestured at the shelf above the self-serve station where Morningstar Mocha’s eclectic selection of mugs were displayed. “And Amanda . . . I was raised Jewish.”
She’d been about to hand him her half-full mug and choose a new one, but at this, she stopped, comically holding out the mug. “What?”
“I grew up Jewish.” Ben took the mug and handed her a new one from the shelf.
He’d spoken so matter-of-factly that it would’ve been inappropriate for her to make a big deal out of this, right? Amanda took the clean mug. “Umm . . . Well . . .”
“I just wanted you to know,” he said, “that I never meant to sound as though I was judging you.”
He was going to kill her with those long, lingering, and tingly looks. If what Tesla had meant by Ben having a certain demeanor was that he was intense, she was definitely right about that. Amanda cleared her throat again, searching for the right words.
She took the first step. “Would you like to go out with me?”
The words tumbled forth a little unsteady, a little louder than she’d intended. She’d turned several heads with the question, but she kept her eyes on Ben, refusing to look embarrassed. Her chin lifted. Norma had been right. If you never took a chance, you could never find out what might happen.
Ben coughed. “Out? You and me? Like . . . on a date?”
“Yes. You and me, on a date.” She nodded.
He was going to say no, she thought, already resigning herself to feeling even more stupid than she had at the beginning of this conversation. Ben looked around the coffee shop quickly, then took a step closer to her. He lowered his voice, probably trying to save her feelings . . .
“Yes,” he said. “I will.”
A DATE.
A date with Amanda, Ben reminded himself as he let himself into his dark apartment and fumbled with the light switch that was supposed to connect to a floor lamp in which the bulb had burned out without being replaced. He’d lived in his parents’ house in Brooklyn. His mother had taken care of almost everything. Here, there was nobody but himself to make sure there’d always be a light on, waiting for him.
The phone rang while he was still juggling keys, coat, and the bag of leftover bagels he’d brought home. Morningstar Mocha had them sent in from a Philadelphia area bakery, but they were still nothing like the ones from home. Ben tossed the paper sack onto the table and dropped his coat to grab the phone.
He knew who it was before he answered, of course. The only person who would call him here was Galya, and it had been over a week since they’d last spoken. At the sound of the male voice, however, Ben stopped short, cutting off his own greeting.
“Don’t hang up on me,” Levi said.
Ben closed his eyes at the sound of his best friend’s voice. “I’m not going to hang up on you.”
“Good.”
Silence. Levi didn’t need to say a world. Ben knew what he was thinking. In the past, he might’ve let Levi off the hook, filled in the blank space between them with words of forgiveness Levi hadn’t asked for. Now, though, Ben stayed quiet, too.
“I don’t want it to be like this,” Levi said finally. “We . . . I . . . want you to come home.”
Ben sighed and made his way into the kitchen to flick on the overhead light. He opened the fridge to grab a drink, though he wasn’t thirsty. “I’m not coming home. I told her that, and I meant it.”
“You can’t spend the rest of your life angry at us. It will tear you down.”
Ben leaned against the kitchen counter. “I’m not angry with either one of you. I wish you both the best.”
“I know you love her—”
“I love you both,” Ben snapped, worn thin by this, their need to make amends for what he’d willingly allowed and held no grudge over. “All right? I want you both to be happy, and I left because I wanted to be happy, too. Don’t you get it, Levi?”
“You took the blame—”
“I took my way out.” Ben ran a hand through his hair, then over the beard he’d been unable to bring himself to shave. Of all the things he’d done so far, that would’ve been the hardest, harshest break from the past. “I couldn’t live that life, Levi. You know that. You knew it better than anyone.”
Levi made a low, rasping noise. “You’ve abandoned your faith. I can’t help but feel it’s somehow my fault.”
“I didn’t abandon my faith.” It had betrayed him, Ben thought. The way he’d been raised, everything he’d ever been taught to believe was important, in the end it had all let him down.
“What if I came out there and got you? Convinced you?”
“You can’t, Levi. You know that.”
Levi sighed. “Will you come home for the wedding, at least? It’s going to be in eight months. We wanted it to be sooner, but we couldn’t . . . you know. Make it so obvious. And the mothers are involved with the planning, so of course that makes it more complicated.”
“I don’t think I can.” Not because it would hurt to watch his best friend marry the woman who’d been promised as Ben’s wife. Not because it would hurt to see his father turn away from him one more time, or because his mother would be brokenhearted again when he wouldn’t stay. “It would put a focus on something that isn’t as important. It would lead people to lashon hara.”
Gossip. Words whispered behind palms. Wagging tongues, rumors.
“People always talk.”
Ben gave a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t need to give them reason to. That’s all. If you want to visit me, you’re welcome, Levi. Of course.”
But they both knew Levi wasn’t going to make the trip. Levi wouldn’t feel comfortable in Ben’s nonkosher home, with his secular clothes, with his job working on the Sabbath. Their friendship had been based on commonality, and they didn’t have that anymore.
There wasn’t much to say after that. They said good-bye, and Levi hung up first. Ben returned the phone to its cradle, then before he could change his mind, pulled the plug from the wall. Tomorrow, first thing, he’d take the bus over to the mall and pick himself up a cell phone.
Moving forward, he told himself. Always forward. Never back.