My hands clutch the box's corners. I hold it close to my chest. Ben uses his to hit the elevator button. Sarah and Eric go back down the hall to their offices, giving Ben and I the chance to speak privately on our way out.
As we stand in the elevator, Ben finally breaks the silence between us. “So, that was wild, huh? Titanic! Can you fucking believe it?” His blue eyes are alive with excitement.
“Stop.” I interrupt him and point around the elevator. “Cameras. Wait till we’re outside.” I don’t know who is watching, and I don’t want to take any risks.
We make our way out into the lobby and through the front doors. The courtyard around Dr. Conrad’s building is still. The only sound is the light tapping of water in the fountain. In the distance, I can see the fluorescent lights of the Glasner Student Union building. I’m glad we’re walking in the dark. In the daylight, two employees with cardboard boxes would look like they’ve just been sacked. Instead, we’re just hiding secret materials for a time travel expedition to the Titanic.Totally normal.
Ben and I walk toward the Union. It is on our route to the walking path off campus toward my house. It’s 9:30 p.m. on a Friday night, and the center of campus is wide awake. As we pass the Union and several residential dorms, I can hear the sounds of students laughing and the low steady bass beat of loud music. No doubt they’re all getting ready to go out. This place will be a zoo soon as they all convene outside to go to the neighborhood bars and clubs. I don’t miss those days at all. I’m already in bed by the time the students are just beginning to go out.
We step off campus and onto Commonwealth Avenue. This is normally where Ben and I split on our commutes home in the afternoon, but he stops and grabs my arm.
“You’re not walking alone. It’s dark,” he says.
Ben knows I’m used to the walk back to my house; it’s only a few streets away. I can walk it in twenty minutes if I really rush it, though I never actually walk home in the dark. If I’m on campus late, I know ahead of time and drive myself to work or call an Uber home. He’s protective, as always, but I have a feeling he wants to talk about the events of the evening. And truthfully, I do too. I’m not too proud or independent to admit that walking alone in the dark back to my house makes me uncomfortable.
“You know, I think I’ve got a bottle of wine at home calling our names," I say with a smile. “Do you want to just stay over tonight?”
Ben sleeps at my place more often than he sleeps in his own apartment. We joke that he’s my ghost roommate with how often he’s here and how much of his stuff he leaves behind. Ben lives across the Charles River in a modern high-rise loft in Cambridge. His apartment is concrete and minimalist, not by choice. He doesn't spend enough time there to decorate it. I tell him all the time he could save so much money on rent if he just moved into my house. I’ve got plenty of room, and it feels like he lives there already. It’s become a serious discussion we’ve kicked back and forth, and it seems pretty likely to happen once his lease is up. It just makes no sense for him to keep the apartment. He stays at my place multiple times a week, especially after Bruins games.
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” he quickly says with a cheeky smile. As protective as he can be, I know his offer to walk me home was because he wanted to talk. I can see it in his face when he needs more than he’s saying he does. It is easier to recognize in others than it is in me.
I wrestle my phone out of my coat pocket. “I’ll order Ray’s so it’s there when we get home.” Ray’s is local to my neighborhood and, in my opinion, the best pizza in Boston.
Ben and I stay up all night talking about what we’ve agreed to. Neither of us can fully believe what has transpired, and talking about it almost feels like a fantastical hypothetical situation. I walk him through a history of the ship, from the route of the voyage to a rough timeline of events during the sinking. I am curled up in my armchair with my legs hanging off the side while Ben sprawls out on my sofa. I admit I enjoy getting to show off how much I know, especially considering the number of speeches he’s given me about minute-by-minute details of every war known to man.
Ben gets up and heads toward the kitchen. As he opens our third bottle of Merlot, he finally asks the question I’ve been waiting for all night. “Al, I've gotta ask. Why did you agree to this? This is an enormous leap of faith into the unknown.” He grips the corkscrew firmly and twists it with ease. “It’s so unlike you.”
Ben walks over and pours more wine into my glass. He stumbles back to his spot on the sofa, placing the bottle on the coffee table between us. I’m curious if he purposely asked this question after some alcohol, hoping I would be more honest with a little liquid help.
“You answered your own question,” I reply. “It’s so unlike me. I hate that phrase. All of this is unlike me. I don’t take risks; I do what’s safe and expected. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’ve done the safe thing all my life, and where has it gotten me? Alone.”
Ben leans forward on the sofa, his tone turning serious. “You have me though, Ali. You’ll always have me.”
I meet his gaze; his eyes are sympathetic. “I know that. And I love you for that. But you know what I mean.”
Ben smiles and sips his wine. He knows what he means to me, but I could do better at expressing it. I’ve spent a long time with my head down, focused on school, and Dad, then work. I’ve never made time for anything else. I’ve dated, sure. Tried to at least. But nothing concrete. Nothing that ever made me feel like more than just myself. I want more. I want someone that makes me feel likemore.Being alone started as a choice. I wanted to focus on my career. But I’ve dug myself into that hole so deep it’s hard to pull myself out. The walls around me are just too high to climb. I’ve used so much energy trying to be strong that I haven’t left room for anything else.
The most stable relationship I’ve ever had is my friendship with Ben. He sees me, flaws and all, and doesn't want to change me. He’s the one person I never feel like I disappoint. I begin to wonder why someone as incredible as him is alone too.
“Ben, can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Why do you never talk about Ryan?”
“Well, why do you never talk about your mom?” He sounds defensive, like I’ve struck a nerve.
“Hmm. Fair enough.” He’s got me on that one. “I guess I find it difficult to acknowledge the pain.”
“I get it.” His expression softens. “What did you want to ask?”
“You speak about him so fondly. And I know you’ve dated a lot here in Boston, but nothing with any permanence. I guess I’m just curious why you guys split?” Every time the subject comes up, Ben goes quiet. He says it just didn’t work out, or that they wanted different things. I don’t know if he’s protecting Ryan or himself. But I have to imagine that whatever happened between them causes his lack of commitment now. He goes on dates, but never more than three with the same person.
Ben exhales deeply. I think the alcohol is making him feel more honest too. “Ryan’s a couple of years older than me, which was fine for a while. But eventually it became pretty clear to me that we were on different paths. He wanted to settle down, get married, start a family, that whole deal. I thought I wanted those things too, but he was just a few steps ahead of me. I was just starting on my doctorate. I asked to table the discussion until I finished. He waited patiently and asked again, and I kept pushing it off. I really wanted to establish myself in a steady position first. Ryan got frustrated and, in hindsight, I don’t blame him. He wanted things I wasn’t ready for. We had this big argument about it. He gave me a hard deadline, a ‘get your shit together or I’m out’ kind of ultimatum. And that's when I realized why I’d been pushing things off.”
“Why?”
Ben sighs. “I don’t want kids. I blurted it out in an argument, at first out of anger, but once the words left my body, I felt fifty pounds lighter. Like the truth had been weighing me down. Deep down, I always knew that I didn't want children, but I felt ashamed to admit it. I mean, who doesn’t want kids?” I look at him and smirk with a raised eyebrow, clearly reminding him of my mother. “I thought maybe, over time, I’d change my mind, you know? But I kept finding any reason to push off the discussion again. And eventually I realized it wasn’t fair to keep making him wait. I didn’t want to steal any more time from him. I couldn’t ask him to sacrifice more than he had. So, I made the tough decision to end things.”
