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“You know, the guy in the new Spider-Man movie?” she cues me.
“Oh,” I say. Not-Benson is laughing at something his buddy said. His laugh is different from Benson’s. Or is it? I’m desperately scouring my memory for that sound when Claire’s shoe strikes my shin again, a little harder this time.
“Spider-Man?” she repeats.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I haven’t seen it.”
Her eyes narrow, but she allows me to slip back into silence. I almost wish she wouldn’t. Even manufactured visions of Alec can’t chase away the crushing realization that I can’t recall Benson’s laugh.
Thankfully, the service at the restaurant is quick, and though my appetite has diminished, I force myself to eat. Steaming fajitas and rising blood sugar do what Alec-vision could not, dampening the shock of seeing Mandy and Not-Benson. The more I watch Not-Benson, the more familiar he seems.
My date laughs at something Ryan says. Another shin kick prompts a gasp turned half-hearted chuckle from me, though I didn’t hear the joke.
“Guess you had to be there,” Ryan’s buddy says, his laughter extinguished.
Arrival of the waiter with an offer of dessert menus preempts my apology.
“I’m sorry,” Claire says. “Not tonight.”
“No worries,” he says. “I’ll be right back with your check.”
“I hope you don’t mind having dessert at the house,” Claire says to the rest of us. “I have to get back to Ava.”
The waiter returns quickly, and we head to the cashier to pay. Pain surges in my gut as I take a last look at Not-Benson. The sideways what-are-you-looking-at disdain the kid throws my way convinces me to stop, but even that teenage grumpiness reminds me of what I’ve lost.
“How were the fajitas?” my date asks as I move past him and out the door.
“Uh, really good,” I manage, though I hardly tasted them. Claire and Ryan are ahead of us on the way to the car, so I make a lame attempt at conversation. “What about your... ?” I can’t even remember what he ordered, so I correct myself with a belatedsand end up buzzing like an idiot bee.
I swear he suppresses an eye roll at my obvious ignorance, answering with a token “Fine” before surrendering us both to silence.
I murmur a thank-you when he opens the car door for me, but my words bounce back at me as he shuts it. Firmly.
Claire, already seated, seizes the opportunity in the brief moment we’re alone in the car. “Could you at leasttry?”
My face heats at her scolding, but there’s no time to process my swirling emotions before the guys are back in the car with us.
Claire covers her irritation with an overly happy expression and tone, maybe hoping she can make up for my deficiencies. “Sorry we can’t stay out longer, but I thought maybe a movie?”
Shehasto be kidding. But she’s not. I steel myself for a couple more hours of torture. At least she didn’t suggest—
“Or we could play games!” she says.
“No,” I say a little too forcefully, and my date stiffens beside me. “We should definitely watch a movie.” I try to soften my response with a smile at him, but he keeps his eyes straight ahead. I’ve really dug a hole for myself here, and I can’t see a way out.
Back at the house I try to make up for my distraction by dishing up the brownies while Claire pays the babysitter and sees her out. The guys’ conversation flows easily while they’re getting the movie queued up in the other room, allowing me to find a little respite from the pressure.
Unfortunately, they’ve picked a comedy that just happens to be an old favorite. As in Benson’s favorite. Claire and I share a look when she realizes, but I shrug it off. I have to get over these memories sometime. Might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.
Except that it’s stuck. Really stuck.
The familiar film resurrects Benson’s laugh loud and clear in my head, and it’s all I can do to pretend-laugh at the right parts as I throw every effort into forcing my real emotions back into their box. I finally resort to leaning back against the cushions and closing my eyes.
Not a good idea, considering how poorly I’m sleeping these days. When the others’ laughter startles me awake, I’m surprised to see that we’re already halfway through the movie and vow that I’ll be attentive for the duration. Vow or not, my eyelids feel like lead.
It’s not long before my date speaks up.
“Sorry to bail,” he says, edging his way off the couch, “but I need to get going. Early morning tomorrow at work.”
