she walks in, she’ll think I didn’t show and she’ll leave.
“Excuse me.”
My pulse immediately quickens at her words and my head jerks up. But . . .
she’s not Fallon.
I immediately deflate.
“Is your name Ben?” the girl asks. She’s wearing a name tag.
Tallie.
Tallie is wearing a
Pinkberry
name tag. How does Tallie know my name?
“Yeah. I’m Ben.”
She exhales and points at her name tag. “I work down the street. Some girl is on the phone there and says it’s an emergency.”
Fallon!
I impress myself with how fast I’m out of the booth and out the door. I run down the street until I get to Pinkberry and I swing the door open. The guy behind the counter looks at me strange and takes a step back. I’m out of breath and panting, but I point to the phone behind him. “Someone’s on hold for me?” He grabs the phone, presses a button, and hands me the receiver.
“Hello? Fallon? Are you okay?”
I don’t immediately hear her voice, but I can tell it’s her from her sigh alone.
“Ben! Oh, thank God you were still there. I’m
so
sorry. My flight was delayed and I tried calling the restaurant, but their number was disconnected and then my flight was boarding. I finally figured out the number by the time I landed, and I’ve tried calling several times but I just keep getting a busy signal, so I didn’t know what else to do. I’m in a cab now and I’m really, really sorry I’m so late but I had no way of getting in touch with you.”
I didn’t know my lungs could hold this much air. I exhale, relieved and disappointed for her but completely stoked that she actually did it. She remembered and she came and we’re actually doing this. Never mind the fact that she’s now aware I was still waiting at the restaurant two whole hours later.
“Ben?”
“I’m here,” I say. “It’s fine, I’m just glad you made it. But it’s probably faster if you just meet me at my house; the traffic is a nightmare here.”
She asks for the address and I give it to her.
“Okay,” she says. She sounds nervous. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Oh, wait! Ben? Um . . . I kind of told the girl who answered the phone that you would give her twenty bucks if she took you the message. Sorry about that. She just acted like she wasn’t going to do it, so I had to bribe her.”
I laugh. “No problem. See you soon.”
She tells me goodbye and I hand the phone to Tallie, who is now standing behind the register. She holds out her hand for the twenty dollars. I pull out my wallet and hand her the twenty.
“I would have paid ten times that for her phone call.”
• • •
I pace back and forth in the driveway.
What am I doing?
There is so much wrong with this. I barely even
know
the girl. I spent a few hours with her and here I am committing to writing a book about her? About
us
? What if we don’t even click this time? I could have been having a manic episode last year and was just in an exceptionally receptive and good mood. She might not even be funny. She could be a bitch. She could be stressed out over her flight delay and she might not even
want
to be here.
I mean, who
does
that? What sane person would fly across the country to see someone for one day who they barely know?
Probably not many people. But I would have been on a flight without hesitation today if we were supposed to meet up in New York.
I’m rubbing my hands down my face when the cab rounds the corner. I’m trying to mentally psych myself into believing that this is perfectly normal. It’s not crazy. It’s not commitment. We’re friends. Friends would fly across the country to spend time together.
Wait.
Are we friends?
We don’t even communicate, so that probably wouldn’t even qualify as acquaintances.
The cab is pulling into the driveway now.
For fuck’s sake, lose the nerves, Kessler.
The car stops.
The back door opens.
I should greet her at the door. It’s awkward with
“Excuse me.”
My pulse immediately quickens at her words and my head jerks up. But . . .
she’s not Fallon.
I immediately deflate.
“Is your name Ben?” the girl asks. She’s wearing a name tag.
Tallie.
Tallie is wearing a
Pinkberry
name tag. How does Tallie know my name?
“Yeah. I’m Ben.”
She exhales and points at her name tag. “I work down the street. Some girl is on the phone there and says it’s an emergency.”
Fallon!
I impress myself with how fast I’m out of the booth and out the door. I run down the street until I get to Pinkberry and I swing the door open. The guy behind the counter looks at me strange and takes a step back. I’m out of breath and panting, but I point to the phone behind him. “Someone’s on hold for me?” He grabs the phone, presses a button, and hands me the receiver.
“Hello? Fallon? Are you okay?”
I don’t immediately hear her voice, but I can tell it’s her from her sigh alone.
“Ben! Oh, thank God you were still there. I’m
so
sorry. My flight was delayed and I tried calling the restaurant, but their number was disconnected and then my flight was boarding. I finally figured out the number by the time I landed, and I’ve tried calling several times but I just keep getting a busy signal, so I didn’t know what else to do. I’m in a cab now and I’m really, really sorry I’m so late but I had no way of getting in touch with you.”
I didn’t know my lungs could hold this much air. I exhale, relieved and disappointed for her but completely stoked that she actually did it. She remembered and she came and we’re actually doing this. Never mind the fact that she’s now aware I was still waiting at the restaurant two whole hours later.
“Ben?”
“I’m here,” I say. “It’s fine, I’m just glad you made it. But it’s probably faster if you just meet me at my house; the traffic is a nightmare here.”
She asks for the address and I give it to her.
“Okay,” she says. She sounds nervous. “I’ll see you in a little while.”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“Oh, wait! Ben? Um . . . I kind of told the girl who answered the phone that you would give her twenty bucks if she took you the message. Sorry about that. She just acted like she wasn’t going to do it, so I had to bribe her.”
I laugh. “No problem. See you soon.”
She tells me goodbye and I hand the phone to Tallie, who is now standing behind the register. She holds out her hand for the twenty dollars. I pull out my wallet and hand her the twenty.
“I would have paid ten times that for her phone call.”
• • •
I pace back and forth in the driveway.
What am I doing?
There is so much wrong with this. I barely even
know
the girl. I spent a few hours with her and here I am committing to writing a book about her? About
us
? What if we don’t even click this time? I could have been having a manic episode last year and was just in an exceptionally receptive and good mood. She might not even be funny. She could be a bitch. She could be stressed out over her flight delay and she might not even
want
to be here.
I mean, who
does
that? What sane person would fly across the country to see someone for one day who they barely know?
Probably not many people. But I would have been on a flight without hesitation today if we were supposed to meet up in New York.
I’m rubbing my hands down my face when the cab rounds the corner. I’m trying to mentally psych myself into believing that this is perfectly normal. It’s not crazy. It’s not commitment. We’re friends. Friends would fly across the country to spend time together.
Wait.
Are we friends?
We don’t even communicate, so that probably wouldn’t even qualify as acquaintances.
The cab is pulling into the driveway now.
For fuck’s sake, lose the nerves, Kessler.
The car stops.
The back door opens.
I should greet her at the door. It’s awkward with
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