I shift uncomfortably in my seat as the pilot tells us we’ll be landing soon. Marcus’ words as he bid me farewell still linger in my mind. He told me not to do anything he wouldn’t do. I’m not even sure what that means. I called my friend Heidi to ask. Heidi is a serial dater, she’s Harvard Premed, and she knows men. Some people are born with the gift, and others struggle to cobble together the man formula. Unfortunately, I fall into the latter category. We spoke until I had to board my flight and she told me Marcus has a typical, nothing to worry about, case of jealousy.
I’m also seeing my parents while I’m back west, and she thinks that factors into why he’s upset about me going without him. He hasn’t met them. I’m not sure I want him to. That would make our relationship something I’m not sure I’m mentally ready for. One thing is for sure, boyfriends should respect the best friend status. Heck, they should respect their girlfriend enough to trust their decisions at the very least.
It’s almost a shame classes are out and I have more time to worry about stupid, trivial things like this. The fact that women have these worries on a daily basis shocks me. Maybe it’s because boys were never on my radar growing up. Maybe it’s because my best friend is the opposite sex, but I’ve never given relationship issues the ability to worry me.
Now that it’s here, I wonder if it’s because Marcus means more to me than past flings. The realization sends my heart into a mass exodus of beats and pounds. That’s the other thing about me. I’m not in the habit of letting people get close to me. That guard definitely came from being bullied while growing up. It’s not a flaw, though. Quite the opposite. It’s made my skin so thick nothing can penetrate into the fortress of my heart. Once there, you’ll never leave.
Shaking my head as I toss my pretzel bag into the flight attendant’s trash bag, I vow to push Marcus and relationship issues from my mind in favor of enjoying myself with my time away from school. My classes are paused and I’m finally free from tedious obligations. I help head the Naturalists Club, and I’m a part of the Yearbook staff at Harvard. When you pair classes and my part-time job at the cafeteria, my time is rarely my own. This is the first real break since Christmas vacation. I enjoy being busy, filling my days with things and people I enjoy, but there’s nothing like going home.
Home for me is both people and a place. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to have my schedule jive with Ben’s. It’s why it’s been a year since I last saw him, and as difficult as that’s been, I know as soon as I see him it will be like no time has passed at all. That’s when you know you have something that will last forever. It’s as if that little piece inside you, that’s reserved for that person, and that person only, recognizes the little piece inside them, and they acknowledge each other. You become whole.
I pick my cuticles and wonder how much he’s changed this time. I’ve seen photos of him and via video chat, but Ben changed almost completely when he became a SEAL. His physical appearance morphed into what you’d expect, and something he’d never in his wildest dreams thought possible. He had Lasik done almost immediately, so his face isn’t hidden by a pair of dirty glasses sliding down his nose. That was the easiest change to swallow. His long, lean muscles grew and grew until I accused him of using steroids one day while we were chatting via video. He laughed and flexed a bicep, and then told me steroid use is illegal for SEALs.
I guess blaming medical enhancers was easier for me than acknowledging he’d become an entirely different person. Ben looks the part, he isn’t an impostor any longer, and that, on some subconscious level distanced him from our friendship…and me more than the 3,040 miles of space.
The plane’s wheels touch down and the pilot begins taxiing to the gate. My nerves strum along because I’m finally here—in the non-stop sunshine of southern California. I switch my cell off airplane mode and stare at it, waiting for my missed texts and emails to bubble up.
I tap out a quick message to Ben.Landed,and send it quickly. My thumb hovers over Marcus’ name, but I don’t tap it. I’ll call him later when I’m settled. After six and a half hours, I’m still not sure what I’m feeling about Marcus or why I’m feeling anything other than normal. Time away from the situation is exactly what I need.
The aircraft comes to a stop at our gate, and then I hear the resounding clicks of seat belts unfastening even though the fasten seat belt light is still illuminated. Mine stays snuggly wrapped around my waist. I send a text message to my mother to let her know I arrived safely and I’ll see her soon, and then reply to an email from a potential club member. Ben’s text slides down from the top of my cellphone.
What are you wearing?
Shaking my head, I reply,Tanning oil and a bathing suit. SUNSHINE!I’d never admit I prefer the seasons of the East Coast. Not out loud, at least, but the tumultuous weather suits my personality. The snow storms are fun and when the leaves change color in the fall, I can’t stop staring. After living in Southern California all of my life, with one season, the sun season, I was surprised to find how much I missed out on. I text again quickly,A black tank top and jeans.
What color is your sweater? I know you aren’t sitting bare armed on an airplane seat.
Standing from my seat, I grab my bag and make my way, like cattle herding, to exit the plane. I laugh to myself as I think about Ben’s message. I tuck my phone into the oversized beige sweater and readjust my leather weekender on my shoulder. Ben would find me first even if I dyed my hair pink and gave a false description of my outfit, so there’s no need to respond.
A lightness takes over as I head toward baggage claim, where I’m meeting Ben. I pass people wheeling heavy suitcases and families toting tired children and by the time I step foot on the down escalator, I’m vibrating with excitement.
“Harper,” Ben calls. I don’t have to look far. He’s standing at the bottom of the escalator holding up traffic, holding a huge pink balloon that says happy birthday. He’s written my name at the bottom. Well, it says Harpee, a name he hasn’t called me in a long time. The fear and anticipation turn to dust the second I throw myself into his strong, familiar arms.
I bury my face in his chest and breathe in the scent of Eight & Bob. He’s worn the same fragrance since the day he discovered it was JFK’s signature aftershave, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the most comforting smell I’ve ever encountered. Ben pulls me to the side to let people pass, but I still cling to him. “Let me get a look at ya,” Ben says, leaning away, handing me the balloon.
I press my lips together in a firm grin as I take the stupid balloon from his hands. “Ben,” I say, swallowing over three hundred sixty-five days down and letting right now soak into awareness. “Pink is my favorite color,” I drawl, yanking on the ribbon.
Ben shakes his head. “I hate to admit this, but Boston agrees with you.” His eyes flick to every part of my body, but hold on my face. “You look beautiful, Harpee. I like your style, too.” This isn’t Ben flirting, like it would seem to a stranger. This is Ben, the kind man who understands how to treat a woman. Even a best friend woman. He always has a compliment for me.
“You don’t look so shabby yourself. Switch up your steroids? Your arms look big,” I quip, grabbing his biceps with my hands. “My fingers can’t even touch anymore!” I exclaim with mock outrage.
He rolls his eyes. “Your fingers could never touch.” Leaning in closer, he whispers, “If you think my biceps are thick, you should see my.” I clamp my hand over his mouth before he can finish.
Shaking my head, I ignore his joke. “My fingers could touch. Don’t lie. You’re not some high and mighty hero in my eyes. I know the person suffocating in all of that muscle tissue.” I let go of his arms and take a step away from him, suddenly worried what people might think.
He laughs, tilting his head back and flashing his bright, white smile. His jaw is perfectly square and he has dimples by his eyes when he smiles wide. I learned early on, he hates those little dents, but seeing them now, on the person he’s become, makes me realize those smile marks might be the only cute thing left about him. He’s handsome. Ben is tan and tall, and every woman who passes looks at him more than once.
“Let’s get out of here,” Ben says when I stay silent. “I’m illegally parked.”
“You did not!” I chirp, as we start walking. I’m the one who lives and dies by the rules and he’s the one who makes his own.Question everything,Ben once told me. Don’t take everything at face value. Just because someone says something doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to do it better.
Sure enough, a cop is circling his pick-up truck when we step through the automatic doors. “It’s my girl’s birthday and she’s been flying all day,” Ben says, jogging up to the officer and motioning to my balloon. I manage a weak smile, but feel like I might combust from anger. This is a typical Ben move. “Please don’t give us a ticket on her twenty-first birthday, sir.”
The cop looks at me over the bed of the truck. I flash a weak smile. I know exactly how to get my barb in during this situation.
“He’s a Navy SEAL, sir. He’s used to doing things a little differently than the rest of us. He would have never parked here if he didn’t think he’d be late for me. His muscles might have gotten in the way of the No Parking sign, you know?” I let my smile filter wider. The cop grins at me. “Please. It truly is my birthday and I assure you he won’t ever double park again.” Not in this spot at least.
Ben’s face is red and his lips are pursed, his gaze lighting me on fire. I dropped the SEAL word in conversation with a stranger. I lick my finger and hold it next to my head while the officer turns to head to his cruiser parked behind Ben’s large, black truck. He snarls at me, but can’t hide his smile. Ben drags his thumb across the front of his neck and points at me with his forefinger at the same time.
