The Wet Forehead
BENJI:Hey it’s me. Had fun last week. Wanna do it again?
I read it three times before screenshotting and sending straight to the girls. It’s been a week and a day since that night at the bar, and it’s the first time I’ve heard anything from him at all. I sent him a text that night, and a follow-up the next day– I even waited until lunch to send it as to not seem too full on. But it’s been crickets for a week. A whole week and one day of nothing, only to receive that. No apology, no excuse, no fake family emergency. . .Had fun last week.What an absolute bum.
RAINI:He lives!
KIMI:For now. Pls tell me you haven’t replied.
DEVI:Ghost him, not worth it.
RAINA:At least hear him out!
They reply exactly as expected and I sit back and debate which of them I should follow. While Raina ‘engaged to her high-school sweetheart’ is the outlier, her reply is, for sure, the one that I’m most drawn to. Call me stupid or ridiculous, but I just can’t help it. There’s something inside me that’s saying there must be more to the story.
ME:Don’t know what to say
DEVI:Nothing. He’s undeserving of your time.
And from an objective perspective, I know that she’s right. If this were any of my girls, I would tell them not to bother– a real man would have followed up a whole lot sooner. But my mood lifted tenfold when I saw his name pop up. I could feel my sunken ego rise from its small pit. This is going to be bad for me– I can feel it. But that doesn’t stop me from opening up his chat.
I had fun too. Could do sometime next week maybe?
I hit send before I have time to think too hard. It’s relaxed, nonchalant, and sent fourteen minutes after his– that’s taking a stand if I ever saw one.
I can’t stop checking my phone on the bus to work, frantically looking away and back again, hoping that, by some miracle, his reply will catch me by surprise. It doesn’t come. Thirty-eight minutes now and I’m still yet to feel a buzz. I start scrolling through my social feeds, searching for literally anything to distract me from my expectations. I want to lock my phone away, miss his response by hours so this time he can be the one anxiously waiting, but I just can’t. My phone may as well be glued to my hand.
I’m so focused that I almost miss Aiden on my way in, his loud call of my name making me jump out of my skin.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask once I finally recover.
It’s 8.44 and our group time doesn’t start until ten. Of course, since the bet began, he’s been coming in earlier, but, even then, it’s usually around 9.25. Yet here he is, perched casually outside the building, leaning against the brick wall with his hand in his pocket.
‘Waiting for you.’ His voice is gravelly. I can only assume I’m the first person he’s spoken to this morning. ‘We’re not going in there today– come on.’
He beckons me closer, before turning on his heel and strolling away. It takes him until he reaches the corner to realise that I’m not following him, but rather I’m frozen in my spot, confused.
‘My car’s around the corner and it’s signed off with your boss,’ he says, rolling his eyes at my distrust. ‘Come on, I wanna beat traffic.’
It’s enough for me. I have too much to think about right now to worry about Aiden as well.
I check my phone frequently during the ride, Benji’s absence enough to stop me from pestering Aiden about our destination. We hit the motorway, and nothing. Drive through Surrey, and nothing. We even pull into a car park and still, no text back.
I’ve been busy forhoursand he hasn’t had time to type one silly little message. Fourteen minutes was too kind– I should have waited at least thirty before sending my last response.
Enough is enough. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and set a timer for three and a half hours. He may be busy doing whatever, but so am I, and I will focus on that rather than silly old Benji.
‘Dizzy Days Water Park.’ I read the sign out loud as Aiden reverses into a space.
The more I embrace my surroundings, the less I’ll think to check my phone.
‘That’s the place,’ he replies. He shuts off the engine before quickly grabbing his bag from the back and ruffling around until he produces a black leather journal. ‘I got in touch with a couple of the ride suppliers that your team pulled together, and one of the most cost-effective ones on the list makes the rides here. Figured instead of going back and forth via email, we could see his work in action.’
But I can barely hear him; I’ve found a new distraction. In his hand are pages laden with diagrams, annotated in detail with highlighted colours and notes. My eyes scan over the scribbles,as detailed as they are concise. It’s a masterpiece and it seems to have come from him.
‘Is that. . . colour coded?’ I ask, watching as he flicks through them.
‘It’s a ranking system. There’s a key in the back.’ He scratches his head. ‘Am I doing it wrong? I watched a sixteen-part TikTok series.’
