“How is thisrelevant?” He twists his features in mockery. “Wow, Olivia. One break up and you really have let your journalistic instincts fall to the wayside.” I grimace into the box. He might be right— it’s not like I took the time to stop and think about the significance of the misplaced papers. But on a day like today, it would be nice for him to just spell it out for me. I give him a look that says ‘not today’ and he sighs, giving me what I feel is his version of a break. “Liv, what happened in September 2022?” He raises his eyebrows at me gesturing with his hand for me to give him the response he’s looking for. My anger comes to a boil, knowing exactly whateventhe’s referencing— Ben leaving Astor.
“Is this really about my story, Ian?”
He rolls his eyes. “You mean the biggest story to come this year? A story that we can’t just not report on because you’ve become entangled in what appears to be a pretty big mess of your own?”
I cross my arms staring at him. I know he’s right— that this is the exact story we should be focusing on. And because he’s already done me a favor by not sending out a breaking news notification to all our online subscribers about the disaster that was the gala, I decide to humor him.
“Okay, so the papers from the month Ben disappeared are missing—” I make a hand gesture as if to imply this is all so spooky. “What's your point— that his parents tried to hide something? That’s pretty obvious.”
“I thought so too, which is why I told you to find outwhatthey were hiding, and yet you fell short,” he says, hands clasped together. “I took it upon myself to begin threading the needle for you, so to speak. Maybe inspire you to, I don't know, do your job?”
I scowl at him even though I know he’s right. To any journalist this would be a significant finding, but still I fail to see this as groundbreaking.
“Okay, so you found some missing papers. How do you know Ben was the reason they went missing? It could have been anything,” I say, doing my best to play along, but still feeling like Ian is shooting blanks.
“Interesting you say that. I asked myself the same thing and I found a rather intriguing through line for you to chew on, maybeexplorea little bit, asanyjournalist probably would,” he says pointedly and I roll my eyes.
“Let’s hear it.” My voice comes out defeated and pissed off, which I can tell irritates Ian, but he lets it go.
“Well Olivia, what else happened in September of 2022? The second biggest story on campus that year?” His eyebrows are raised and I quickly pick up what he’s putting down. My body physically recoils. I’m offended he would even insinuate this, much less ask me to explore it.
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I seethe. “You’re not actually telling me to look into this? You seriously think Lily’s death is at all related to Ben’s absence?” I knew Ian was insensitive but didn’t peg him as completely and utterly tone deaf.
“Listen Liv, I’ll give you some time to decide and potentially find a relation here— if this is out of your depth I’ll give it to someone else, but regardless this story is going to be written.” His tone is straight forward, rather matter of fact, for what is essentially a threat.
I grab my bag and turn to leave.
“Think about it as a journalist,notas Olivia,” Ian calls to my turned back as I march out the doors. Ian’s journalist instincts are good, great even but he typically spirals until he finds an actual “thread,” as he put it. I’ve worked on stories with himwhere we grasped at straws just like this, spinning it in several ill-informed and unrealistic directions until it finally landed. I know this process, I’ve done this process, but I will not entertain this. This idea is too outside the realm of reality and a total waste of time.
I chew on my lip thinking about my night with Ben, how every piece of my life seemed to come into focus in a way it hadn’t before. I smile at the memory, my stomach fluttering with the anticipation of seeing him again. But my brain continues to buzz with Ian’s words about Ben leaving and the realization that I have this well of grief deep inside me that I’ve refused to deal with for the past two years.
I remember Ben’s face the moment I left with Will, defeat so etched in his gaze that it sealed my decision to end things with Will. I push the theories Ian strung out of my mind. There’s only one thing I want to focus on and that's figuring out where Ben and I stand.
21
Ben
The sun is sitting low as I walk out of the practice gym tonight. Tuesdays are usually spent in the weight room, but Coach had us running laps to “release the goddamned tension between you sons of bitches.” His exact words. Turns out pretending the douchebag dating the woman you can’t stop thinking about, who happens to be your brother, isn’t possible when he’s two teammates down from you, jabbering about said woman. My only relief is the black eye he’s not so proudly sporting. When Scott brought up the scene between him and Olivia, Will was all too pleased to relive the details of their night together. Grinding my teeth did nothing to staunch the disgust I felt as he replayed what I hoped hadn't happened after they left last night. When I came back into the room after abruptly dropping my weights and taking a quick lap as a distraction, Coach was in the middle of a rant, chastising the use of vulgar language about sex acts while in the locker room.
I’m glad I left, because even though I have no standing with Olivia, no right to be upset if shedidleave the gala and consummate their supposed reunion, I know I wouldn’t have been able to stop from making Will’s eyes match.
By the time I get to my apartment, it’s half past six. I told Olivia I’d be at hers by seven to work on this project, but that was last week, before the gala. The most I’d spoken to her since was a brief text from her this morning.
Olivia
See you at 7?
Yeah. See you then.
I was half hoping she’d have some explanation for the other night. Now, as I jump out of the shower and into my team hoodie and sweats, I realize I’d better stop hoping. Will basically confirmed what I’d been wondering for days.
I ruminate over her and Will and me, and this whole fucking mess, the entire way over to her apartment. I go to knock on her door but my hand is met with air, the door quickly pulled open to reveal a fresh faced Olivia, smiling softly on the other side.
“You’re late,” she says, and I can tell she’s relieved. The frustration that was simmering inside me on my walk over begins to burn on the surface.
“I’m here,” I reply, the tight smile on my face unable to reach my eyes. When I look into hers, I can tell she’s wounded. She rolls her eyes, waving me inside. We’re standing in her kitchen, silent as she fills a kettle with water, places it on a burner, and grabs two mugs.
“How are you?” she finally breaks the minutes long silence, turning around to face me, her hands behind her on the counter.
