I keep my eyes on the road. A truck passes in the left lane and the lights sweep through the car and disappear.
“It’s moisturizer,” I argue, though it sounds thin even to me. “His skin is dry. The hospital doesn’t take care of him properly. Someone has to do it. You should’ve seen the shape he was in before.”
“Benji. Come on. This is me you’re talking to.”
“What?”
“That wasn’t moisturizing. That was worship.” Dante’s eyes search my profile. “You were on your knees putting cream on a man’s feet that he can’t even feel, and your face... I’ve never seen you so still. You’re always moving, Benji. You’re always multitasking ten things at once. But in those moments, the rest of the world just stopped.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Do you see now? This is why I can’t talk about him while I’m driving.”
“Why don’t we pull off at the next exit? We’ll get snacks, walk around.”
“I don’t want to stop. It’ll be late enough when we get back. Let’s just keep moving.”
“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. “But I want you to say what you’re feeling. Out loud. In this car. Because I know what I saw, and I need you to say it so we can deal with it.”
“He can’t feel his legs, Dante,” I snap. “He’s paralyzed. He’s being transferred to Jacksonville soon, and he’ll be five hours away. What exactly do you want me to say?”
“Tell me how you feel about him.”
“I don’t know what I’m feeling!”
“I think you do.”
“No, I really don’t, Dante!” I let out a jagged breath. “In the beginning, I visited because I felt guilty. Then it was gratitude for him saving my life. But now? I’m visiting because I can’t breathe if I don’t. I don’t have a word for this. I’ve had hookups. I’ve had those three-month things that were just about sex and brunch. I’ve never had a man in a hospital bed who worries about whether I’ve eaten, or who solves my wedding problems from two hours away, and who looks at me like—”
I stop, the word catching in my throat.
“Like what?” Dante asks quietly.
“Like he sees the real me underneath everything,” I whisper. “He’s not bored by what he finds. He sees the Benji you see. The person — not the whole production.”
“Okay,” Dante says. “That’s what I wanted to know. What’s the plan?”
“What plan?”
“How to keep this alive. He’s transferring to Jacksonville. You’re going back to Miami after the wedding. What happens next? Have the two of you talked about it?”
“No, we haven’t. I don’t have a plan, Dante. I have a wedding in two days and a career in Miami that I’ve spent years building. I have a life there that actually makes sense. And then I have a man in a bed in Tallahassee who is about to move even further away, and I don’t know how those two things fit together. We don’t even know if he’ll ever walk again. How am I supposed to have a plan?”
“I get it, babe,” Dante says softly. “I really do.”
“I’m glad you’re here. With your help, I’m going to get through this fucking wedding first. Then I’ll try to figure it out. Okay? Can we just do that?”
“Sure, we can. But listen to me,” Dante says, his voice gaining a sudden, sharp clarity. “Whatever you are with Mickey, it’s the version of you I’ve been waiting to see for seven years. Don’t wait until later. Later is Jacksonville and Miami. Distance makes it very easy to pretend none of this was real.”
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. “The wedding first. Please. I’m begging you, Dante. I can’t handle the ‘forever’ of this right now. The wedding first. Then I’ll deal with it. I promise.”
“One last thing,” Dante says. “Did you notice how he tried to lure me into the 30A real estate market? Why would he try to recruit me to the Panhandle when he knows my entire life is in Miami? Any thoughts on that? Because I have several, which I’ll save for when you aren’t about to hyperventilate.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I shrug, trying to play it off, though my heart rate sped up when I heard Mickey say that. “No idea why he did that.”
Dante gives me a look that says he knows exactly how much I’m lying, then reaches over and turns on the radio, filling the car with a driving beat that drowns out the need for more words.
As soon as we get back to the condo, I collapse onto the sofa and text Mickey.
Benji:Home. Dante survived the drive. Goodnight, Mickey.
