One word. My stomach drops to the floorboard.
Benji:Good??? That’s all you have to say? You leave a mark on my neck like a man with something to prove and all I get is GOOD?
Mickey:Drive to the hotel. Text me when you’re in the room. I’m not having this conversation while you’re behind the wheel.
Benji:Sir yes sir.
Mickey:Don’t start with me.
Benji:Starting. Already started. Can’t be stopped. Driving now. Talk soon.
I put the phone in the cupholder and pull out of the parking lot smiling like an idiot. The drive to the hotel takes six minutes, and I white-knuckle the steering wheel the entire way because my hands are shaking.
I let myself into the room, kick off my shoes, fall onto the bed, and text him.
Benji:I’m in the room. I’m lying on top of the covers fully clothed and I smell like you. The cream is on my hands and your skin is on my shirt and lying here smelling like both of those things at once is doing things to me that the Holiday Inn is not equipped to handle. You know what I keep thinking about?
Mickey:No idea. Tell me.
Benji:Your arms around me in the wheelchair. You held me like you’d been planning that.
Mickey:I had.
Benji:How long?
Mickey:Since the thirst trap this morning. When you sent that photo with the sheets, I decided that the next time I was close enough to touch you, I was holding you in my arms. One way or the other. I spent the whole day thinking about it. Every therapy session. I was thinking about wrapping my arms around you.
Benji:Stop. I’m going to die in this hotel and they’re going to find me clutching my phone and the cause of death is going to be “sexted to death by a cop in a wheelchair” and it’s going to be on the news and my mother will never recover.
Mickey:Go to sleep, Benji.
Benji:HOW am I supposed to sleep after that?? I’m lying here in a hotel that smells like you and you’re telling me to sleep?
Mickey:I’m telling you to sleep because if you keep texting me right now, I’m going to say things I want to say to your face. Not to your phone.
Benji:Promise?
Mickey:I don’t make promises I can’t keep. You know that about me by now.
Benji:Goodnight, Mickey.
Mickey:Goodnight, Benji. Set an alarm. You’ve got a long drive tomorrow and I need you on the road awake. Not half-asleep thinking about my arms.
Benji:Too late for that. I’ll be thinking about your arms the whole way and there’s nothing you can do about it. So there! Goodnight.
I pull my shirt off and hold it against my face for a second. Cream, his skin, the warm cedar of whatever he puts on after showers. I set it on the pillow next to mine so the smell stays close.
Early the next morning I check out of the hotel before daylight. I text him from the first rest area.
Benji:Heading south. George better not die while I’m gone. Water him twice a week. Don’t let the nurses overwater him. Overwatering is the number one killer of fiddle-leaf figs and I will not lose him to negligence.
Mickey:George is in good hands. I’ll talk to him every morning and tell him his leaves look great. That’s how you keep a plant alive, right?
Benji:That is exactly how you keep a plant alive. You’re a natural.
The interstate stretches south through Florida, the flat highway rolling past palm trees and rest stops and the occasional billboard for personal injury lawyers.
I drive with the windows cracked and the air gets warmer the further south I go. At the halfway point, I stop for gas. While the pump runs, I lean against the car and check my phone.
