After the spin studio, I hobble into work, barely able to walk. I don't care what Kit thinks of me, there's no way I can do this again. I thought I was in shape, but that was a fantasy. Like my life these last few weeks, full of the dream that things might be different if I just wished for it hard enough. That hasn't worked and I'm not magically going to be some amazing athlete either.
When I finally hobble up to my desk, Tabitha is there, waiting for me.
"Contest day, Chloe," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She's wearing a kaftan made out of some vibrant material, and I can't believe she isn't sweating profusely under it, no matter how cold they keep the temperature in the office.
"What's that?" I say with a sinking feeling.
"We need to tell our readers who came closest to providing information on our missing man."
I lower myself gingerly into my desk chair. I feel like I'm a hundred years old. "We're still doing that?"
"Yes, of course, why not?"
"I thought when I found him another way ..."
"Oh, no. We have to keep our promises."
"I don't think anyone actually identified him." I'm not sure this is true. I stopped checking the emails and messages on social when I found Ben for real.
"Then pick someone. But make sure you go through all the entries first. You know what happened last time."
I sigh as I try to find a comfortable position in my chair. My quads on fire, my butt a bruise. Six months ago, we'd run a contest and had gotten lazy going through the entries. Someone who lost took it badly and ended up figuring out that the winner didn't meet the criteria. There'd been a threat of a lawsuit, and our Instagram got suspended for a week. That one wasn't my fault, but that girl wasn't working here anymore, so I most definitely didn't want to make that mistake.
"I'll check them now."
She nods and walks away. Creating this contest was a mistake, no matter how good it was for the subscription base. Classic Chloe—do something impulsive then suffer the consequences for it for weeks or months afterwards. I have to stop doing that.
Only, how do you change your personality? Is it even possible?
I'm not going to figure that out today, so I open my computer and go to the email address I was using for the contest. There are at least a hundred emails I haven't checked. I start to open them, scanning through the included pictures and names which are not Ben. Another collection of sad missing man stories—this is apparently a popular M.O. these days, a few dates and then poof!
It's depressing and I want to delete the rest of the emails. But then I see an email from someone named Kaitlin Hamilton. That's Ben's last name. There are two emails from her, actually, stacked on top of one another in a thread. I open the first—it's dated a week before I figured out who Ben was.
Hi, I saw your contest on Insta and I'm almost certain that's a picture of my brother, Ben Hamilton. I've attached a picture so you can confirm. Do I win?
I open the picture she's attached, a sweet shot of Ben a bit younger on a beach, his hands on his hips, staring at the camera with a laugh. He's tanned and relaxed and happy and I can't help it, I start to smile too. What is it about this guy that gets to me so much? Ugh.
I x out of the photo and read her second email.
Hi again,
I never heard back on this, but Ben told me that you've figured out who he was. I'm Tyler's mom. Thanks so much for being so great to him the other day. He's still talking about it.
I check the date. It's two days after the ice cream incident. I smile, thinking about Tyler and his exclamation marks. He's a cute kid, and his mom seems nice. Besides, I have to contact her, Tabitha said. There's a phone number under her name. I call it.
"This is Kaitlin."
"Hi, this is Chloe Baker. From BookBox. Calling about Ben?" My voice is rising with each half-sentence. I sound like an idiot.
"Oh, Chloe. Hi!" her voice is warm, a nice alto phone voice.
"I'm calling to let you know that you've won our grand prize. A year's subscription to the BookBox and a signed copy of Most Wanted."
"Thank you. Wow, Chloe. We're talking in real life."
I lean back slowly in my chair and try not to scream out in pain. "That's a surprise?"
"I've been hearing about you on both ends for a while."
"Both ends?"
"Tyler and Ben."
"Oh. Tyler is adorable."
"He's a handful, but thank you for being so kind to him."
"My pleasure."
"Ben told me, well ... about the whole fake date thing."
I close my eyes. Even that hurts a little, but that might not be the spin class. "Yeah."
"He meant well."
"He said."
I tuck my phone under my chin and switch my position so I can Google Kaitlin. I like having a visual when I speak to someone. She looks a lot like Ben, with shoulder-length brown hair and the same easy smile. Her wife is cute too, red-headed. and sporty.
"I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"It happens. I'm sorry about your mom."
"Thank you." Kaitlin sighs. "It's been hard. We don't know how long she's going to have."
"Is she still in the hospital? I ran into Ben and Rachel a couple of weeks ago, bringing her bagels."
"I heard."
"You did?"
"From Ben and Rachel that time. That was an epic fight."
My toes curl in my shoes. I need to stop moving. "I didn't mean to cause tension between them."
"It's not your fault. And they're not together in case you were wondering. Not that Rachel acts like it." There's a bitterness to her tone that surprises me. From everything I've seen of Rachel, despite her dislike of me, which is understandable, she's well-liked.
"Oh?"
"Probably shouldn't say anything. I'm always saying too much and getting in trouble."
"Yes, of course. And ha, me too."
"I just ... That breakup was a long time coming, and I know it was a hard decision for Ben, but it was the right one, you know? And then our mom got really sick and he felt like he couldn't tell her about the breakup because mom loves Rachel and ... I told him he should just tell her. It's not like our mom is some delicate flower. But Ben's protective."
"That's a good quality."
"Yes, usually. But not at the expense of his happiness."
As much as part of me wants to know all of this, another part of me is screaming to make it stop. "I'm not sure Ben would want you telling me any of this."
"I know." Kaitlin sighs. "He just gives so much to us. I want him to be happy."
"That might not be me, though."
"True. But it feels different when he talks about you."
Another ouch, but it's internal this time. "Amendment. I'm not sure it's good for me to hear about this."
"Oh, Chloe, I'm so sorry. Of course. I didn't think."
"It's fine."
"No, no. You called about the contest. Do I need to do anything for that?"
"Can you email me your mailing address and a photo? And do you mind if we do a post about it with the other photo you sent of Ben?"
"Sure."
"Can you ask Ben?"
"Yes, okay."
"Great, well, I should be going ..." I'm about to hang up, but something holds me back. "Can I ask you one thing?"
"Of course."
"Why did you enter the contest? You knew what it was about, right? I mean, you knew why I was asking because Ben had told you?"
For the first time, she's guarded. "Are you asking whether Ben mentioned you to me before I saw the contest?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
My heart skips a beat.
There it is. External confirmation that it wasn't all in my head with Ben. Not that I truly thought that. He told me it wasn't, but he's not the most trustworthy source. But if he'd talked about me to Kaitlin, then that had to mean something. On the other hand ...
"But when you saw the contest, why didn't you tell him? Or did you?" Now my heart is in my throat. Because if she did tell him and he didn't reach out, then he's just a liar.
"I meant to, but you didn't answer me and then our mom got sicker and he didn't mention you again so it slipped my mind. Then when he told me he'd found you, I remembered about it."
"So you were trying to play matchmaker?"
"Maybe. He told me about the date and then said he couldn't find you. Then a few weeks later I saw someone who looked an awful lot like him ..."
I stop her. "Kaitlin."
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to cover for him. I can take it."
"I'm sorry, Chloe."
Somehow I knew this is where this conversation was headed. "You did tell him?"
"Yes. But it's not like you think. He was going to reach out when things calmed down with our mom. That's real. She's really sick. Dying. None of us are thinking clearly."
"Okay."
"I know he cares about you, Chloe."
"Yeah."
Later, when I'm alone, I'm going to parse our conversation at his music studio to see where the lies are. How bad they are. If they can match up, somehow. But no. He acted like the contest was a surprise. He didn't tell me he knew about it. He didn't want to find me, not really. He could have so easily. He could've emailed me anytime and he didn't. So that's that. Whatever Kaitlin thinks. That's enough.
"Thanks for being honest with me."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. Anyway, congratulations. You'll be getting some great reads this year."
"Thanks, Chloe and good luck to you."
"Thank you."
I hang up and stare at the phone. The call lasted ten minutes. That's how long it took to kill any lingering dream I had about Ben. That seems like a short time. But the first death was only seconds, those texts with Jack, real Jack, where I found out he'd been lying to me.
You'd think I'd know by now that people don't change. Once a liar ...
I don't know how to complete that thought. All I know is that my body hurts. My heart hurts. It all hurts and this sucks.
Love sucks.
###
This day is not the best frame of mind to go on a date with Jack, but I made the date and I'm going to keep it. Jack isn't the problem. Ben is. I'm the problem. So I slap on a pretty dress and a smile and some lipstick and I meet him at an Italian restaurant in Bed-Stuy and try not to think about the fact that this is Ben's neighborhood, and that the way my luck is going I'm bound to run into him any minute.
"Would you like something to drink while you wait, Miss?"
"God, yes."
The waiter smiles at me. In his fifties, he's wearing a white shirt and black pants, an apron tied around his waist and a white cloth over his arm. Very old school. The tables have white and red checker cloth on them and the air smells like olive oil and tomato sauce. I've been seated near the back, with a romantic candle on the table and easy listening playing on a speaker above me. The restaurant is half full, mostly families and older couples, and I wonder how Jack found this place.
"I have a very nice chianti on special."
"That sounds lovely."
"Shall I wait for your dinner companion to arrive?"
"Not, that's fine, he'll be here soon, I'm sure."
The waiter nods and leaves while I peruse the menu. It's as old-school as the surroundings—carbonara, amatriciana, classic Bolognese. The idea of hot pasta on a hot night is a little off-putting, but it's cool in here and it's been a while since I've had a good past.
The waiter comes back with my wine. A generous glass.
"Thank you."
"I brought you the eight ounce."
"Looked like I needed it?"
He smiles. "Call it a waiter's intuition."
"I could use some of that."
"It's a curse and a tool."
"How so?"
He shrugs. "I make snap judgments about people based on other people I've met over the years that they remind me of. It's surprisingly accurate but sometimes I can be way off."
"What about me? Do I remind you of anyone?"
"Sure. There have been lots of pretty girls with sad eyes over the years."
"Are my eyes so sad?"
He nods to my wine glass. I take the hint and take a sip. It is surprisingly good for the house special. "That's delicious."
"It is. I'll bring you some bread and olive oil while you wait. And might I suggest the stuffed zucchini blossoms? They're divine."
"Please. And thank you ..." I pause to look at his name tag. Giuseppe. "Thank you, Giuseppe."
"You can call me G."
"I'm sure that will be much easier once I have a second one of these."
He laughs and leaves. I pick up my phone to check the time. I was a few minutes early, but now it's been at least ten minutes, and it's not like Jack to be late. It rings in my hand. Jack.
"Hey."
"Chloe, I'm so sorry—"
I release a slow breath. "You have to cancel?"
"Yes. It's a shit show at work. I thought I'd be able to get away, but they're in the middle of firing a hundred people and I have to cut off their internet access tonight or I'm going to get fired."
"What is that place, the CIA?"
"You'd think the way they're acting. Anyway, they sprung this on me at five as I was on my way out the door. I thought I'd be able to get it done in time, but clearly not. I'm so sorry."
"It's okay."
"Are you already at the restaurant?"
"I am."
"Please order on me. I'll call and give them my card."
"That's sweet of you."
"The least I could do."
"Thank you."
"Can we reschedule?"
"Sure, call me tomorrow when the dust settles."
"I will."
"Oh, and I bought concert tickets to surprise you with."
"You did?"
"Yeah," he sighs. "This new band I think you'll like. My Mom's Garage."
"Oh, I love them."
"I'll send you the tickets. Go. Maybe Kit can go with you. I'm sure she could use the distraction after ..."
I put my glass of wine down. "Wait, did Kit get fired?"
"I can't tell you that, Chloe."
"Shit."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay, I understand. I'll take the tickets, thank you."
"No sweat."
"Have a good night."
"Thanks, you too."
We hang up and I start to text Kit, then stop myself. She'll tell me this news on her own time. And I know she and John have something planned tonight with his parents to celebrate the engagement.
My phone pings. Jack's emailed me the tickets. The concert's a few blocks away at a local bar. I can go on my own. I used to do that all the time after Kit moved to New York and I was still in Cincinnati. It'll be fine. I'll have a couple of glasses of wine and eat some delicious food then go listen to a good band.
Then I'll tuck this day away and sleep through the weekend.
Maybe on Monday, things will finally start to change.