If I Look Back

“Good Night, Lilly!” Molly says cheerfully when she sees me gathering my things. “Do you have a date tonight?” she asks with a wink. Ever since Molly began seeing her new man, she’s been more chipper and curious about my life. While I have enjoyed her renewed out-going spirit, I don’t particularly love the prodding into my affairs.

“Oh, Molly,” I begin with a wag of my finger. “We’ve been through this. I don’t think we’re dating.” I sigh and haul my over laden bag over my shoulder.

“Don’t give me that, missy.” She replies, with sass. “He stays at your place and buys breakfast. If it’s not dating, it’s just shagging.”

“Well then, maybe it’s just shagging!” I say with a flourish of my arm and wave goodbye to her. I know full well that it’s not shagging because we haven’t even kissed. But I let Molly believe what she will. She is happy in her delusions.

I make my way out of the building. The few coworkers that are still in the office, wave goodbye as I pass. I step out into the sunshine and bask in the warm feeling on my skin. The summer has turned out beautifully and Benedict and I have been taking full advantage of it.

When we’re not working, we are out doing some thing. We’ve been to the coast, we’ve been hiking, and I even let him take me for a ride on his motorbike. Unfortunately, we’ve both been busy and don’t see each other as often as we’d like.

I head home and change into more casual clothes for the evening. We’re going to see the last Harry Potter film, bless his heart. He’s already acknowledged that he’s expecting to deal with some tears.

At exactly 7:15, he knocks on the door.

“It’s open!” I call out through a mouthful of toothpaste. Luckily he understands and comes in. He makes his way to back to the bathroom and leans in the doorway while I finish brushing my teeth.

He’s dressed in plain blue jeans, cozy, well-worn sneakers and a plain-white t-shirt. His hair is unkempt but glorious in its perfect curls. His posture is relaxed and comfortable. When he smiles, the lines around his eyes brighten his expression and I’ve come to know what a real smile and a fake smile look like on him.

“Hmm,” he begins with a raised eyebrow and a chuckle when he sees that I am also wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. “One of us is going to have to change.” I roll my eyes and spit out my toothpaste.

“It’s not going to be me!” I say with fake outrage.

“I’m only joking. I don’t care if we’re samesies.” He says before leading the way out into the living room. “You look better than I do anyway.” I just shrug off his comment and grab my bag and keys. “Do you have the snacks?” he asks, eagerly.

“You bet your ass I do.” I reply, locking up the door. Next thing I know, he’s rustling through my bag, assessing my snack choices. For the first little while of our friendship, he was very respectful of personal space, but that is over now and he tends to jump in wherever he seems to fit.

“You always bring the healthy stuff.” He says with a twinge of distaste on his face. Whenever he is unhappy with my food selection (or just unhappy in general), he gets that little crinkle on his nose and between his eyes.

“Hush your mouth.” I grumble in reply. He hands me a helmet before pulling his on. “I really hate this motorbike.”

“Then why do you continue to ride on it?” he asks with a deep chuckle. I know he’s smiling even if I can’t see his face.

“Because I’m an idiot.” I reply before he starts the bike.

I hang on for dear life, just like always. I trust Benedict but it’s everyone else I am skeptical off. Plus, I have a deep-seeded hatred of 2-wheeled transportation. But there is no denying that the air is refreshing on my skin and that the thrill of holding on to him keeps me getting back on the bike.

Walking up to the movie theatre, he keeps bumping into me while I check my emails but when I scowl, he looks away like he hadn’t done anything.

“You’re acting like the little boys in primary school when they harass a little girl because they like her.” I say, grumpily. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me today but I generally don’t need a reason to be grumpy.

“And what if I do?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. I can’t help but blush as he bumps into me again.

“Then I’ll be the little girl in primary school that makes the little boy hold her hand because she likes him.” I say and bravely grab his hand. He entwines his fingers with mine and looks rather pleased with himself. I’m rather surprised by my own behavior. I’m not usually one to make a move.

After the movie, I feel like a bit of my life has ended. It’s sad to think that the Harry Potter franchise was such a huge part of my life, but it was. Riding on the back of the motorbike, I think about how many things come and go in our lives. Things begin and things end. I can’t help but wonder how long Benedict will be around and what could possibly begin and what could end.

We get take away from one of our favorite Thai places and go back to Benedict’s apartment. It took him awhile to invite me here and I think it’s because his ex lived here but I didn’t ask.

“I wish you weren’t going away.” He mumbles in between mouthfuls. I am going to Oslo on holiday with Linnea for a few days and he’s quite bent out of shape about it.

“I’ll be back in a few days, silly.” I reply. We’re seating cross-legged on the couch, with the tele on. We’re watching reruns of Little Britain, per the usual.

“Yes, but you’ll miss my birthday” he replies with an exaggerated pout. He looks at me with over-acted puppy dog eyes.

“Well, I’ll be away for mine too. We’ll just have to celebrate when I get back. I’ll be back on the 23rd.” I refuse to give into his pouting just as he refuses to give into me when I pout.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, freezing his movement in mid-gesture. “It’s your birthday too…how old are you going to be?”

“26,” I reply. He chokes a little bit but does his best to play it off.

“Fuck, I’m getting old.” He says rather sadly more to himself than to me.

“35 years old is not old.” I retort. “You’re just a baby.” I poke his nose in an attempt to get him to smile.

But despite my further attempts at age related humor, I can tell that something has shifted his mood. We’re the same in that sense; one minute we’re fine, the next, some underlying thought or feeling turns us into grumpy little black clouds.

“Don’t be such a grump.” I blurt out eventually. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m just not where I thought I would be at this age.” He answers, honestly. “I thought I’d be in a different situation.” I smile because I completely understand. “Why are you smiling?” he asks, trying to keep his own face from mirroring my smile.

“Because I get it. If you’d asked me 5 years ago where I thought I would be for my 26th birthday, ‘boozing it in Oslo with my only remaining girlfriend-who-is-also-family’ is not what I thought I would say,” I reply with a shrug.

“Where did you think you’d be?” he asks. His voice is plaintive but curious.

“I’ll tell you, if you’ll tell me yours.” I reply, stubbornly. There’s no way I’m revealing my secrets if he’s not revealing his.

“Alright,” he replies with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “On the count of three. One, two…three!”

On the count of three, Benedict says: “married with children” and I say: “married with a dog.”

We both snort with laughter but I know there’s something else, something hiding underneath.