Page 95 of Forget About Me

“Puppies can be tough, especially ones like this guy, who likely got separated from his litter way too young. He needs firm, consistent curbing. But you also can’t expect too much. It’s way too early to teach him to sit.”

We talk about redirection, and I promise to get more chew toys. She promises to keep him in his crate when she can’t supervise him directly. I take him out to practice doing his business before climbing the back stairs up to my place. Once he’s settled behind the baby gate to keep him in the kitchen, I go through the mail. No letter from Ben. I’ve gotten nothing from him since the package of old letters. But then I remember the package that I’d stuffed in my bag to keep it away from a curious little mouth. Luckily, his sharp puppy teeth only got through the first layer of heavy-duty packing tape. Turning it over, the return address makes my heart skip.

And has me pouring a glass from the bottle of wine I opened the other night.

A couple of healthy sips later, I’m wrestling with the tape. Ben must’ve used an entire roll on this thing. Maybe I should just hand it over to the pup and let him do his worst.

Instead, I hunt for scissors, finally find them in a box of not-yet-unpacked stuff and manage to pull out something wrapped in a lot of bubble wrap, held together by yet more tape. Resisting the urge to throw it across the room—is Ben trying to make me even more mad at him?—I cut through the layers to find a cassette tape with a hand-decorated cover. “FOR LUCY” is written on the spine.

A smile stretches my face and my heart.

Ben Porter made me a mixtape.

About time, the bastard.

No note from him to be found anywhere—not on the ground, not stuck in the wrapping—just block printing of song names. Ben really has a thing about sending actual finished letters.

But I’ll take it.

Ten minutes later, I’m back in the car. The puppy I can’t settle on a name for is in his travel bag next to me, and the stereo’s cranked up to eleven. Driving is the best way to listen, so I head west on Route 2, music filling my car and my ears and my heart, quaint New England towns a blur in my peripheral vision.

When the first side ends without cutting off a song, I’m impressed.

As I turn the cassette over, the fuel indicator catches my eye. The bright red light jars me back to reality. I don’t even know where I am. I push eject instead of play.

By the time I find a gas station, the needle has dipped below empty and both the car and I are running on fumes. While the tank fills, I take the dog on a little walk so he can relieve himself as I read the song list carefully printed on the case liner. I can picture Ben choosing each one, feel his need to tell me something about us.

“Catapult” might be about how him finding Puck launched us both into new territory. “Tears of a Clown” is an obvious reference to Launce, and maybe how playing that role helped him process some of his own pain. “Always Something There to Remind Me,” by Naked Eyes. Well, if it’s as true for him as it’s true for me… “Pride (In the Name of Love)” is next on the list, and I hope it’s about us in a good way. Haircut 100’s “Love Plus One” follows. Maybe Puck is our plus one. Or Tony?

The last song on side one is “Don’t You (Forget About Me).” I may be simpleminded about some things, but I’m taking that message literally.

When the pumpthunks, I replace the handle and gas cap and head back home. The other side of the tape is full of songs all about love and its complications. Delighted, tortured, sexy, sensual. It’s all there.

Back in Arlington, I park the car and put the puppy and myself to bed. I just wish I could drive to Ben’s apartment and yell at him. And then make love to him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Don’t You (Forget About Me)” - Simple Minds

Ben’s Very First Mixtape, Song #6

LUCY

The night before Thanksgiving, as I’m brushing the last dab of egg wash on the crust of a towering apple pie, Mr. Porter dries his hands and clears his throat.

“May I be released from KP duty, dear? I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”

Vera smiles as she reaches around to untie the frilly apron stretched across his belly. The affection in her crinkled eyes makes my heart ache. Silently blowing out a sigh as I open the oven door and slide the pie inside, I know I only have myself to blame. If I’d figured out a lot sooner that my love for Ben was bigger and longer-lasting than my anger at him, if I’d accepted that we both made mistakes in the wake of Tony’s death, I wouldn’t be alone tomorrow, on the worst of all holidays for my family.

Closing the oven and hoping that my landlord and Ben’s dad are finished with their canoodling, I face the happy lovebirds and paste a smile on my face.

Anyway, I won’t be alone. My parents are coming here for Thanksgiving dinner since my brothers did end up escaping with their girlfriends. On top of that, I have a new puppy to take care of.

Mr. Porter pauses in the kitchen doorway. “I’ll be over to help out as soon as I get back tomorrow morning.”

“What time do you have to leave for the airport?” Vera asks.

My heart skips a beat.

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