Page 32 of Something Like Winter
Krista covered her nose and mouth with her hand, as if she could hold back the tears this way. Tim felt terrible.
“You’re the only girl for me,” he said, hoping to make her feel better. “You won’t see me with anyone else. Maybe once everything blows over—”
A false promise, but he hated letting anyone down. For once Krista didn’t have anything to say, so he walked her to her car, which she had parked next to his. When he hugged her, he pretended not to notice her tears. Then he turned, got into his car, and drove away.
* * * * *
Tim stood in front of Ben’s front door, steeling himself. The driveway was overflowing with cars. The street too. Tim had to park half a block down. Five balloons were bundled together and tied to the mailbox. If this wasn’t indication enough, colorful paper letters on the door explained the rest, quivering in the October wind.
Happy Birthday!
Ben’s birthday bash was in full swing. They had talked about Tim attending before their falling out, and of course he had remained silent, not wanting to be around Ben’s family more than he had to. Not that they didn’t seem wonderful, but Tim felt what he and Ben had together was private.
That was about to change. He rang the doorbell and stood there ten seconds before he felt like ditching the present on the porch and jogging to his car. Before he could, the door opened. Ben’s face was lit up, like he’d been on a smiling marathon all day, but his expression shifted to surprise.
“Hey!” Ben said, sounding more upbeat than negative. “Uh, come on in!”
Tim could hear numerous voices elsewhere in the house. He wasn’t ready for this. “That’s okay. I just wanted to bring this by.”
Ben looked down at the present. Tim felt what the paper concealed must be obvious, considering the long thin shape.
“Oh, hi!” Mrs. Bentley appeared behind Ben, beaming at Tim like she always did. “I was wondering when you would show up! Come on in and grab some cake.”
“No really, I—”
Mrs. Bentley waved a hand dismissively. “Come on, don’t let Wilford get out the door, or we’ll never see him again.”
Tim slinked inside, nearly jumping when the door shut behind him. He needed to chill, and quick.
“Time to meet the family,” Ben said with a nervous chuckle. “The extended version.”
“Great.” Tim smiled at him, trying to put an apology into it. As always, Ben seemed to understand. They stood there, eyeing each other like years had passed instead of a week. He could almost imagine them going up to Ben’s room, but Tim was led to the heart of the party— where about ten thousand relatives waited for them.
Well, not that many, but they certainly made Tim’s family seem small. He shook a lot of hands, missed almost all the names, and suffered a few old lady hugs. Then someone tall, dark, and gorgeous hopped in front of Tim’s path like a ninja.
“Allison,” she said by way of introduction, smiling broadly at him.
There was no mistaking that look. She knew everything, absolutely everything, he and Ben had been up to. Tim took her hand and gave her his best smile, which only made her grin grow wider.
“Up close, I can see why Ben puts up with you,” she said playfully.
“Don’t worry,” Tim said. “Once the looks go, I’ll be ancient history and he’ll be all yours again.”
“I’d rather you stick around,” Allison replied. “I’ve had my hands full with the boy for far too long. The break has been nice.”
“I’m standing right here,” Ben said testily.
Tim and Allison laughed. Maybe everything was going to be okay.
“Wait, everyone!” Mrs. Bentley declared. “We have one more present before we light candles.”
“No, you can open it later,” Tim said, his panic rising again as everyone focused on him. “Really!”
Ben snatched the present from his hands, and Tim’s world receded to the shreds of wrapping paper that were flung into the air, revealing his art. Then he could only focus on Ben’s face. Tim was proud of the painting. It wasn’t his usual style, but he felt the blizzard of colors showed passion, the overlapping hearts in the center evoking the right emotion without being too hokey.
Ben seemed lost for words, so his mother spoke for him.
“Isn’t that gorgeous? Did you paint it yourself?”
