“Decent syrup is kind of addicting. By the way, I never forgot what a wicked sweet tooth you have. Remember how you used to plow through those Swedish Fish while studying?”
“I loved those. Actually, I ate so many during college, I got sick of them. I’ve moved on to Sour Patch Kids. Bonus, you can grab a bag of them at the gas station.”
Who is this Murphy? She picks up snacks at the gas station?
When I accidentally let out a small chuckle, of course she said, “What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I just had no idea you even knew how to pump gas.”
“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about, Ben. Except marketing.” The last part came out on a whisper as sadness swept over her usually lively expression.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean? Marketing?”
“It’s nothing.”
Murphy stared at her nails, inspecting the red polish, a few shades darker than her hair. A few freckles dotted her hand, and I looked at her face, noting it was still as creamy and unblemished as it had been in school. I remembered her wearing a hat and tons of sunscreen when we hung out on the lawn, saying her mom would kill her if she got freckles on her face.
As I finished off the remainder of my Americano, I wished I’d bought a pastry. Sometime in the last forty-eight hours, I’d gone from being ready to throttle the surprising blast from my past, to wanting to sit here for another hour or two with her.
I tried to push aside any notions about this version being a new and improved version of Murphy. My old feelings were clouding my thoughts. I’d liked her a lot at one time, but quickly learned we weren’t meant to be together.
Murphy took my moment of silence as waiting for her to answer, so she started rambling about her degree. “It’s just I wanted to work in marketing when I moved here, because that’s what my degree is in, but it didn’t work out. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”
“What do you mean, it didn’t work out?”
“Honestly, I don’t want to rehash it. I’m here at the Bean and happy. Maybe the happiest I’ve ever been.”
A sullen Murphy from our past came to mind. She’d always come back to Pressman despondent after breaks. I’d go over and see if I could cheer her up, and she’d shoo me away, saying I didn’t understand. It was part of the divide between us, part of the push-pull dance we always did.
By the time we were seniors, I knew what to expect. If Murphy spent significant time with her family or rich friends, she’d pull back from me except for when I tutored her. As the aftershocks of whatever ensued within her wealthy circles wore off, she’d let me in, only to push me out again.
Why did I put up with it? Because I liked her. Too much. Somewhere underneath all her steely armor, I recognized a softer person. A fascinating person that I really liked.
“It’s from our biggest disappointments that we grow, Murph,” I told her, feeling compelled to make her feel better like I used to do all those years ago.
She scoffed. “Seriously, you’re going to give me some cheesy motivational quote? Who said that?”
“Me, that’s who. I’m sure someone more profound said something similar at one point, but that’s me saying it to you, and meaning it.”
We were back in the dance. Murphy with her holier-than-thou, well-groomed, well-bred attitude, and me with my hokey small-town sayings.
Her green eyes stared me down, a cool grassy meadow inviting me to bare it all. “How would you even know about disappointments? Doesn’t look like you’ve had too many.”
“Ha. This coming from you, who knows more than most that I was the poor boy at the fancy prep school. The charity case, the farmer’s son, the pity party. I know plenty about disappointments.”
I didn’t mention spending four years being disappointed by her, only to get my one chance on prom night. Or at least that’s what I’d believed. But I was wrong, and now here she was, sitting across from me, wondering about what disappointments life had thrown at me.
“You need to let that go, Ben, the charity angle. Seems like it’s a long way in the past for you. You’re a doctor now, well-liked and clearly happy, doing your thing.”
Her words, meant to be approving, were like a salve on a third-degree burn. I’d spent four years wishing she would think more of me, and here she was finally doing it now.
Swallowing regret for how I jumped on her, I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I’d always let Murphy’s pity go by the wayside, knowing it was the price I paid for having her as a friend.
“Yes, I am, but it wasn’t without a lot of sacrifice. I was still the scholarship kid in college. The long-snapper on the football team—you know what that means? The lowest man on the totem pole. It played well into me not having a social life, which gave me the time to make ends meet . . . otherwise.”
“What do you mean?” Her expression softened, and she didn’t look ready to unleash her Irish temper at me.
“That’s a story for another day.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean . . .” Her brow formed a tiny furrow, and she almost looked about to cry.
I didn’t know what to make of this new dance. She’d lash out at me and then soften toward me, and then I didn’t know what the fuck this was.
“I have to go,” I said, rising to my feet. “Patients are waiting. I’ll see you the next time you’re working, I guess.”
The last part came off slightly hopeful and partly resentful. Murphy was part of my past, and not one I was sure I wanted in my present.
Needing to keep this relationship contained, I resisted the urge to ask for her number. I’d come too far to let old habits bring me down,
