Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia
25
Ruby
The drive back to Cedar Cliff is quiet. The girls left earlier that morning, so Bennett and I ride alone, walking on eggshells together.
We don’t talk about how Bennett’s own father kicked us out, and we don’t talk about us either. Not when we stop for snacks—Bennett getting the salty one, me getting the sweet—trading gummy worms for chips, like we used to do as kids, and not when we cross the Florida-Georgia line to pause and stretch our legs.
Instead, we talk about work. His recent promotion. My boring job. How, even after years of employment, I’m still not confident I fit in. Bennett says I’m a project lead because I’m awesome, but of course, Bennett thinks I’m awesome because he’s Bennett.
We put on a true crime podcast, talking over it and rewinding, then discussing again until we’re forced to pause it, then go on tangents before we’re talking about something else entirely.
We do everything but bring up the subject of us again.
Until we pull into my driveway.
Until we can’t avoid it anymore.
Because Cedar Cliff and reality were only going to wait for so long. The last time we were here, it felt more innocent. More alive with possibility—the colors more saturated, the birds more in tune.
Bennett puts the car in park. The truck rumbles beneath us and our unsaid words. The sounds of the radio fade out as his fingers twist the dial down.
Calmly, Bennett asks, “Can we talk now?”
“Sure. Loved your dad,” I joke.
He chokes out a laugh. “Best part of the trip if you ask me.”
I join in on the weak, barely there laughs, but there’s no real humor behind it. Our voices slowly fade, and then we’re left, just sitting there.
“So,” Bennett finally says, “us.”
I nod. “Yep. Us.”
Bennett’s face is stoic as he takes my hand in his. Our eyes snap together, and we’re stuck in this little universe with just us—the private island that’s always existed with our population of two.
“Ruby?”
“Hmm?”
“I want to get married one day,” Bennett says.
My stomach clenches.
“I know.”
“And if you don’t, I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
A knife runs through.
“I know.”
“And I don’t think I can wait for you, like my mom did. I can’t go through that same limbo.”
The knife twists.
I nod. “I know that too.”
I know, I know, I know.
Because I do. And I’d never want to hold Bennett back from his dreams. And he’d never want me to do something I didn’t believe in either.
WouldI marry Bennett? Could I see myself committing to someone, trusting that it wouldn’t fall apart?
He takes my wrist and brings my hand to his chest. He pulls my knuckles up to his lips, giving them a long kiss before lowering them back down.
Maybe.
But maybe isn’t good enough for my best friend. I need to be able to tell him yes or no because he deserves that.
“I think I need some time to think,” I say.
“Me too,” he agrees.
All of this, this weirdness, our impulse decision to sleep together … I think we just need some time to simmer. And I need time to consider whether I can sacrifice our friendship for the potential of something more.
In our silence, I hop out of the truck, and Bennett does too. He grabs my duffel bag from the bed and carries it to my porch. He sets it down before squinting up at the tall pine trees that loom over Cedar Cliff. I wonder if they’re giving him an answer I don’t have.
Then, he says, “I’ll text you later?”
I nod even though that seems too vague for my comfort level. But both of us need this time.
“Sure,” I say.
Bennett takes a step off the porch, then back on, like he can’t decide if he wants to leave or stay.
“Rubes, this is … complicated. But I want you to know that as long as I have you as my best friend at the end of the day, that’s all that matters to me.”
“Yes. And that’s all I want too.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Perfect.”
It’s just a jumble of words to fill the space, and somewhere in there, we start hugging. I breathe him in as deep as I can—the strawberries in his hair, the faint minty breath—and he holds me closer, planting a kiss on my forehead.
Then, Bennett backs up, gives a weak smile, gets in his truck, and drives away.