Their Freefall At Last by Julie Olivia

60

Bennett

Four Months Later

Ruby & Bennett are Thirty Years Old

I love that Ruby’s stuff mixes with my stuff in our new house. I love that we share toothpaste. I love how we don’t have designated hooks on the coat rack, but just a jumble of both of our jackets. I love that we installed the wallpaper together even though both of us got irritated when we realized we hadn’t bought enough paper to complete the whole wall.

I threw my hands in the air after our fifth attempt to “make it fit.”

“Bennett Shaw, you are not walking away from this,” Ruby said, following me into the kitchen.

I wasn’t.

I turned around after shutting the fridge with a water bottle in each hand.

“Me? Walk away from you? Absolutely not. I just thought we needed hydration for our first fight.”

She smiled, and I smiled back, and the fight was forgotten as we christened that kitchen counter for the third time that week.

Tonight, we grab our jackets off the coat rack near that same half-papered wall. I slide Ruby’s on before mine, and we lock up behind us.

Hand in hand, we stroll down the sidewalk to The Honeycomb. I sold my mom’s old house. I figured it was time to move on, to downsize to a space that would fit me and Ruby better. We have a little cottage a few blocks away from the bar with just enough walking time to debrief about our days, or to plan dinners for the week, or to simply just say hi to the clown in the sewer—the bit that Ruby still does and the one I will laugh at forever because it’s just that good.

I open the door to The Honeycomb for Ruby, and she ducks under my arm to go in.

“The Dynamic Duo!” Theo calls, holding out her arms.

“Is that our name?” Ruby asks with a squint.

“Huh,” I say. “I was really hoping for Terrible Twosome.”

“Or the Cute Couple.”

I shrug. “Or simply Rennett.”

“Buby!”

“Nice!” I say as we exchange high fives. “Definitely Buby.”

We take our usual seats at the end of the table, and when Ruby’s seat is a bit too far for my liking, I grab the chair’s leg and drag her closer.

“Okay, Buby, let’s get our head in the game,” Lorelei says. “I really think we can win it this week.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, only because we insanely outnumber literally every other team.”

Everyone at the table looks around. We sit at one of The Honeycomb’s longest picnic tables, and we are packed to the brim. Lorelei and Emory are on one end; Quinn and Landon are on the side; Theo and our occasional guest from the bar, Orson, sit across from them; and then Ruby and I take up the opposite end.

“Okay, well, maybe we should split the group?” Lorelei suggests with a wince.

“Over my dead body,” Quinn says. “Frank is a powerhouse of knowledge. He’s worth four of us.”

“True.”

“Yep.”

“The old jerk.”

I’m not even sure who all vocally agrees. I just know that we jointly do, and not a one of us moves from the table.

Even with our collective brains, we still take second place. Frank is in fact some sort of genius. The geriatric table in the corner with him, Bill, Honey, Fred, and Mrs. Stanley all high-five.

“It must be great, being old and knowledgeable,” Landon muses with his chin in his fist.

“Yeah, how’s that feel, Emory?” Quinn asks.

Emory twists his lips to the side, giving her a sneaky middle finger as he scratches his ear.

Lorelei lets out a quick, “Emory!” and we all burst into laughter.

I could live the rest of my life, doing exactly this—hanging with friends every week at the local bar, losing at trivia, and joking as much as possible along the way. Sure, a small-town life might not seem like much to some people. But it’s everything to us, and I like us.

I hold up my pint glass. “To our ridiculous friend group.”

Quinn boos. “So sappy!”

“Whatever. I can get behind that toast,” Theo says, raising her glass with me. “To us!”

“To us,” Lorelei joins in, nudging Emory, who, with a side smile in her direction, raises his glass of water.

Quinn rolls her eyes but still raises her pint. Landon, giving her a wink, joins in.

Orson runs over from his place behind the bar, kissing Theo on the cheek and placing a hand on the opposite side of her glass since he doesn’t have one himself. She laughs and kisses him back.

And then Ruby raises her glass too.

“To us,” we all say in a staggered attempt at speaking in unison.

It’s sappy.

But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

We clink our pints together, and when I take a sip of my beer, I glance over at Ruby, who simply smiles back.

Yeah, I could get used to a lifetime of this.