Old School

Benjy can still taste the vomit in his mouth but he swallows hard, taking a deep breath before he opens the gate to their ridiculous brick house. Manor was probably the proper word, but Benjy, as time had told, was far from being the type of person who knew what “proper” consisted of. God he wants a drink, he can hardly remember wanting a drink as badly. Well, that wasn’t true. Day two or three of withdrawals were slightly worse than this. Slightly. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette but he resists. He should just leave, turn around and go to the remnants of the house he grew up in. But his feet betray his brain and keep walking up the path to the front door. To her front door. Then Benjy does the dumbest thing he’s ever done.

He knocks.

For a brief moment, as he hears movement inside, he wonders if she’s even the type of person who answers her own doors, living in a house like this. When the door opens, Benjy nearly falls over. 

Cleona is staring at him, her eyes as deep and expressive as ever. Benjy had forgotten how much he had loved blue. He takes her in for a moment-Cleona looks more put together than he ever remembers her being, her clothes look as expensive as her house, and oddly, so does her hair.

Benjy tries to smile but he’s sure he just looks completely pathetic. Two ratty flannels, the old t-shirt, what he had previously considered a “nice” pair of jeans and the jacket she had picked out for him at the thrift store almost ten years ago now. Benjy’s stomach lurches and his throat goes completely dry. 

“Morning.” He says, realizing as soon as he says it that it is now well past noon. “Uh, er, um, Afternoon, I suppose.”

It’s not fair. It’s not fair how he can just say those things and stroke her knuckles like he used to when she was stressed. It’s not fair that he can do all of those things while also making her remember how good he is, how good they were. Because no matter what she may outwardly claim now, she knows the truth. She was her best with Benjy. He brought out more smiles from her than both of her brothers combined. Stronger, bolder with his hand clutched in hers. They used to never be apart. There used to be a time where they couldn’t be in the same room without touching. And now five years have passed before he touched her again. If her thoughts weren’t so gelatinous right now, she would be able to recall the last time he held her hand. The night before he caught an early morning flight back to LA, they’d exchanged clipped tones over dinner but never provoked each other into a fight. They’d both crawled into the same bed and stared at the same ceiling until he finally reached over and covered her hands folded on her stomach with one of his.

It was also the last time they had sex.

“It was on TV last weekend,” she says vaguely, still watching his fingers trace around hers.

“Hm?” His tone is more an offer than a request.

“A League of Their Own.” She lifts her head to look at him and nearly flinches at the intensity in his gaze. She didn’t know it was possible to get unaccustomed to a person’s gaze, particularly the gaze of someone who used to love her and made her feel loved.

“Oh, I missed it,” he says softly, and a beat. It’s so fast and so sudden that neither of them fully recognize that it happened until she’s pushing back his shoulders, breathing like she’s just sprinted up the stairs.

He stares at her, wild-eyed, and Cleona gapes back, the warmth of his lips still lingering on hers.

Benjy doesn’t even think, he just lets his instincts and old habits take over. His feelings for Cleona take over. As quickly as she’d kissed him, his hands are on her cheeks, and their lips come together again. Benjy kisses her fiercely, everything he hadn’t let himself say in the past five years rests in his lips.

Cleona is familiar and yet still brand new; an undiscovered chapter in a book he thought he’d finished. 

She was everything he knew he was missing, and Benjy no longer doubts it; he’s never loved anyone else. Not really. Not like this.

It’s only when Cleona moves to deepen the kiss that reality returns to him, and Benjy springs away from her, both of his hands coming up to tent over his mouth and nose. Benjy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard, trying to get his head on straight-how could he be so stupid.

“Benjy-?”

“I-fuck. Fuck!”

He stands, suddenly full of too much energy to stay sitting. It’s a quick, jerky, movement-and Benjy is sure he looks insane. 

“Are you ok?”

It’s the worry in Cleona’s voice that almost breaks him. Because you don’t worry about someone you hate, not like that. And you certainly don’t look at them with slightly swollen lips and eyes you could swim in, head cocked slightly to the left, waiting for your reply.

“Shit. I-” He takes a deep, shaky breath in, exhaling dramatically before he says the words that make him feel sick.

Cleona has to squint a bit to bring him back into focus. Except it’s not so much her sight that’s the problem but it must be her hearing. Because why…why would he still say that now? After everything? Why would he really want to still kiss her after all that’s passed between them?

She scrunches her face up and, with much effort, manages a half-decent response a full ten seconds later. “But…why?” 

Benjy looks nearly as flummoxed as she feels. “Are you-are you being serious right now?”

Well that seems a bit unfair. She frowns. “Look, I know I’ve been a bit of a bitch sometimes, a bit difficult because…of how we happened,” she waves a hand between them. “But I promise you, I’m being 100% real with you right now that I don’t get why you would still–why you would still want to…have feelings for me?”

She tilts her head to the side, combing her hair over her shoulder with her fingers as she studies him. His lips slightly parted and his brow furrowed, he still looks unsure as he watches her work out a tangle between her index and middle fingers.

“Cleona–”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

She huffs out a small laugh and shakes her head. “Like you don’t know what I’m talking about? Like I’m the crazy one and we’re actually 22 again and you’re just supposed to kiss me and tell me to stop freaking out over nothing?”

It all comes out in a such a rush that she’s not fully aware of her words until it’s too late.  And even then, she feels strangely bold, almost daring Benjy to make a move. 

Tell me I’m wrong.

Benjy inches closer to her without even realizing.

“I-why wouldn’t I still have feelings for you?”

Cleona looks at him like he’s grown another head, but Benjy just looks back at her, feeling fuzzy and warm and...almost like he’s 22 again. Well no, not 22, but, he might as well be. Everything he’d ever felt for her, the full weight of it, it comes out from where he keeps it locked in his chest and rears up, taking him over and deafening all reason. 

“I don’t know, Benjy, maybe the terrible screaming matches and the fact that we’ve broken up?”

Benjy can’t help it, he laughs, shaking his head before he downs the rest of his wine glass.

“Right. Yeah. Breaking up gets rid of all feelings, you’re so right, Cleona, I’m just being silly.”

Benjy leans forward and puts the glass on the coffee table and, as he settles back on the couch, his hand covers hers. He feels Cleona stiffen, but she doesn’t pull away. With practice he’d never forgotten, he drags his thumb slowly down the back of her knuckles, keeping his eyes on hers. Benjy waits for any sign of her resisting, for her to hate him like he’s sure she does, but Cleona keeps her eyes glued to their hands.

“I don’t feel anything. I certainly don’t miss you nearly every second I’m awake, I don’t think about you all the time. And I certainly don’t wish I could call you and tell you when I’ve seen something that would make you laugh, or when A League of Their Own is on TV.”

She’s looking at him now, and Benjy holds her gaze, committing her look to memory, knowing (this time at least) that he might never see it again after tonight. She turns her hand over so his thumb now dances up and down her palm.

The corner of Cleona’s lip twitches upwards as she looks down at her glass. “Well, you’re a good dad so…of course, you’re willing to murder for your kid. I think that just comes with the territory.”

She looks back at him. “But yes, yes I sometimes believe I could. With that shit that went down with Axl when we were in school…yeah.”

She doesn’t elaborate any more than that nor does she feel like she needs to. Benjy knows as well as her about Axl’s pill habit and his on-again-off-again abusive boyfriend. She lost track of the amount of times Killi and her punched the buzzer to Rick’s apartment to scoop up their half-conscious triplet. Even more the amount of times she called Benjy, cried on Benjy, swore to Benjy that if she saw one more bruise barely concealed under heavy amounts of powder on her brother’s cheek, that would be it.

A quiet lingers between them that isn’t so awkward between them but still heavy. It wasn’t the pleas and tears that had moved Axl to finally check into rehab; it was Cleona and Benjy telling him that she was pregnant. The very next day, he’d called Benjy’s apartment to tell them where he was and he’d call when he could. 

Benjy clears his throat, breaking the silence. “Er-how are Axl and Killian?”

“Oh, uh, they’re good. Really good actually. Killi just started working at a kids’ group home in the Bronx a couple months ago. He loves it but it’s also kicking his ass.” She pauses to take a sip of her wine. “And Finnigans’ unsurprisingly is the best it’s ever been. Even my parents can’t deny the money that it’s bringing in for all its queerness so Axl is very smug about that.”

Benjy doesn’t reply right away and suddenly that makes Cleona nervous. Like they’re talking and being cordial and nice and friendly even but it’s off and it definitely can’t be because of her wine being finished in two more swallows. The amount of alcohol in her system has nothing to do with the extra shine in her ex’s eyes in the dim lamplight. It does, however, have everything to do with her deciding to refill her glass. And when Benjy proffers his nearly empty glass for a top-off as well, she’s in no position to refuse.

“I’m glad the bar’s doing well.” He says after a full minute of staring at her-realizing he should probably say something. “I thought about popping in but I thought Axl flying off of the stage to kill me with his bare hands might put a bit of a damper on the experience.”

Cleona laughs and tries unsuccessfully to turn it into a cough as she finishes filling her glass and settles back down on the couch.

“He doesn’t-well....he’s not aggressive like that.” 

Benjy laughs and takes a big sip. “True-he’d probably spread another rumor about me having crabs.”

Cleona gives him a funny look and Benjy feels his eyes grow wide.

“...he never told you about that, did he?”

“No?”

Benjy smirks, remembering and pretending like losing two of his best friends along with Cleona didn’t hurt. 

“Yeah-I mean, I wouldn’t have dated for a while after you anyway because...well, you’re a hard act to follow I guess, but uh, even if I wanted to, the entirety of Brooklyn’s alt and queer scene thought I had crabs.”

God he loves her laugh, Benjy feels himself reach for her hand instinctively, before he catches himself and moves like he was going to scratch his knee all along. He wants to bottle her laugh, capture it on tape and play it over and over-Benjy supposes he has it somewhere, in one of the cassette diaries they used to film together when they were stoned. He hadn’t been able to listen to them since they broke up-their joy was there, recorded, preserved- proof that she’d loved him once, proof of what he’d lost. 

Benjy shifts on the couch, half listening to Cleona talk about some other shenanigan one of her brothers pulled, when she interrupts herself.

“You don’t have to sit that far away from me, you weirdo. I don’t bite.”

“Mmm, I know for a fact that’s not true.” Benjy says, ducking out of the way and chuckling when she throws one of the decorative pillows at him. 

“Whatever, you still don’t have to-”

“I do.” Benjy says, the wine taking over control of his voice and clouding his judgement. He couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. Benjy regrets what he says even before it leaves him-certain that her reaction will result in the night ending early, and once again he’ll be kicked out with only himself to blame.

Cleona leans her hip against the counter as she appraises him, her right foot propped against her left shin and her arms folded across her chest. He keeps his eyes fixed on her but the pull of his mouth, his grip on his arm betrays just how much this is eating him up inside. Like how most interactions with him these days leave her feeling numb and defensive. They built so much between them in the span of a few short years and even after five years, that foundation never fully eroded so perhaps…Benjy was right. They could be better to each other and come to some terms with what they still had. Besides, being friends with him would make things a lot easier for Shay, and wasn’t that the most important thing here? Never mind the way the earnest plea in his voice sinks its tendrils into her heart and fills her with that ache most familiar during those sleepless nights. But for Shay….

“Do you want some wine?”

Benjy raises a bemused eyebrow. “S-sure?”

“I mean, I don’t want to keep you if you want to…er-need to…or have other plans or…?”

“Wine sounds good, Cleona.” It’s supposed to be irritating that he can still read her like a fucking book, but perhaps a start to this er-friendship is letting go of that.

“Oh-okay.” With a chagrined smile, she retrieves two glasses and a bottle of red she just got from the bodega down the street earlier today. She pours out two glasses and passes one over to Benjy.

“This is me saying yes, by the way,” she says, but judging by Benjy’s smile, he already knows. 

“Well I could be forgiven for thinking the wine might be a guise.” He says with a laugh, taking the glass and following her into the living room.

Cleona raises an eyebrow at that.

“And what kind of guise would that be?”

Benjy shrugs, sitting at the complete opposite end of the couch as her, swallowing hard as he does. How many times had they ended up wrapped around each other on this couch? How many times had he told her he’d loved her on this couch? How many times had they fucked on this couch?

Why, on Earth, given how much money he sent her for Shay and extras, did she still have this god damn couch?

Benjy takes a big sip of wine, hoping it helps him get a grip.

“I dunno, maybe you poisoned it or something.”

“Well if I did, you just drank it so...”

“Shit.”

Cleona laughs, a real, actual laugh, and Benjy feels his shoulders relax.

“Apparently women use poison the most-saw that on an episode of Forensic Files when I couldn’t sleep the other night. Your absolute favorite show of all time ever.” 

He grins at her cheekily and dramatically taps his finger on his chin.

“No, wait, you like the one where they re-enact shit, truly peak television, you always used to say.”

She’d once given him a blowjob as a bargaining chip to turn off the horrible show-its definitely not all Benjy thinks about when they come on the TV anymore. 

“Do you think you could kill someone?” He says, his voice suddenly serious.

“I uh, never got it, you know, until the first time a kid at the park pushed Shay and like, if it was legal, I would’ve fucked wrecked that little asshole. Like...if anyone hurt him, you know, for real? I know deep down I could and uh, probably would.” 

Benjy used to think he’d kill anyone who hurt Cleona too, but that’s a lot harder of a sentence to stand behind when you’re the one doing the hurting.

“Good night, Mama!” Shay bounds over to Cleona, completely and blessedly oblivious to the uncomfortable shift between his parents, and flings his arms around her neck.

“Good night, baby.” She presses several kisses in succession to both of his cheeks before pulling away, holding his little face in both of her hands. “I’m so glad you had a good day with Baba.”

Shay gives her a small smile but his blue eyes go downcast. “I don’t want Baba to go, Mama.”

The sudden smallness in his voice sends her heart up to her throat. No matter how hard it was for her and Benjy to co-parent and consistently have to face what they lost in each other over and over again, she knows that neither of them can ever fully appreciate what struggles their kid faces with their separation. Even the kids in his class whose parents are divorced have stepmoms and stepdads. Shay just has Cleona at home and Benjy in California. She’s never even introduced her son to any of her past boyfriends. Neither has Benjy. It’s always just been them…just separately.

“I know,” she smiles sadly at him, tucking a few errant curls behind his ears. “I know you don’t and–”

I’m sorry for that. I wish we could be better for you. I don’t want him to leave either.

He blinks his big blue Finnigan eyes at her and words have entirely no use here. They’ll never be enough. Not really. Instead, she presses a kiss to his forehead and gives his shoulders a little nudge. “You better get upstairs before your dad misses you. I love you.”

“Okay,” he kisses her cheek and starts off towards the stairs, calling over his shoulder. “Love you too!” 

Cleona sits for another minute, a vague smile on her face as she listens to the pattering of Shay’s footsteps overhead and the soft rumble of her ex’s voice and the peal of their baby’s laughter. For as much as her heart hurts with it all, aches with Benjy’s last words before he made his escape, she’s almost happy in spite of it all. It’s that domesticity that she had craved when he was gone, that she later claimed that she never needed anyway when he was gone for good. That warm glow hesitantly lighting up in that space around her heart, knowing very well that its lifespan is short.

She’s at the kitchen sink doing the dishes when she hears footsteps behind her.

“I said I’d do those, Cleona.”

She sets the pot in the drying rack before turning around to face him. “You made dinner, Benjy. I don’t mind.”

Neither of them mention that dishes left in the sink were a common source of contention in the later days of their relationship. She wipes her hands on her jeans and tosses her hair back over her shoulders.

“Is he asleep?”

“Oh yeah, out quick after the third round of Grover not wanting the book to finish.”

He meets Cleona’s eyes and pretends he can ignore the shame that boils up in stomach when he does. 

“Oh good, he always asks me to read that one like you.”

Benjy has crossed to the spot on the counter with the drying rack and freezes when Cleona speaks.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

He studies her profile as she looks down into the dirty dishwater-someone who did not spend the first part of his adulthood studying the Language of Cleona Finnigan would think her frown indicated annoyance, but Benjy knows better.

She’s sad. And it’s almost certainly his fault.

“I could give you voice lessons.” Benjy tries to joke, opening the bottom cupboard to put away the colander and frowning.

“Does this not go here anymore?”

“Here-” Cleona says, taking it from him and hanging it on the pot rack above the stove. 

“That way it doesn’t get used for toddler drum practice.”

“Ah yes, the most underground of performances.” 

Cleona can’t stop her smile in time and Benjy smiles back tenatively.

“We-shit.” He sighs dramatically. 

“I don’t know how to-I’ve been having-I’m still a mess.” He says, cursing himself mentally for being so garbled. 

“And I’m really trying, to you know, pull it together. For myself, for Shay-” For you, Benjy thinks, but he doesn’t dare to say it. 

“What I’m trying to say is, even though I absolutely don’t deserve it, do you think maybe we could-”

Every part of Benjy is screaming at him to ask to try again. Give their relationship another shot, actually make it to the altar this time, give Shay some siblings. Be happy together. 

But the idea of Cleon saying no, the realization that she should absolutely say no, keeps the words locked in his chest.

“Maybe we could try to be friends? Just so this-and holidays and his birthday-we can, we should you know, try to be better to each other. Friends. I-” Benjy swallows hard and tries to smile again. 

Watching Benjy now shoveling noodles in his mouth, Cleona chooses not to acknowledge any of what just happened right now and focuses instead on their son. Somehow that’s the easier option.

“All right, Shaybaby, ” she says, picking up her plate and nodding at Shay to do the same. “Go get your PJs on and get ready for bed.”

“But Mamaaa,” Shay whines as he follows her to set his dishes in the sink. 

“But Shayyyy.” She turns back to him, arms crossed, mouth fixed in the classic expression of a mother trying not to be amused by her child’s whining.

Shay sticks his lower lip out, taking his stolen few seconds to scroll through his options. “Can I-can I watch TV first? Just for a little while?”

Cleona shakes her head once. “I know how that works, lovebug. A little while becomes another hour and then we’re both passed out in front of Spongebob and his laugh infiltrates my nightmares. Not to mention that you” she ruffles his hair as she grabs his Spiderman lunchbox on the kitchen island. “and I have school tomorrow.”

Shay wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

Cleona laughs and she hears Benjy snort too. “Lunchable for tomorrow?”

Shay heaves a great ever-suffering sigh. “Fine.”

“Your sacrifice has been noted, bug.” She stoops down to press a swift kiss to the top of his head. “Now, PJs and maybe Baba will read with you before he goes. If you ask super, super nicely and have minty fresh breath.”

Shay scampers up to the kitchen island and stands on his toes so he can just see Benjy over the top. “Will you read with me, Baba? Pleeeease?”

Cleona can’t quite help a smile at Benjy over their son’s head. Maybe it was out of pity because of a heavy suspicion that her ex might have been more affected by the song that she ever would have expected after all these years. Or maybe it was because watching Benjy reading with Shay was still one of her favorite things…after all of these years.

Benjy cracks a smile for the first time since he’s returned from the bathroom, first at her, then at Shay. “Brush your teeth real good and I guess I can’t say no.”

“Okay!” Shay starts off down the hallway towards the stairs only to skid to a quick stop at the end and turn back around and speed back into the kitchen to grab his Spiderman off the table. 

“Spiderman,” he says seriously to Benjy before peeling off again.

When she hears his bedroom door shut above them, Cleona decides it’s safe to set his lunchbox down and turn off the music. Without a word, she crosses the kitchen to sit at the table again and sets her chin on her interlocked fingers. Both Benjy and she watch each other, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move, both almost afraid of each other for lack of a better word. Benjy has his bottom lip fixed between his teeth, his fork still poised over his plate but making no move to finish the last of his pasta. 

“Are you all right?” she finally breaks the silence, folding her arms across the tabletop.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Benjy replies far too breezily for it to be natural. Like he somehow forgot how she used to be able to read him better than the back of her own hand.

“Benjy, you’re wet.” 

“Just the effect your voice has on me.” Benjy says without thinking, standing and carrying his plate and the others to the sink. He lets out a breath of annoyance at himself for slipping, for trying to joke with her-that hasn’t worked in years.

“Sorry.” He says as he turns on the tap, not looking at her yet. “I forget we can’t talk to each other like we were ever close.” 

Benjy grabs the back of his wet hair and sighs, moving the pans to the sink and throwing in some soap.

“Benjy-”

“What do you want to hear, Cleona? That I’m still a fucking mess? Congratulations, you made the right call?”

He doesn’t realize how loud he’s being until he hears the last word in the kitchen. Cleona is staring at him in that same impossible way.

“Fuck!” Benjy says under his breath, his heart beat picking up as the same emotions from earlier swirl up in his stomach.

“Look, we both know you’re the winner here it’s just-”

“Was someone yelling?” Shay asks, bounce walking into the room in a pair of Spiderman pajamas that are a little too long. Being as small as he is, it was hard to find things that properly fit him. 

“Oh yeah that was me, little dude. Baba saw a...spider.” Benjy says, putting the dish towel down and scooping Shay up with both arms. “Now all I see is a Spiderman.”

Shay giggles as Benjy kisses him on the cheek. Decidedly not looking at his ex, Benjy squints in mock suspicion at his son.

“Breath check?”

He’s greeted with a burst of mint followed by a hint of marinara sauce. Good enough.

“Excellent work, Mr. Parker. Go give your mom a kiss and then I think we can work out that story.”

Cleona clinks her fork absently against her plate, not looking at either of them but a small smile on her face in spite of herself.

“Of course I do.”

Benjy had bought a burgundy tie to match her dress, a plain thing that Axl and she had found in the thrift store down the street from their apartment but it complimented her curves quite nicely and she could wear a normal bra in it, a concept. And then her new boyfriend’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw her in it.

“God…you look…”

She self-consciously smooths her hair over her shoulders, avoiding his eye. This was the third wedding in her family this summer alone and it was only July. Her cousin Rosalie and some perfectly fine dipshit named Ken were getting married at St. Mary’s in the Hamptons because Ken apparently had money. Axl and Killi were pulling the car around while she waited for Benjy on the stairs. “I know. I’m terrible at dressing up for these things and I–”

“Beautiful.”

She’d been told she was pretty all her life, or rather she would be if she put in an iota of effort, but never beautiful. Especially in a way that seemed to take his breath away just as he spoke. Stranger still, she believed him. Still believed him even as he coaxed her out to the dance floor, skimmed his fingers along her bare shoulders, an apparently innocent action in case her father was watching but sensuous enough to send shivers down the base of her spine. Even with the baseline thudding heavily in the pit of her stomach, she felt light as air in his arms…

“Beautiful,” he whispers again as the song finishes and the world returns to her feet. He looks at her almost like he’s expecting her to argue or roll her eyes or do just about anything to contradict him like normal. But this time, she only smiles at him and leads him out of the hall, away from the always disapproving gaze of her father to wander the golf course in the twilight.

“What’s ‘Stand By Me’?” Shay pipes up, disrupting her reverie. If only evenings on golf courses could stretch out into forever…

“It’s a song, Shay,” she replies helpfully and more than willing to steer the conversation into less emotionally charged topics. “Pasta’s very good, Benjy, thank you.”

Benjy opens his mouth to reply but, Shay refuses to be dissuaded and fixes his mother with a hard scowl. “I know it’s a song, Mama. What’s the song?”

Cleona stares at her son for a beat, meanwhile noting that Benjy has barely made a sound himself. When she glances at him, he has his mouth full and his brow slightly furrowed as if he didn’t himself inspire this topic of conversation. For a moment, in another life, Cleona could easily see the two of them teasing their seven-year-old for not knowing a song that’s over forty years old and come on Shaybaby what are they teaching you in those dance classes? Then, they’d both launch into some horrid duet rendition of Ben E. King’s classic while Shay has his hands clamped over his ears giggling and begging them to stop until Cleona runs to their bedroom to dig out the mixtape Benjy made her a week after her cousin’s wedding…

Her chair scrapes against the linoleum as she stands and tugs at the hem of her t-shirt. “All right, kid, I’ll play you the song.”

Shay looks positively gleeful whereas Benjy looks confused to the point of distress. Before she can think better of it, she heads to their-her bedroom and digs out the tape from the bottom of her sock-and-underwear drawer.

When she re-enters the dining area, Shay is jabbering away about something that happened in his dance class the other day but Benjy looks distracted, his eyes flitting to hers almost nervously as soon as she walks in. She raises her eyebrows back as if to say what do you want me to do? he asked.

She crosses over to the CD-tape boombox she has on the kitchen counter and slides the tape in the deck, both boys following her every movement.

The tell-tale beat opens the track and not completely unexpected, her heart lurches in time.

When the night has come And the land is dark And the moon is the only light we’ll see No I won’t be afraid Oh, I won’t be afraid Just as long as you stand, stand by me

“I don’t think your dad likes me very much,” Benjy chuckles nervously in her ear, his hand squeezing her hip from emphasis as they sway to the music.

“That’s okay,” she says with a half-smile, tilting her head back so she can look him in the eye. “I don’t think he likes any of us very much.”

“No?” he grins at her.

“Not even a little bit,” she laughs, letting her hand fall a little from his shoulder to his chest. “Don’t get me wrong–objectively, he’s a good man, all things considered, but children are a requirement for every good Catholic marriage and well–one thing to not like kids. Quite another to get a bunch of duplicates who are keen on causing trouble and being queer and generally problematic in just about everything they can get their hands on–well, we never really stood a chance with him.”

Benjy laughs and shakes his head, his gelled hair falling out of place.

“What?” she cries, mock affronted.

“It’s just–” he smiles at her, then ducks his head. “those might be some of the best things about all of you.”

“Oh.” Her face is starting to hurt from smiling. “I think so too.”

“And you–”

“What about me, Benjamin?”

God, have his eyes always been so bright, so deep, so goddamn brilliant? He laughs, leans in so their foreheads almost touch. “I’m just so happy to be here. With you.”

So darling, darling Stand by me, oh stand by me Oh stand, stand by me Stand by me

Benjy can’t even make it through the first chorus. His stomach bottoms out, like it used to at the top of the ramps at the skatepark, and Benjy stands abruptly. His fork clatters and his chair scrapes across the floor loud enough to cut through the music, earning him identical looks of confusion from mother and son.

“Excuse me.” Benjy says lamely, his palms sweating as his walks stiffly out of the kitchen. He’s too hot, even though it’s almost cold in the apartment, and as he closes himself in the tiny half bathroom on the first floor, he rips his shirt off before crouching over the sink, sure he was going to vomit. It’s only when he sees his hands shaking that he recognizes what’s happening.

The first panic attack he’d had had been in the tiny apartment he and Cleona had shared before this one, before Shay. It was the day after his mother’s funeral. The kitchen had smelled entirely too much like flowers, entirely too much like grief and had been entirely empty of the only constant he’d had in his entire life. Cleona found him probably about half an hour later, when she’d returned from her quest for hamburgers and had scooped him up off of the stained white tile floor as if he were the helpless child he’d felt like. He’d cried into her neck while she rubbed his back, the hamburgers growing cold beside them. They were pretty constant for those first few months after Samira died, the worst one happening on the subway on his way to skate practice. He’d been frozen in place, riding the train from Brooklyn to Manhattan and back again, until Cleona had found him one more, wordlessly knowing what had happened without needing an explanation. He used to joke with her that she was psychic, tuned into him in a way that seemed otherworldly, and now, as Benjy falls to his knees in the tiny half bathroom of the apartment that used to be his, he wonders if Cleona’d lost that sixth sense along with her love for him.

He had no right to be bitter-he was self aware to know that much-but that didn’t stop the bitterness from coming. Hearing that song-their song, even though neither of them would’ve ever admitted so hideously cliche-at the dinner he’d made for Cleona and their son, the possibilities of what could’ve been presented to him on a fucking platter-it was just too much.

“Fuck.” He whispers softly, taking a shaky breath. The bathroom was still the same depressing shade of beige it’d been when he’d bought the apartment-his promises to paint of course falling flat with each new deal and competition and event that took him away from New York. Away from Cleona. Away from the family they should be right now if only he’d tried a little harder.

Benjy smacks himself, hard, in the side of his face. Left then right. He clenches his fists as tight as he can and counts backwards from ten in Arabic as quietly as he can manage. When neither of those don’t work, and he can still hear the strains of the song from other room and the clatter of forks and plates, he does the next logical thing; he sticks his entire head under the cold tap and lets the sound of water numb his brain. 

The panic attacks had gotten bad again when he’d moved back to California more permanently. Without Cleona. Without Shay. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to get through them without her, as unhealthy and as useless as that was. The water is surprisingly effective, shocking Benjy back to the present and reminding him of how complicated it was, that even though it wasn't the future they’d planned, they both have pretty good lives-and most importantly, Seamus had a great life. Their son was the reason Benjy was subjecting himself to the hell of having to stare his mistakes in the face and eat fettuccine with them-and he needed to stop being a pussy and get back out there. 

He dries his curls ineffectively on a hand towel and pulls his shirt back on over his head, pausing as he pulls it down around his hips. The tiny shamrock he’d gotten on his twenty-first birthday was so small and faded now that he hardly noticed it anymore, but it seemed to glow now. Drunk and insistent on doing something memorable for his twenty first, he simply would not shut up until the Finnigan triplets took him to a tattoo parlor. He’d wanted to get Cleona’s name, but she’d insisted that he didn’t, and they’d settled on an homage to her homeland instead.

“This way if you ever get rid of me it can just be a stupid ass tattoo.” She said with a grin, drunk enough to kiss him in front of her brothers, who both promptly took a break from their bickering to make dramatic retching sounds. 

“Baby.” Benjy said with as much serious as he could muster. He couldn’t quite see straight, but Cleona was somehow even more beautiful when he was cross-eyed. Maybe it was the whiskey.

“If I ever get rid of you, you might as well just shoot me in the head, cause I don’t really see the point of being alive if you’re not there too.”

He’d meant it, even though Cleona had laughed and told him to stop being stupid, and that hadn’t changed. He never wanted to be rid of her, not all the way. Even if she just tolerated him to the point of confusing dinners and co-parenting. 

God. He thinks as he pulls his black teeshirt over the shamrock. I really am still in love with her.

He feels a twinge of guilt as he opens the door, thinking of Cher. Another twinge of guilt tickles down his spine as he realizes it’s the first time he’d really thought about her all day. He was sure she didn’t care-her best friend from childhood(-or college? Benjy couldn’t remember) lived in the city and whenever she flew over with him, they almost always partied until ridiculous hours, entertaining herself while he saw Shay. Benjy stands in the doorway for a minute, rocking back and forth on the arches of his feet, making sure he could handle going back in there.

International daredevil and he can’t even face the first woman he fell in love with. Maybe he really was a fraud. 

Shay’s yammering away, telling his mother about the dog he’d chased when Benjy re-enters the kitchen.

“Baba!”

“Shay!” 

“Where’d you go?”

The question is so simple, and Shay says it with genuine distress clouding his big blue eyes. God-of all the things to take from his mother, of course it had to be her eyes. The ones that always could see through his bullshit-Benjy wasn’t entirely sure where he’d gone either, but he smiles at Shay as he sits back down.

“It’s not polite to talk about at the table, just had a bit of a er...personal matter to handle.”

He notices when he picks up his fork that Shay and Cleona are both done-he’d been in there longer than he’d thought.

“I haven’t uh, been eating a lot of carbs lately.” He says before he can catch himself, feeling even more like a douche when Cleona raises her eyebrows at him. He gives her a tight half smile, thankful that the stereo is now playing a toothpaste commercial instead of that fucking song.

Cleona barely gets a chance to check out Shay’s knee before he’s bounding back over to Benjy and flinging himself into his arms. It’s fine. She gets it. He’s novel whereas she’s always around. Seven-year-olds don’t entirely know how to appreciate routine and consistency. They want fun and excitement, which is exactly what Benjy gives him.

What he used to give her.

Right on cue, she feels Mel bump against her legs and starts vibrating with a slow growl as she focuses on Benjy. Mel came soon after the split with Benjy, because why not add a puppy on top of the chaos that comes with teaching and raising a two-year-old. Between her and herself alone, it’s entirely her own fault that Mel doesn’t like Benjy. She was an oddly intuitive puppy that trotted after Shay around the apartment to both help him cause trouble and stop him from getting into trouble. For Cleona, Mel almost always seemed to “appear” when dealing with her ex, like she could almost sense the shift in the atmosphere. Or maybe Mel could actually understand the midnight rants against her ex to which only she was privy.

“Down, girl,” Cleona tells her, and Mel sits but her glare does not waver. To be fair, the way Shay has his arms wrapped so tightly around Benjy’s neck makes her want to cry a little so perhaps the dog is having the better reaction. 

“Knock yourself out,” she says to Benjy with a shrug. “I need to go grocery shopping but they’re might be something workable in there.”

“Yay!” Shay exclaims, throwing his head back and nearly tossing off what must be new shades, and Cleona can’t quite help a small smile.

“I just-I’ll clean off the table and you two can have at it.”

 “You sure your guard dog is gonna let me in?” Benjy says, mostly joking but eyeing Mel suspiciously.

“Go wash up, Rollerboy.” Benjy says, kissing the top of Shay’s head as he puts him on the ground. Shay doesn’t argue, which is honestly surprising, but Benjy sees Cleona frown after he passes her, and Benjy raises his eyebrows at her.

“Everything alright?”

“Peachy.”

Benjy scoffs, looking down for a second before looking right into the eyes that used to be his.

“You can just tell me to fuck off, you know that right?”

Cleona doesn’t say anything as she crosses her arms over her chest, and Mel barks once.

“Look, I’m sorry we were late, okay? I just-” Benjy’s jaw twitches with emotion. “I don’t forget on purpose, it just goes by so fast and I don’t want him to see me constantly looking at my watch cause like, that’d give him a complex or some shit. But it’s not fair, and you don’t even have to let me see him, really,  and I need to remember that and try harder to not fuck it up-”

“Benjy.”

God, how can she still do that? Say his name in a way that made it sound like something and let him know everything was alright in one fell swoop.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He says with a grin, it grows when he sees Cleona struggling not to smile.

“Don’t worry about the table, yeah? Give me like...thirty minutes? Keep studying. He was excited to get back to you and tell you about today, but if he’s too distracting tell him to come in and be a taste tester.”

Benjy heads towards the kitchen but stops to kick off his beat up red Vans and move them out of the way. They’d always fought about where he’d left his shoes, especially towards the end, and now the simple act of moving them sends pain shooting through him. If he’d done this, the first time she’d asked, and not fought, if he’d let go of the little petty shit that didn’t matter, would he be going to make dinner in his own kitchen right now? He knows its not that simple, but Jesus, he wishes it was.

It’s another 23 minutes before Cleona Finnigan checks the clock on the oven and checks her phone, letting out a sigh when she sees “new voicemail” pop up on her screen. That would be Benjy late once again returning their child. Out of everything, she never really holds that against him. Oh sure, she makes a show of being pissed, but she knows how Shay is, particularly when he gets time with his dad. The extra study time without interruptions isn’t exactly the worst thing either.

Listening to the voicemail, she can’t quite help but chuckle when Benjy mentions Shay chasing after a dog, nudging her stocking feet into Mel’s side under the kitchen table. That’s her boy, all right. Benjy himself almost sounds haggard, like Shay gave him a run for his money and good on him. Someone fucking needs to around here.  If only she could just be smug about her ex having to be a panicked and exhausted parent for a change instead of also getting that familiar twinge in her chest.

She doesn’t bother calling (or texting, for that matter–sometimes, she actually does listen to his messages…if it’s convenient) . She knows all about the parents who hover and harangue their exes if they’re even a minute late returning their kids, but Cleona does her damnedest not to do that with Benjy. Because for all of his faults, he loves Seamus with everything he is and Seamus idolizes him. She already has to be the bad guy on a near-daily basis; she wasn’t about to start quibbling over minutes with their son. Instead, she uses that energy to not take Shay’s disappointment when Benjy leaves too personally.

Of course, who really stands a chance when your dad is an accomplished professional skater who does everything in his power to give you a piece of the world in a few short hours?

She slams the textbook in front of her shut, her mind having wandered too far into those dark places to be effective anymore and startling Mel out from underneath the table.

Lo and behold, the intercom buzzes and it’s time to put on a good face.

“Yeah?” she jams on the button by the front door.

“It’s us, Cleona,” Benjy’s voice crackles through the speaker. Something about his voice in the building’s shitty intercom system makes her think of cherry-flavored Pop Rocks…like when they raided the 7-11 by their apartment that one night and trading kisses to see if it felt different with the candy snapping on their tongues…

“Mommy!” Shay’s excitement isn’t going to last after Benjy leaves, but she’ll take what she can get right now.

“Hey, Shaybaby! Come on up!” After pressing the other button to let them in, she immediately starts fussing with her hair. The ratty candy cane pajama pants with the stained NYU hoodie were already a look by themselves but shoving the wild flyaways of her ponytail would obviously make all the difference with the ex she doesn’t want back.

God…it’s been five years. When was this supposed to get easier?

His first thought when he sees her is how pretty she is, followed closely by the intense, almost overwhelming feeling of missing her. Benjy’s smart enough not to comment on either of these feelings, knowing he’d get a ‘fuck off’ and an eye roll at best and a protectile hurled his way at worst. Instead, he grins at her and says “love what you’ve done with the place.” Like he does every time he comes over. Cleona has barely touched the apartment they once shared in the five years since Benjy stopped living in it, and the bit makes the pain of that a little easier for Benjy. And Cleona hates it, which is a bonus-a solid foundation of his sense of humor had always been lightly pissing her off. Cleona glares at him and rolls her eyes. Benjy lets Shay down from his hip with a dramatic groan.

“Alright lug, go show Mommy why you insisted I carry you up three flights?” 

“I fell!” Shay says dramatically, practically skipping across the family room to show his mother the giant green band-aid on his knee. 

“It’s just a scrape.” Benjy says hastily. “I only had uh, the big kid band-aids. And I cleaned it all up, Shay miraculously pulled through, it was a touch and go there for a minute though, huh bud? Thought we were gonna have to amputate.” 

His son grins at him before skipping back over to Benjy, who catches him easily and lifts him up onto his hip. He was small for his age-they’d been worried about it for a while, but now his doctors were fairly sure it was just the genetics of both of Shay’s fairly short parents. His dance teachers said it was a good thing and Benjy personally was a fan of it-Shay still felt like a baby in that way, and Benjy was clinging to all he could when it came to his son’s childhood.

“I’m sorry we’re late-really. I thought we were doing okay but I forgot it gets so clogged on the bridge-I uh-”  Benjy smiles tightly at his ex-fiance. “Really tried. If that matters. But I’ll let you two get on with your night, how’s that sound?”

“Gnarly.” Shay says, turning to look at him, sunglasses still on. Benjy gently moves them up onto the top of his thick dark curls. Their last Christmas together, Cleona had given Benjy a frame with one of Benjy’s baby pictures side by side with one of Shay’s the only major difference being their eye color. He had inherited his mother’s frankly ridiculous hair, and Benjy was almost obsessed with it.

“Baba don’t go! Not yet!” 

“I gotta little dude, we spent allllll day together and now it’s your mom’s turn.”

Shay sticks his bottom lip out. 

“Can’t you at least stay for dinner?”

Seamus resembled his mother most when he wanted something from Benjy-they were the only two people in the world who could get him to do almost anything with just a look. Benjy clears his throat, looking from his son to Cleona.

Benjy Fenwick glances in his review mirror, smiling at Shay in his booster seat as he dials the phone number he’d had memorized since his Sophomore year of college.

The phone rings once before he gets her voice mail, the standard robot stating her number and unavailability. He was sure she had her phone on Do Not Disturb while studying, and even when she wasn’t, Benjy was sure Cleona screened his calls.

“Hey Lo-Cleona.” He mouths ‘shit’ to himself, you’d think after five years, he’d have broken the habit. 

“We had a bit of an incident with the roller skates- he’s fine, we had the Neosporin on stand by, and got right back up. But then we saw a dog and lo and behold, we had to chase it, and uh-” Benjy lets out a weird half laugh half sigh, trying to figure out how to tell his ex that their child is actually freakishly fast when given wheels and that Benjy came dangerously close to losing him in the crowd of the park. “Well, it was quite the adventure.”

Seamus giggles from the backseat and Benjy grins despite himself. “Anyway, we’re on the way back to yours right now but traffic is gnarly so we’re going to be kind of late. I’m super sorry and I uh, well we can work out if you need to take time away later or whatever. Just wanted to let you know what was up. I’m sure you won’t listen to this and will text me in about two minutes, but just wanted to keep ya in the loop. Alright, later.”

Benjy hangs up and glances at Shay again, who was insisting on wearing the mini aviators Benjy had given him when he’d gotten back to New York yesterday-even in the car. 

“Hi Baba.”

“Hello, Seamus.”

“What’s ‘gnarly’?” 

Benjy smiles at the bumper of the Volvo in front of them. 

“It’s slang for something bad or uncool. Like this traffic. Well maybe not, like, super bad, just something that gets in the way of your plans. Like how this is gonna make us a little late to get back to your mom’s. Skaters say it, little dude.” 

“Why don’t they just say bad?”

“I-” Benjy says as he flicks on his turn signal and changes lanes. “Do not know. I guess we think it sounds cooler.”

“That’s stupid.”

Benjy laughs and poorly tries to turn it into a cough.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say ‘stupid’, are you?”

“I don’t know.” Shay says, his voice dripping with faux innocence. 

“Well I say you shouldn’t. It’s not nice.”

“Sorry, Baba.”

“That’s okay, Shaybaby. But I’ll let the guys know you don’t think saying ‘gnarly’ cool. Your opinion is held in the highest regard there.”

He was. Everyone in Benjy’s circle loved Shay. 

“In California?”

“Mhmm.” Benjy says, pulling into another lane and getting ahead of a big surge of traffic. 

“Mommy would say California is gnarly.”

Benjy lets out a breath and physically bites his tongue, ignoring the swell of emotion in his chest.

“I’m sure she would.” Benjy makes the best eye contact he can with his son through his sunglasses. “Maybe we uh, don’t tell your mom that you learned that word today, alright little dude?”