What Comes With It

Chapter 8

I stare at my iPhone, willing it to change from 6:29 p.m. After approximately one century, the numbers finally flash 6:30. My heart is about to beat out of my chest.

I wait. Nothing.

I open up the text exchange to confirm the agreed-upon time. My hand shaking, I furiously scroll past the dozens of texts we'd exchanged that day when suddenly my phone buzzes to life. It's him.

I quickly check my makeup and hair and scramble to hit the correct button. It takes a moment for the audio and video to sync, but when it does, I feel my entire body tense.

Ben's face is in the palm of my hand. His eyes crinkle at the corner while he smiles so hard his face looks like it may hurt.

He starts laughing.

"I can't believe it's really you," he says.

"Did you think I had catfished you this whole time??" I respond.

"Nah, it's just ... is this real life? I was just at your SHOW and now you're on my PHONE."

I feel myself breathe for the first time in a long time. I know exactly what he's talking about it.

The next 29 minutes fly by and before I know it, I'm being summoned via text. I have to leave now to make the traffic window given to us by the police escort.

"Shit. Ben, I have to go to dinner, I really wish I could stay on," I say, pleadingly.

"I know, I feel like we could talk forever," he looks down, thinking. "Listen, I know this is weird or whatever, but I really want to see you again. Like in person. Like...I want to take you out," he manages.

My heart feels like it's going to throw up in the best way.

"I would love that. Really. I promise I'm going to figure something out. I only have two shows next weekend, so maybe end of July? Tomorrow I'm in the recording studio then promised my friends I'd go out with them to Zero Bond, and then the next day I have to fly to –"

"Serena," he interrupts. "We'll figure it out. I know we will. And I can't wait."

"I can't wait either."

"I'll talk to you soon. Maybe next time we can do a whole hour," he jokes with a smirk.

After we hang up, I'm whisked away into an SUV. I text Ben the entire time. I sent him the menu to help me pick out what to order (The consensus? One of everything).

By the time I look up from my phone, I've arrived. Time really has a way of evaporating when I'm talking to (or thinking about) this guy.

Whatever bubble I'm in is popped nearly instantly. The paps are waiting for me en masse and I'm blinded by their cameras.

The flashes give way to not-so-subtle phone flashlights as I try to quickly, yet graciously, skirt dozens of gaping onlookers recording me on my way to the restaurant's back room. I hate this part, but it's what comes with it.

I pray my girlfriends are waiting for me so I can fully catch them up on the whirlwind of the last two days. They'll bring me back to Earth, they always do.

But what if that's not what I want?