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Ben Gross has a beard.
That is the only thing her brain is seemingly able to register at this moment in time, eyes unblinking as she stares at him from across the gymnasium. She clutches her wine glass tightly for fear she might drop it, wheezing in a shaky breath. Curse Eleanor for forcing her to wear such a tight dress to their reunion. How is she meant to cope with the sight in front of her, when she cannot even inhale a single breath properly. No matter how good the red dress might make her butt look.
Ben Gross has a beard. And it looks good. No, good is a pathetic way to describe such a thing when she is having this kind of a reaction to it. It makes him look like one of the actors his Dad used to represent (and he used to name-drop), before Howard Gross retired from the world of entertainment law to focus on his health after having a heart attack in their senior year of high school. The only word that comes to the forefront of her slightly intoxicated brain is rugged. Ben Gross looks rugged. And rugged equals handsome. Not that he wasn’t handsome back in high school. He was, just in a different way. Softer, more delicate. This version of Ben is undeniably handsome. Hot, even.
Somehow, whilst her brain was struggling to compute the sight of a bearded Ben, her feet have carried her body over to him. By the time she reaches him she has managed to regain control of her breathing, thankfully.
She watches as his eyes trail down her figure, silently thanking Eleanor for forcing her to wear this dress. Any inability she may have to breathe is well worth it, judging from Ben’s reaction. He coughs slightly, loosening the tie around his neck.
“Hi Devi,” he says, smiling at her. She’d forgotten just how much his eyes crinkle when he smiles. How much she had relished in being the one to make him smile, how envious she had been whenever someone else had caused a similar reaction. A traitorous part of her heart wonders – how many people have made him smile since she saw him last?
“Nice beard,” is what comes out of her mouth in response to his greeting. It takes a second, a heart-wrenching second in which she wants nothing more than to run away and hide, but Ben laughs.
“How did I know you’d have something to say about it?” he queries, his voice teasing. His right hand touches his beard almost absent-mindedly, and the action causes her heart to falter momentarily at the sight. It’s just some facial hair Devi, she tells herself, in an almost futile attempt to calm herself down.
Ben guides her over to a free table, hand lingering behind the small of her back, not quite touching her. Still, she can feel the heat of his hand, can almost imagine the sensation of his fingers trailing down her spine. She curses herself silently, praying that her face isn’t as flushed as she thinks it might be.
“Well, it took you long enough,” she shoots back, downing her drink to try and cool herself down. Thankfully, her thick hair is twirled up away from her neck and held tight by numerous bobby pins and a clear hair elastic, otherwise it would be a lost cause by now. “I never thought you’d be able to grow one, judging by your pathetic attempts senior year.”
Rolling his eyes, Ben holds his hand out for her glass, motioning towards the makeshift bar – really just a white fold-out table covered with a tablecloth and groaning under the weight of alcoholic bottles. “Refill?” he asks.
She nods. “Just a red wine, please.”
Ben arches an eyebrow. “Red wine, David? Fancy.” He draws the last word out, placing emphasis on the y, before grinning at her.
She won’t lie, she watches him walk away. Ben has always filled out a suit well, and time has only done him a favour in that department. His blue slacks cling to his backside, his white button up rolled up effortlessly to his elbows. He looks slightly disheveled, in the best way possible. She can’t lie, she knows the image of him walking away will fuel her fantasies for months to come.
Devi manages to drag her eyes away from him in order to study the gym more closely. Somehow, the reunion committee has managed to transform the Sherman Oaks High School gymnasium into something that doesn’t reek of teenage sweat or conjure up the sound of sneakers squeaking on the linoleum floor. She knows Eleanor was on the committee, but still. This transformation would’ve required a tremendous effort from everyone involved, and she makes a mental note to try and remember to send the committee a thank you note. For Eleanor’s sake, if nothing else.
A glass half full of chilled red wine is placed in front of her, snapping her out of her musings. Ben sits down beside her, a beer in hand.
"Isn't that drink a bit," she pauses, primarily for effect, "common for your tastes? I would gave thought you'd solely be drinking Moet."
Ben rolls his eyes at her, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ll have you know, this beer costs $20 a bottle.” She nearly spits out her own drink, to Ben’s amusement. “Kidding, David.”
“Hilarious,” she replies. “Who knew you’d developed a sense of humour over the last 10 years?”
The mention of just how long it has been since they last saw each other understandably halts the conversation. Devi wants to slap herself for being so stupid. If the look on Ben’s face is anything to go off, the reminder that it has been 10 years since they said goodbye and went their separate ways (Ben to New Haven, Devi to New Jersey) has made him nothing short of uncomfortable.
Thank god the music is so loud, at least. The baseline of some hit from 2025 is thumping through the gym, a large crowd jumping in front of where they used to get sorted into teams for softball. They won’t have to talk to each other for the next five minutes, which Devi thinks is probably an acceptable amount of time to wait until she can make an excuse about needing the bathroom and flee. Fabiola will be around somewhere, she can hide behind her and her Eve.
But Ben ruins that plan, much like he used to thwart all of her plans. First in the Biology exam? Not if Ben could help it. First place in History class? Not if Ben could hand in an extra, extra-credit report. First place in English? Nope, Ben somehow managed to scrape an extra mark even though her analysis of The Great Gatsby and its representation was far superior.
“10 years,” he murmurs, placing his drink down gently on the table. He clasps his hands together, resting his chin on top of them. He stares at her, his blue eyes grey in the dim light. “Crazy how quick the time has gone.”
She shrugs, staring at a spot over his left shoulder instead of meeting his eye contact. “Law school will do that to you, I guess.”
Nodding, he stretches a foot out until it grazes hers. The thin front strap of her heel does nothing to disguise the feeling of Ben’s leather shoe against her skin. She holds back a shiver. “I heard you made partner. Congratulations, Devi.”
She smiles at his words, the action softly stretching her lips out. How proud her amma had been when she heard. Her daughter, partner of a prestigious law firm. Devi almost rolls her eyes when she remembers what Nalani had said a week after, during their weekly phone call – Now it is time to find someone and settle down. It was if her mother had a checklist for her daughter’s life – successful job as a lawyer? Tick. Life partner and potential offspring? Missing, better start working on that immediately. It certainly didn’t help that Kamala somehow managed to juggle both her work at the lab and raising two kids almost as beautiful as her almost effortlessly. If her cousin could do it, why couldn’t Devi?
“Thanks. I heard about your win against that company. Congrats.”
How odd it had been hearing that instead of becoming a lawyer like he had always talked about, the dream of following in his father’s footsteps one of Ben’s top five conversation starters, he had instead chosen to work for an environmental organisation focused on reducing carbon emissions and restoring the world to some semblance of how it used to be. In stark contrast, she relished her job defending dubious individuals, even though the hours were long, and her diet consisted of more takeout boxes than she’d ever admit.
Every time she stood up in a courtroom, she imagined she was back in high school, arguing with Ben in one of their many shared classes. She relished in the feeling of proving her point, of picking apart the prosecution’s argument, just like she had relished in arguing with Ben. Just as long as she would never have to actually argue against him in a courtroom. Devi didn’t think she would be able to win that one, not if he turned up in a suit and with that beard. She would be too flustered to make any sense of her arguments, and she would probably happily concede the case and flush her career down the proverbial toilet to avoid such a situation.
Ben shrugs, obviously trying to downplay his achievements. Humility is an odd look on him, after years of watching him crow about anything and everything, and Devi tells him as much. He laughs, shaking his head. “Sorry for not wanting to brag about my job, David.”
“Ben Gross, mature,” she replies. “Who would have thought?”
“Well it has been 10 years, Devi. Wouldn’t it be a bit worrying if I hadn’t matured?” he queries, looking over her shoulder at the refreshment table. “It’s good to know some people haven’t changed a bit though,” he says, and she turns around just in time to watch Trent approach the punch bowl, looking left and right before easing a flask out of his pockets and pouring its contents into the punch bowl.
She shakes her head, taking a moment to look at the crowd. The song has changed to a slower song she vaguely remembers, but the makeshift dancefloor is still crowded with people. She thinks she can see Eve’s platinum blonde hair, Eleanor’s green dress catching the light from the disco ball someone clambered up a ladder to hang from the metal beams. She looks closely, conscious that Ben is sitting right beside her, as Eleanor throws her head back in laughter at something someone says to her. Devi waits until the people in front of them shift, but her suspicions are confirmed. Paxton Hall-Yoshida, the star of her sophomore year lustful daydreams, is currently chatting up one of her best friends. Devi smiles softly to herself.
It is a bit funny actually, that being back in this gymnasium hasn’t conjured up memories of that Winter Dance. After Paxton turned up and told her he wanted to be her boyfriend, they’d dated for a while, until Paxton’s swimming dreams and his lingering embarrassment over dating the girl who had publicly cheated on him had led them to mutually decide they were better off just being friends. And they’d had a great friendship, until Paxton graduated and went off to Stanford, swimming scholarship firmly in hand. She rarely heard from him now, just caught tidbits of his life through her biannual correspondence with Rebecca. He’d nearly made it to the Olympics, missing out on qualifying for the relay team by one second, and after that he’d decided to open up his own swimming school, putting his business degree to Stanford to good use.
She almost winces at the thought of that Winter Dance. How dramatic everything had seemed back then, every situation life or death. How conflicted she had been, her heart pining for Ben to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight but her mind urging her towards Paxton. After she and Paxton had split, she had waited a heart-wrenching six months before she had messaged Ben and asked him if he wanted to hang out. He had split with Aneesa mere weeks after the Winter Dance, and Eleanor eventually told her that she had spilt the beans to Ben about wanting to choose him, but she hadn’t wanted to rush things… not this time. Not when she had hurt him so badly.
They had eventually gotten together towards the end of their junior year, and thinking about it now, she wants nothing more than to go back in time and urge her past self to get her shit together and not waste any more time than she already had. They’d only had a year together, a stressful year filled with writing college essays and applications, before they had gone their separate ways, both Devi and Ben rationalising that it would be better for them both to call it quits before they were forced to, Ben quoting some statistic about how only 4% of high school couples stay together. It had been horrible, watching him drive away from her house for the last time, still as slow and cautious a driver as ever, but she had slowly put herself back together, throwing herself into her studies and only sometimes wishing she could Facetime Ben to brag about her latest results.
“Devi,” Ben murmurs quietly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She really shouldn’t be drinking wine tonight, it makes her far too nostalgic. “Are you okay?” He touches her arm gently, and her stomach flips.
“I’m alright,” she tells him, inhaling. “Just a bit,” she waves her hands around, trying to demonstrate just exactly how she feels, “nostalgic, I think.”
Ben nods, quiet. He trails his fingers over her skin gently, raising the hairs on her arm. 10 years, and her body still reacts to his touch. Ben had been her first, and he had been so cautious with her, so gentle and concerned she had nearly wept. They’d only had a few months together, but they had snatched any moment they could get, most of their arguments ending in bruising kisses and hastily ripped off clothes. She’d learnt to sew buttons back onto her shirts pretty quickly to make sure her mother never found out.
“I get it,” he says. “It’s weird being back here. I mean, 10 years ago this school was our everything. It was our safe space to express our ideas and make mistakes. We never thought we’d leave, let alone survive out in the real world. But,” he begins, gesturing to the crowd in front of them, “we have. Sure, some of us have made mistakes, like Trent falling prey to that pyramid scheme and Shira marrying the first douchebag who proposed to her and then divorcing him three months later, but for the most part we’ve all thrived. Eleanor’s a successful actor, Fabiola is practically running the robotics program at UCLA, Eric somehow became a relationship expert…” he trails off, shaking his head at her and widening his eyes in disbelief. She laughs, an almost cackling sound that she immediately regrets.
“And us,” he says, gesturing between them. He grins at her. “Well we’ve killed it Devi. But really, who expected any less?”
“Cheers to that.” She holds up her wine glass and waits for Ben to clink his beer against it. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, until the song changes and the recognisable chords of a song from their junior year comes through the speakers.
Ben visibly winces. “God, you loved this song. Do you remember? You made me drive around aimlessly just so you could play it over and over again.”
Devi nods, laughing. “It’s such a bad song,” she manages to say between bouts of laughter. “I wonder who requested it.”
She did.
He shrugs, draining the rest of his drink. She watches as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Who would’ve thought drinking could be so damn attractive? He catches her gaze from the corner of his eye, and she flushes, her cheeks surely matching the colour of her dress.
“Alright,” he declares, standing up in front of her. He holds out his left hand. “It’s time to dance. Devi, if you’d do me the honour.”
“Ben Gross, I thought you’d never ask,” she grins, jumping to her feet as best she can in her heels and grabbing his offered hand. “Let show them all our sick dance moves.”
“Let’s show them my sick dance moves,” Ben corrects, shaking his head at her. “I remember you having the coordination of a goldfish.”
“Wanna bet?” she challenges him, gripping his hand tight. She grins at him.
Ben shrugs, trying hard to look unbothered by how tightly she is squeezing his hand. He raises an eyebrow. “Depends on what you’re willing to bet, David.”
She thinks to herself for a moment, before looking directly at him. “Winner has to give the loser a kiss. And I mean, a proper kiss. Not a chaste peck on the lips.”
Ben furrows his brow, visibly confused by her statement. “Devi…” he begins, before trailing off. He shakes his head at her, before murmuring, “Devi, that’s a win-win situation.”
She nods at him, dragging him closer to the dancefloor. “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?” she announces, looping her hands around his neck. Even if this song is not exactly suited to slow dancing, she isn’t going to waste any opportunity to slow dance with Ben.
His eyes widen as he looks at her, hands coming to rest gently on her waist. “Devi Vishwakumar, you will be the death of me,” Ben murmurs tenderly. He tucks a loose curl of her hair behind her ear, his hand cupping her cheek. “But what a way to go.”
She laughs as he twirls her around the dancefloor, hands holding her tightly to him.