Stories from Naoh’ra Rabntah

The Ben and Josh Show

Three weeks after the pier, Ben Ralston started showing up at Big Mike’s Diner. Every day, same booth, same order. The booth faced the counter.

Josh Devlin held out for two days.

The first day, he said nothing. Dropped the plate, walked away.

The second day, he made a mistake. “Do you not own a kitchen?”

“Yeah, but the company’s better here.”

The third day, Ben ordered three milkshakes.

Josh set them down one at a time, each landing harder than the last, put both hands on the table, and leaned in.

“Don’t you need to be with Matt?”

Ben was already stirring the first one. “Matt’s fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“You’re scaring off paying customers.”

“I’m a paying customer.”

“You’re a nuisance.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

By the end of the first week, the menu board featured a “Ralston Special” with no description and a price that didn’t belong in Big Mike’s Diner. Ben ordered it without asking what it was. The plate that arrived looked like the regular cheeseburger.

“Supply and demand,” Zara said.

“The supply is a cheeseburger.”

“The demand is a man who drove twenty minutes across town to eat a cheeseburger at your counter. I’m not the one undervaluing that.”

Ben left enough on the table to make it a statement.

The deep fryer had been dying, and on Wednesday it finally committed.

Big Mike stood over it doing mental math on a replacement he couldn’t afford this quarter. Josh was pulling everything off the fry station. Zara was reorganizing the cold menu.

Ben, who should not have been in the kitchen, was already crouched beside the unit with his duffel bag open on the floor.

“Out,” Josh said.

Ben had a panel off and a flashlight held in his teeth. He removed it long enough to say, “Thermostat relay’s shot,” and put it back.

“You’re not fixing a commercial deep fryer with whatever’s in that bag.”

“If it catches fire,” Big Mike said, “I’m billing your estate.”

“I’m a firefighter. If it catches fire, I’m the most qualified person in the room.”

“You’re also the one who started it,” Josh said.

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

Ben pulled the dead relay out, dug through the duffel bag, and came back with a replacement.

“Tractor starter circuit,” he said, like that explained anything.

“That’s for a tractor,” Josh said.

“Same voltage, same pin layout. Doesn’t care what it’s bolted to.”

“You carry tractor parts.”

“I carry useful parts. Sometimes they come from tractors.”

He seated it, reconnected the wiring harness, and hit the breaker.

The fryer kicked back on.

“Huh,” Big Mike said.

“Get out of my kitchen.”

“Big Mike’s kitchen, actually.”

Josh threw a rag at his head. Ben caught it.

“I’m adjusting the Ralston Special,” Zara said. “Service charge.”

“Kid,” Big Mike said to Josh’s retreating back. “Just go out with him.”

The break room door slammed shut.

Josh slapped the loyalty card on the table at Booth Four.

“Why do you have a loyalty card. We don’t have loyalty cards.”

“We do now,” Zara called from the register.

“Earned it,” Ben said.

“Three more stamps and he gets a free milkshake.”

“Nobody asked you.”

“So,” Ben said. “What about Monday.”

“What about Monday.”

“You. Me. I’ll pick you up.”

“Not in that truck.”

“What’s wrong with my truck?”

“It sounds like a cargo plane. It smells like a barn. The passenger door doesn’t close unless you kick it.”

“That’s character.”

“It’s a health code violation on wheels.”

“Okay. I’ll clean it.”

“You can’t clean structural damage.”

“Pick you up at seven?”

“If you’re late, I’m not waiting.”

Josh grabbed the loyalty card, the milkshake, and what was left of Ben’s fries on the way back to the counter.

“That’s a yes,” Ben said.

At the register, Zara held out her palm. Big Mike sighed and pulled a bill from his apron.

“I had him down for another week,” he muttered.

“You underestimate me,” Zara said.

At seven o’clock on Monday, a sound like a diesel tractor being fed through a wood chipper announced itself on Josh’s block.

The pickup had survived everything short of a direct airstrike and looked like it. Dented across every panel, held together in at least two visible places by duct tape, with an exhaust note that suggested the engine had outlived every other component out of spite.

Ben had cleaned it. The windshield was no longer opaque. The dashboard had been wiped with something. The effort made it worse.

“She runs great,” Ben said.

“She sounds like she’s begging to be put down.”

“That’s just the cold start.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Ben parked at the marina.

“Explain,” Josh said.

“Dinner. On a boat.”

The cabin cruiser looked like it had changed hands more than once, and not always voluntarily.

“Whose boat is this.”

“Guy I helped move a fridge.”

“And he gave you his boat?”

“He gave me the keys for the night. There were circumstances.”

“What circumstances.”

“The fridge was on a third floor.”

The dinner was fine. Better than fine. Ben had brought food from somewhere that wasn’t Big Mike’s, and the marina at night did most of the work for him.

Then the engine died.

“That didn’t sound good,” Josh said.

“Huh.”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“Do you know anything about boats?”

“Engines are engines.”

“That is objectively false.”

“Good news,” Ben called up from below deck. “We’re not sinking.”

“What’s the bad news.”

“We’re not moving, either.”

Josh leaned over the hatch. Ben had the duffel bag contents spread across the deck plates.

“What is that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t look like a boat part.”

“It’s not.”

Josh watched him work. He didn’t understand any of it, and it was all going to end in disaster, and he couldn’t look away. Twenty minutes and a very questionable use of duct tape later, the engine turned over.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Josh said.

Ben climbed back up, wiping his hands on a rag. “Told you.”

“You did this on purpose. The boat, the engine, all of it. So you could fix it and look good.”

“Is it working?”

Josh pushed him overboard.

Ben did not come to Big Mike’s the next day. The booth stayed empty through the lunch rush.

“You’re staring at the door,” Zara said.

“I’m wiping the counter.”

“You’ve been wiping the same spot for ten minutes.”

“It’s a stubborn spot.”

“Text him.”

“No.”

Josh texted him on his break.

You alive?

No reply. Ben always replied. Ben had once replied to a three AM text that said “the deep fryer is haunted” with a full paragraph about electrical grounding.

If you drowned in your own shower I’m not coming to your funeral.

Nothing.

Josh grabbed his jacket.

“Say hi for me,” Zara said.

Ben looked terrible. Sweats, hoodie half-zipped, eyes glassy.

“Wow. House call.”

“You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Didn’t hear it.”

“For five hours?”

The shrug turned into a cough. Deep, rattling, longer than it should have been.

“That’s from the water,” Josh said.

“Probably.”

“Because I pushed you in.”

“Probably.”

Josh walked past him into the apartment. Ben had never invited him over when they were dating.

“Are you—”

“Sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sit down.”

Josh opened three cabinets before he found the tea. Put the kettle on.

“Josh.”

“Shut up.”

He made the tea and put it in Ben’s hands. “Drink that.”

“You came all the way here,” Ben said.

“You weren’t answering.”

“Because I was asleep.”

“You could have been dead.”

“From a cold?”

“From being an idiot.”

The cough came back. His eyes were already half-closed.

Josh threw a cushion at him. “Go to sleep.”

“Bossy.”

“Go to sleep or I’m pouring the tea on your head.”

Ben was out in four minutes. The apartment was quiet enough that the only sounds were the heater and Ben breathing.

He sat on the far end of the couch. Temporarily.

Josh woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling, a stiff neck, and Ben on the other end of the couch. Hood up, blanket half off, mouth open. Alive, unfortunately.

“I hate my life,” Josh muttered.

“Mornin’.”

“Don’t.”

“If you wanted to stay over, you could’ve just asked.”

Josh grabbed the nearest cushion and hurled it. Ben caught it without sitting up.

“I didn’t stay over. I fell asleep.”

“That’s what staying over means.”

“Staying over implies intent. This was an accident.”

“An accident where you made me tea first.”

Josh picked up the second cushion.

“Kidding. Kidding.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Breakfast?”

“Choke.”

“Love you too.”

Josh was out the door before he could find something else to throw.

He made it to the sidewalk. Keys in hand, car in sight.

“Josh?”

Zara. Coffee in one hand, bag over her shoulder.

“You don’t live here.”

“Neither do you.”

“I live four blocks that way. You live off the bridge. So whose building is—oh my god.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She was already texting. Josh lunged. Zara sidestepped without spilling her coffee.

“Zara—”

“You’re leaving someone’s apartment at nine-thirty in the morning in yesterday’s clothes.”

Josh got in his car. He almost fumbled the keys.

“Was he any good?”

In the rearview mirror, Zara was waving.

The break room had the specific quality of a room where everyone had been talking about him thirty seconds ago.

“So,” Big Mike said. “You and the truck guy.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Josh said to Zara.

“I didn’t say anything they didn’t already know.”

“Look, kid,” Big Mike said. “What you do on your own time is your business. But you walked out of a man’s apartment looking like you lost a fight with a couch cushion. That’s public information.”

“I WAS NOT—”

“I don’t need details.”

“So when’s the second date?” Zara said.

“There was no first date. He was sick. I checked on him. That’s it.”

“So you did stay,” Big Mike said.

“…Shut up.”

“You said ‘he was sick’ like that makes it better,” Zara said. “It makes it so much worse. You went to his apartment to take care of him. That’s not checking in. That’s a girlfriend move.”

Josh stormed out.

Ben had time to say “Hey” before Josh pushed past him into the apartment.

“Everyone at work thinks we’re together.”

“Ah.”

“Zara told Big Mike. Big Mike told the floor. Your loyalty card is on the wall next to the health inspection certificate. They’re calling you ‘the truck guy.’”

“Could be worse.”

“How.”

“They could be calling me ‘the boat guy.’”

“This is your fault.”

“You pushed me into the ocean.”

“You took me on a boat that broke.”

“You made me tea.”

“Because you were dying.”

“I had a cold.”

“You were dying of a cold, and I made a humanitarian gesture, and now my entire workplace thinks I’m your boyfriend.”

“Well.”

“Well what.”

“I mean. Are you?”

“…You are the most annoying person I have ever met.”

“Yeah.”

“You show up at my diner every day and eat the same burger and leave a huge tip and fix things with wrong parts and you won’t stop.”

“No.”

“And now everyone knows.”

“Seems like it.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine. Whatever. You win.”

“Win what?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Okay.”

“But if you say ‘I told you so,’ I will push you into the ocean again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Josh headed for the door. “I hate you.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Josh stepped out onto the sidewalk. Zara was leaning against the building across the street.

He was smiling.

Zara already had her phone out. “Big Mike, you owe me double.”

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