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He reaches for the preprogrammed buttons, and I wonder what’s going to come out of the speakers. Is he a hard rock, screamo kind of guy? Or maybe he’s got a bit of country in him. He could be top forty or gospel. Punk? Jazz? R & B?
Turns out, I’m wrong on all counts. The station number 93.3 flashes on the screen, and multiple voices fill the car.
“Oh my gosh, are you serious?” That definitely came out as a squeal, but his choice is so perfect.
Misinterpreting my reaction, Ben frowns. “You’ve got a problem with Preston and Steve?”
“No way! They’re only the best morning show ever.” I reach over to turn up the volume. “Good choice, Benny. I approve.”
He groans. “Not you, too. Jasper won’t let that nickname die.”
Despite his grumbling, when I glance to my right, Ben has on a smirk. The expression sets off little sizzles in my stomach, like I consumed the forbidden combination of Pop Rocks and soda. A good comparison, seeing as how getting tingly about my organ recipient is even more off-limits.
I’m allowed to have only friendly, non-fluttery feelings about him.
Reminding myself of this, I decide it’s time to focus on driving.
When a gap appears in traffic, I pull out of the parallel spot and onto the busy street. We’re past the heavy morning rush, so even though there’s traffic, we’re still moving through the city at a decent crawl.
“So, where are we headed?” All of the treatment centers I know are in west Philly, but we’re in Center City, so I need some direction.
“Just go toward Rittenhouse Square. It’s only a few minutes past there.”
Fancy. I wonder what a dialysis center in the most expensive section of the city will look like. Maybe it’ll be like a spa where everyone is getting pedicures and shoulder massages while their treatments are happening.
I chuckle at the image. Ben smiles at me again, probably thinking the radio show has me laughing.
We don’t talk for the next fifteen minutes other than when Ben directs me to turn at certain lights. The Preston and Steve crew make us both crack up. They’re the funniest people on the radio in Philly, possibly the world. Listening to them takes my mind off the unwanted reaction I had to Ben.
“Make a left here and then park in the first spot you find. The building is on the right.”
This street is lined with townhouses. Huge, fancy, beautifully built townhouses. Not somewhere I’d expect to find a dialysis treatment center. Of course, I’ve been to only a handful, so what do I know?
I luck upon a nice stretch of open street, so I don’t even have to go through the tango of parallel parking.
Score.
We get out, and as I reach into the backseat to heave out my hefty backpack, I search for any sign of the center, but all the buildings seem residential.
“Holly, over here.” Ben stands on the front steps of one of the million-dollar townhomes.
“What are you doing? I thought you had a treatment.”
He reaches behind his head to scratch his neck, a grimace marring his tan face. “I do. I get them done here. This is my parents’ place.” He pulls out a key and unlocks the front door before holding it open for me.
This is an interesting turn of events. I climb the steps and enter the most expensive residence I’ve ever been invited to.
My attempt not to stare around like a country bumpkin is only partly successful as Ben leads me through the house.
Just past the entryway is a gorgeous living space. The floor plan is open with tall ceilings, and the furniture somehow appears both expensive and comfortable. The kitchen is magnificent with large stretches of white marble countertops.
I sigh at the thought of my cramped apartment’s kitchen where it’s almost impossible for two people to stand at one time. How much easier my Sunday meal prep would be if I had space to turn around.
I do like my apartment. But, with both my roommate, Terra, and me living there, it can sometimes get claustrophobic.
“How many people live here?” My question echoes around the magnificent room.
I wonder if Ben has ever hosted a karaoke party here. The acoustics are fantastic. I could go to town on some Kelly Clarkson in this place. Or bust out some P!nk. I can just imagine standing in front of that giant fireplace with a mic in my hand, going full diva.
