This isn't weird.

Let's Make Popcorn!

Despite Ben's best efforts, the morning's subterfuge failed to yield the results he had hoped for. He knew at once that the number Tess had given him was fake, but still, when he got back to his car he dialed it just to be sure. A robotic female voice welcomed him to the Hall & Oates Crisis Line, sending him into an unexpected peal of laughter, and he couldn't help feeling some strange, begrudging respect for the fact that it was something Tess just had at the ready. Apparently, she was a seasoned pro at giving out fake phone numbers.

He pressed one on his keypad, sat back, and listened to One on One as he took inventory of what he had acquired from the operation. A bit of bonus self-esteem, courtesy of Keith, but some highly useful information, as well. He had caught Tess in a blatant lie. She was actively attempting to deceive him into giving up on Millie. If Millie truly wasn't willing to speak with him anyway, why would Tess be scrambling so hard to keep him from even trying?

On top of that, she had been eager to prevent Keith from understanding the real nature of the situation, so she was clearly ashamed enough of her actions to keep them a secret from any third parties whose opinions she cared about. At the very least, she was self-aware enough to understand that from the outside, she didn't look like the good guy in the story.

But the biggest surprise—she had never actually been rooting for Millie and Arthur to live happily ever after. It had nothing to do with seeing Millie in a healthy relationship or protecting her from heartbreak. She didn't care if Millie was happy at all. She just didn't want her to be with someone that she loved enough to build a life with, someone who would give her a reason to move out and move on. Which meant that right from the very beginning, Tess had flagged him as the person who would take Millie away from her.

Tess knew Millie better than anyone else. For her to feel so threatened by him, even now, was the greatest reassurance he could ask for that Millie still loved him. That she was in love with him.

It was all the information he needed to know that his gut was right. He had to reach her.

But how the fuck was he going to get that goddamn number?

Ben could think of one last gambit. It was almost too obvious, but it was delicate, and carried a serious risk of blowing up in his face. It would be safest in a group setting, he thought, which meant that today was perfect—after all, it was Saturday. Not just any Saturday. Game night.

That evening, Ben dressed a little nicer, spent some extra time on his hair, made sure his face was clean shaven. He wanted to look like he had it together, like he was perfectly well, to give no one any reason to doubt his mental health. He needed to be taken seriously.

By eight-thirty everyone had arrived. Seated around the dining table at the Madero-Gallagher house, the atmosphere was convivial as Isaac carefully pieced together the topography of Catan on the table's surface. Ben considered broaching the topic then, but he choked, and decided instead to wait until they had finished the first game. And then the second.

"Oh my god, why do we keep playing this game when we know Isaac is always going to win?" Dustin complained when they were resetting the board for the third round.

"Because it gives you all something to aspire to," a very smug Isaac replied.

"And Monopoly gets too hostile," Miguel added.

"Hostility makes for far more interesting subject matter," Indigo said.

It was no use waiting for the right moment, Ben realized. There would never be a right moment. Now or never, he thought. "Speaking of interesting subject matter," he interrupted, feeling as if he was choosing the most awkward segue in the history of segues, "have any of you heard from Millie?"