Just Friends With Benefits (3 page)

“Are you listening to me, Cohen? I’m trying to make a toast here and you’re all glassy-eyed like you just smoked up.”

“Maybe I have. Jealous much?” I asked.

His eyes wide with interest, Paul said, “Really?”

“No. Not really. Resume your toast. I promise to listen.”

Paul sat down. “Fuck it, I forgot what I was gonna say. Happy birthday to Hope.”

Hope reached over and gave Paul a peck on the lips which quickly morphed into a bona-fide smooch-fest. I turned my attention towards Jess, but she had moved from her own seat onto Eric’s lap and was whispering in his ear.

I took another sip of wine, hoping to drown out the reminder that I was not just the oldest female in the group, but also the only single one.

About 45 minutes later, I looked down at my plate, empty except for some blood that had leaked out of my skirt steak and a mouthful of roasted potatoes. I either had room to finish the potatoes or drink another glass of wine and I chose the wine. Noticing that the seat next to mine was empty, I asked, “Where’d Eric go?”

Hille said, “To the bathroom.” Then he quickly glanced from Hope, who was deep in conversation with Jess, to me and winked.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, feeling my face flush in response to his wink. “If you gotta go, you gotta go, right?”

When Hille responded with a flat, “Yeah, I guess,” I wished I had said something else. I was usually much better with the witty banter.

Eric returned to the table and in a soft voice said, “We’re all good.”

I whispered, “That was too generous of you. Let me give you some money.”

Looking at me with a confused expression, Eric whispered back, “What are you talking about? I just told the waitress it was Hope’s birthday and she’s bringing out a piece of cake.”

Feeling stupid and a little disappointed, I said, “Oh, I thought you settled the bill.”

Eric laughed. “I love you, Cohen, but not that much.”

Jabbing him playfully in the arm, I said, “What are you good for, Eric? You don’t sleep with me and you don’t pay my bills.”

Pointing at Jess across the table, Eric said, “I can only handle one wife at a time.”

Overhearing, Jess said, “I’m okay with sharing. But only if you share ‘The Librarian.’”

“If you met ‘The Librarian,’ I bet you’d change your mind about that. And besides, we’re not dating anymore,” I said.

Frowning, Hope asked, “What happened?”

“I couldn’t take him anymore. He was just beyond dorky.”

“I thought that’s why you liked him,” Jess said. “Didn’t you say his quirkiness was what you found most appealing?”

Before I could defend my decision by telling Jess how The Librarian’s recent habit of addressing me by such endearing nicknames as ‘dear’ and ‘honey’ after only four dates felt insincere and gave me the hebeegeebees, Eric said, “Why do all of your boyfriends have nicknames, Cohen? The Librarian? Didn’t you date ‘The Mayor’ last? What was Paul’s nickname back in college?”

Interjecting, Paul said, “‘The Horse,’ for obvious reasons. And, not for nothing, but you can’t exactly refer to these guys as Cohen’s ‘boyfriends’ since her longest relationship since me was, what, three months?”

Reddening, I said, “Three and a half. And thanks for rubbing it in.” As if I wasn’t already excruciatingly aware that I was seemingly incapable of maintaining interest in a guy or maintaining
his
interest in
me
for longer than fourteen weeks.

Saving me from further playful, yet painful, ridicule at the hands of my best friends, our waitress and three other waiters approached our table. Our waitress was holding a plate with a piece of chocolate cake with a lit candle on top and she looked uncertainly from me, to Jess to Hope.

Pointing at Hope, Paul said, “She’s the one.”

The waitress let out a nervous laugh, said, “Thanks” and placed the plate in front of Hope’s seat. Then she looked at the other waiters, whispered, “One, two, three” and started singing an off-key version of “Happy Birthday to You”
while we all joined in.

I scanned the crowded restaurant. Most of the other patrons had paused their own conversations to watch our spectacle. The waiters didn’t wear red and white striped uniforms with suspenders and I had a feeling performances of this nature were not typical. While Hope buried her face in her hands and slunk further down in her seat, I watched Paul hand our waitress a bill. I couldn’t see how much, but guessed it was a Benjamin Franklin.

After Hope recovered, she blew out her candle and made a wish while the waitress took the rest of our dessert orders. I didn’t order anything, but took a bite of Hope’s chocolate cake, justifying that failure to do so would bring Hope bad luck.

“So, Stephanie,” Hille said from across the table. “When are you coming to New York for work again?”

I hadn’t been asked to assist with a closing in my law firm’s New York office in over a year but remembered the last time and how I’d met Hille for breakfast before I went back to D.C. “Not sure, actually. But if do, I’ll totally look you up again. We’ll do dinner, though… breakfast is boring.” Silently cursing my tendency to lose all sense of coolness in Hille’s presence, I looked down at my black suede boots under the table and added, “Not that
our
breakfast was boring, of course!”

Flashing me that sexy wink again, Hille laughed and said, “Dinner it is. And, yes, you’d better look me up, kid!”

Back at Eric and Jess’s house later that night, I helped Jess finish off another bottle of wine.

Her yellow pant pajamas matching the kitchen chairs she had insisted on buying to add a more country-flair to the kitchen, Jess said, “Paul lost some weight since the last time I saw him, although he’s still got that beer gut.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that gut is leaving anytime soon. But maybe Hope will get him into shape. What is she, a size two”? I asked.

Jess shook her head of shoulder length red curls in annoyance and said, “Don’t remind me. I’m on a permanent diet, yet my little sister gives up soda for a month and turns into a twig.”

“She’s one lucky chick,” I agreed.

“Don’t even start with me, Miss Size Four.”

Eric, who had been outside smoking a cigarette, returned to the kitchen, straddled a chair backwards, reminding me of Raj from “What’s Happening,” and said, “Not interested in this topic of conversation. What I want to know is when Andy’s gonna dump Rachel’s ass. I just got off the phone with him. His testicles will be the size of Raisinettes if they last another year.”

I poured myself another glass of Fat Bastard Shiraz, a gift from Paul, and asked, “And how is that exactly, Raj?”

“She confiscated his porn collection again, Re-run.”

“And we all know how Andy loves his porn,” Jess said.

Eric nodded and said, “Frankly, if he wants to jerk off to porn, why should she care as long as he still screws her”?

I slammed my hands on the faded wood table dramatically and said, “See? That’s why I’m so happy to be single. A boyfriend would only get in the way of my porn addiction.”

Eric clinked his wine glass against mine and said, “Amen to that.”

“So, where is Hille staying tonight?” I asked.

“At Hope’s apartment with Paul. They’re both going home tomorrow. Why?” Eric asked.

“No reason. Just curious, since I figured he wouldn’t want to drive back to Jersey so late.”

Now standing behind Eric, massaging his back, Jess kissed the top of his blonde head and asked, “Are we having breakfast with them tomorrow?”

“Yes and no,” Eric said. “Paul and Hope, yes. Hille no.”

“Why isn’t Hille coming?” I asked. I’d never formally said goodbye to him the night before under the assumption that I’d see him again.

“He’s gotta get back early,” Eric said.

“Why?” I asked. “Is he dating someone?”

“I don’t think so, but what does that have to do with anything, Steph? I think he has some work meeting on Monday morning and wants to be home early to prepare.”

“Oh. So just Paul and Hope will be here for breakfast?”

Eric narrowed his brown eyes at me and said, “That’s what I said, Steph. I think you’re cut off.”

I took my last sip of wine and got up from the table. Yawning, I said, “I was just finished anyway.” I kissed them both on the cheek and said, “Going to bed. Night guys.”

In unison, Jess and Eric replied, “Good night.”

Under the covers in Jess and Eric’s guest bedroom, I wondered if people at the restaurant had assumed that Eric, Jess, Hope, Paul, Hille and I were on a triple-date. Although Hille and I didn’t kiss or even sit next to each other at the table, he was sort of my date for the evening by process of elimination.

I wondered if Hille was a good kisser. I pictured him with his shirt off. Then I pictured me taking his shirt off. I bet he had hair on his chest but not too much, and I knew he worked out so he probably didn’t have man boobs. Bigger boobs than mine was a definite deal breaker. He was so sexy when he winked at me. There had to be some reason neither of us had found ‘the one’ yet.

As I drifted off to sleep, I replayed the events of that long ago night at the Longpost Tavern and imagined what the last 13 years would have been like if Paul was the one to go home early and not Hille.

On the train from Philadelphia back to D.C. the next day, I tuned out the little boy sitting behind me who kept kicking the back of my seat, and felt guilty for fantasizing about a past that didn’t include my two year relationship with Paul. But I still wondered if Hille and I would’ve made a better couple. If we’d hooked up in college, would we still be together now or would we just be best friends, like Paul and me? Or would I hate him for cheating on me with some slut with bigger tits? Or would he hate me for getting between him and his 4.0 GPA?

Then I thought about the time Paul gave me a Charles Chips tin full of green M&Ms for my birthday. And I recalled how he waited over two months to have sex with me and barely pressured me at all. And I remembered all the hours we spent playing dirty Mad Libs. We had so much fun together and I really had no regrets.

And if I had dated Hille, who was vehemently opposed to any vice which could lead to a black mark on his spotless record, I probably would never have smoked pot back in college. And since I did my best bonding with Eric playing ‘Risk’ and smoking out of Paul’s three-foot glass bong, dating Hille instead of Paul back in college might have meant I wouldn’t be best friends with Eric now.

No, dating Paul back in college, and not Hille, was definitely the way it was meant to happen.

But that was then and even though I hadn’t given it much thought in over a decade, I could definitely see myself with Hille now.

With my bag in tow, I exited the train and down the escalators. As I waited on the long but fast-moving line for a cab back to my studio apartment in Capitol Hill, my mind continued to wander to thoughts of Hille.

~ * ~

I was still thinking about Hille when I went to bed that night. Cold, I jumped out of bed and threw a hoodie over my t-shirt. Within minutes, my arms screamed for fresh air and I sat up, removed the hoodie and placed it on the foot of my queen-sized bed for easy access. I always had trouble falling asleep on Sunday nights and my vacillating body temperature was not helping. When I couldn’t sleep, fleeting thoughts like whether I’d make it to the gym the next morning, how many emails I’d find when I got to work and what I’d eat for lunch morphed into dire concerns which, that night, included whether Hille liked me and when I would see him again.

It hadn’t occurred to me since freshman year that Hille might like me. We’d hung out many times since college and he’d never once made a move. But then again, I never saw him wink at anyone except me. Maybe he was flirting. And he
did
ask when I was coming to New York again. He didn’t ask all of us when we were going to visit his new apartment, he just asked when I’d be there for another closing. Maybe he wanted to hang out with me alone.