The Friends We Keep (22 page)

62

 

“I think I'll have the cod,” I said. “I feel bloated when I eat red meat.”

Eva's eyes remained on her menu. “You should exercise. You'll feel a lot better. And you won't feel bad about treating yourself once in a while.”

I caught myself before saying that Ben and I had talked about renting bikes that weekend. “Yes,” I said, “I suppose I should exercise.”

But my mind wasn't on my health. It was on Eva and John. I was sure something significant had happened while I'd been in the ladies' room, maybe a moment of reconciliation. Or maybe something more, something . . . romantic.

Of course, I couldn't just confront Eva. Can you imagine how she'd react? But I could dance around the topic. The waiter appeared and took our order. When she'd gone, I said to Eva: “I think John is looking well these days. I mean, better than usual.”

“Really? I thought he looked kind of worn out.”

“Well, he does work hard.”

“Yes,” Eva noted, “we've already talked about that.”

We had, hadn't we? “Have you ever met his family?” I asked.

“I don't think so. Why?”

“I was just wondering. He's very close to his sisters. I read somewhere that men who are close to their sisters make great husbands.”

Eva took a sip of her wine. “I wouldn't know,” she said.

“Brad doesn't have a sister,” I said. “Just one brother.”

“Well, there you go.”

I don't know where I was going but my attempt at getting Eva to talk about John was going nowhere.

Before I could think of another hopefully leading question, Eva asked: “So, how are things on your dating front?”

I laughed. “You make dating sound like a battlefield.”

“Yes. So?”

I shrugged. “So, nothing much. Nothing worth talking about.”

Eva lifted a doubting eyebrow. I shifted in my chair. I don't like lying of any sort, and I'm not very good at it. But I couldn't tell Eva about Ben, not yet. What, I wondered, is so scary about the idea of admitting to being in love? What, exactly, am I afraid of?

Maybe the same thing that Eva was afraid of when it came to admitting feelings for John (or, for anyone). Admitting to being in love is admitting to vulnerability. Admitting to being in love is admitting to being half-blind to reality.

No. I would keep my feelings for Ben my little secret for a while longer. Just as Eva was keeping whatever she felt for John, if anything, her little secret.

With all the deception in our relationship, I suddenly wondered if Eva and I had a real friendship after all.

“Our food,” Eva said.

“Yes,” I said.

The waiter placed our meals on the table and we fell to our dinners like people who hadn't eaten in a week. I think we were both glad not to have to talk.

63

 

I let Jake into the apartment. He had my spare key but was reluctant to use it. Now, since meeting Ben, I appreciated Jake's respect of my privacy. How awful if my son walked in on his mother kissing her boyfriend!

“Thanks for being here tonight,” I whispered as I hugged him. “It means a lot to me.”

Jake handed me a plastic bag. “Sure, no problem. I brought some beer.”

I took the bag and Jake followed me into the kitchen where Ben was chopping mushrooms and waiting for the big introduction.

I so wanted Jake and Ben to like each other, but I knew it might be hard for Jake to meet the man his mother was dating. I wasn't worried about how Ben would handle meeting my son; I figured Ben could take care of himself. But Jake might need my help in adjusting to this new person in our lives. Earlier, I'd closed the door to my bedroom. Jake, I thought, might see the bed on his way to the bathroom and imagine Ben and me together and get upset.

I'm happy to report that the meeting was surprisingly smooth. Well, maybe not so surprisingly. Jake was a mature young man, and for all his learning Ben was . . . uncomplicated. It was too early to tell for sure but I sensed that he wasn't prone to dramatics or unreasonable behavior.

Over dinner, Ben asked Jake questions about his graduate program. Jake replied in detail and I worried that he might be boring Ben, but Ben didn't seem to mind and even talked about some of his own experiences in grad school. Both discovered a mutual love of the novelist Carlos Fuentes and, in another area entirely, an interest in photography.

“You're interested in photography?” I asked Jake. “How come I never knew this?”

Jake shrugged. “I don't know.”

I looked at Ben, then back to Jake.

“How long have you had this interest?”

“Mom, you make it sound like something dirty!”

“No, it's just that I—”

“Just that you thought you knew every little detail about me?”

“Well, yes,” I admitted. “I guess I did. It seems kind of silly . . .”

“I bought an old Nikkon just before coming East,” Jake told Ben. “I've been fiddling around with it whenever I have some free time. Which isn't often. It's a bit frustrating, actually.”

Jake and Ben launched into a conversation that was mostly technical in nature. I half-listened, pleased that they were getting along so well, pleased that they were eating my dinner like men recovering from a fast.

“Sophie,” Ben said as I cleared the table, “you are such a talented cook.”

“Thank you.” I know I was blushing, but pride in cooking can be excused.

I'd made an apple pie for dessert, the kind with raisins, another of Jake's favorites. I served us and poured the coffee—not for Jake; he has only a cup in the morning and it takes him hours to drink it. Ben mentioned that he'd invited me to a cocktail party at a colleague's house that coming weekend.

“Have you met Mom's friends yet? Eva and John?” Jake asked.

Ben shook his head. “Not yet, but I'm looking forward to it.”

“You know,” I said, “I had dinner with them the other night and I got a strange vibe. I think John and Eva might be attracted to each other. Although I doubt Eva's admitted it to herself.”

“I think you're wrong, Mom,” Jake said emphatically. “There's no way a woman like Eva would ever go for a guy like John. I mean, from what you've told me about her. And him.”

“Why?” I asked. “I think they might be very good for each other.”

Jake shrugged. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“No, tell me,” I pressed.

Jake took a long drink of water and deliberately wiped his mouth afterward. Finally, he said: “I have to get going. I have to get to the library before it closes.”

I opened my mouth to protest but before I could speak, Ben was saying: “It was great to meet you, Jake,” and the two men were rising and shaking hands.

Maybe, I thought, it was best not to prolong this first meeting. Everything had gone so well; maybe it was best to “end on a high note.”

Jake left. Ben helped clear the table and load the dishwasher. When we were settled in bed I said, “Thank you.”

Ben smiled. “For what?”

“For being so good tonight. I was really nervous. It could have been a disaster.”

“Jake's a good guy. I think he could see that I'm in love with his mother.”

“You are?”

Ben kissed me. “I am.”

I kissed him back. “Good. Because his mother is in love with you.”

Could life, I thought, be any sweeter?

64

 

Ever since the night I'd run out on dinner, the thought of kissing Eva had been driving me crazy.

It had happened just after Eva and I declared a truce, just before Sophie returned from the ladies' room. Suddenly, I'd felt an incredible urge to lean over the table and kiss her, long and slow.

The thought of what might have happened if Sophie hadn't shown up just when she did—well, it wouldn't let me rest. I reminded myself that I was an idiot when it came to Eva. I reminded myself that Eva's apology might not have been wholehearted. But the thought of the kiss that might have been . . .

“You're probably going to regret this,” I said to my office as I punched in the number for Eva's office. Her assistant put me on hold while she announced my call. I was half-convinced that Eva would be “unavailable.”

“Hey,” a voice said, startling me.

“Hey,” I said back. And then I froze.

“Uh, John? Are you going to tell me why you called?”

I got up from my desk, as if standing would bring back coherence. “Yeah, sorry. I just got distracted.”

Eva laughed. “And you're always scolding me for being distracted on the phone!”

“True,” I admitted. “Look, I feel bad about having to run out on dinner the other night.”

“Don't give it another thought. We didn't miss you in the least.”

Easy, I thought. Don't take it too seriously. Eva's default mode is flippancy.

“Nevertheless,” I said evenly, “I'd like to make it up to you. Can I take you to dinner some night this week?”

There was silence on her end. Then, with an elaborate sigh that made me smile, she said: “Oh, all right. I suppose I can squeeze you into my schedule.”

“Thank you. You can't see me but I'm bowing in acknowledgment of your generosity.”

“But I pick the restaurant,” she said.

“It's going to cost me, isn't it?”

“Please. It's not like you'll need to take a second mortgage. Besides, don't lawyers make oodles of money?”

“Ooodles? Some of them.”

She mentioned a restaurant. I flinched. “Fine,” I said. “Seven o'clock Thursday?”

“See you then,” she said and ended the call.

I fell back into my desk chair. And with the fall came the reminder that Eva was involved with someone, if you could call having sex with someone young enough to be your child “involved.”

I wondered if she was happy with this guy. I couldn't tell. Then again, I couldn't tell much about what Eva was really feeling. I mean, why was it such a big deal to keep the affair from Sophie? Sophie was Eva's only female friend. Correction: Eva's only friend. I wasn't at all sure in what relation I stood to her.

But I knew in what relation I wanted to stand.

65

 

John wanted to “make it up to me” for having been called away from dinner? It was a flimsy excuse for getting together. Didn't he feel bad about having run out on Sophie, too? Well, for all I knew he'd asked her to dinner as well. But I doubted it.

I thought about wanting to kiss John. I'd tried to dismiss the notion as silly and unappealing, a passing fancy brought about by a fleeting mood, but I couldn't. I still wanted to kiss him, days after the impulse. And now I was going to see him alone. I could have said no thanks. But I hadn't.

Boisterous voices startled me out of my unhappy reverie. Of course there would be a celebration. We'd just landed a new account, a big one. A group of people would head out for a drink before going home to spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends, and partners.

And no one would ask me to go along. In the past, the omission wouldn't even have registered. But now, listening to the excited voices of my colleagues I felt, unaccountably, lonely.

It was my fault that people didn't include me in their after-work get-togethers, in their Saturday afternoon softball games, in their lunchtime baby showers. I'd never made an effort to get along. My attitude was one of indifference. My presentation was off-putting. My nonprofessional conversation, such as it was, discouraged connection.

But hadn't that been the plan all along, to discourage connection? Yes, and I'd been quite successful in isolating myself from just about every person in my life, from dry cleaner to colleagues to neighbors. From Sophie, to some extent. From John, largely. I was unattached. I was unencumbered.

“Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.” Right? Freedom can be a pain in the ass.

I looked up, my eye caught by movement in the hall. Three women from marketing were hurrying by. I couldn't recall the name of the shortest one. As the third woman passed, she glanced into my office.

I don't know what sort of expression she found on my face. Given the nature of my thoughts, it couldn't have been a pleasant one. Still, she stopped and murmured something to her companions now out of sight. Then she knocked lightly on the doorjamb.

“Ms. Fitzpatrick?”

“Yes?” I asked.

The woman—Traci was her name—hesitated before saying: “Well, some of us are going out to Churchill for a bit. To celebrate landing the Vargas account.”

Maybe I nodded; I don't remember.

Traci smiled a bit. “You wouldn't want to join us, would you?”

Could there have been a more halfhearted invitation? I smiled a bit back. “Thanks,” I said, “but I've got a previous engagement.”

Maybe it was my imagination but Traci seemed relieved. Maybe it wasn't my imagination.

“Okay,” she said, already walking away. “See you tomorrow.”

I waited at my desk until I was sure I wouldn't run into any stragglers. Then, I left the office. At the corner I stopped in the grocery store and bought a preroasted chicken and a plastic tub of green beans. And then I went home.