The Friends We Keep (24 page)

69

 

Damn. I don't know how it had happened but it had. John had wormed his way under my skin.

And, I was fairly sure I'd wormed my way under his. But how could I be entirely sure? I couldn't just say, “So, John, I like you. Do you like me?” Please. What if he laughed? What if he acted all pitying?

What if he said,
“Yes, Eva. I do like you.”

The whole situation was ridiculous. I thought back to the way it had been in college, when romantic relationships happened organically, sprouting naturally out of friendships. The transition from friend to lover had involved a minimum amount of awkwardness. At least, that's the way it seemed from this perspective.

Friend. Lover. I didn't even know what I wanted with John. Something more than what I had with Sam, something like what I had with Jake, or something else entirely?

No. A romantic relationship with John would be a disaster. Unless, of course, it would be the best thing that ever happened to me. But that's not the way my life worked. Good things didn't just happen to me. And love only meant regret.

Damn Sophie. It was all her fault. Life had been a hell of a lot easier before she barged into my life, dragging John with her. Then, I'd had no one to answer to but myself. Now, I was plagued with things like responsibility and accountability, duty and respect.

No. Things were already too complicated. I'd keep my mouth shut. This—whatever it was, an infatuation, a crush—would pass in time and life would be simple and orderly once again. As simple and orderly as it could be with friends in tow.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what John's lips would feel like on mine.

70

 

I was falling in love with Eva.

Though I suspected she might have feelings for me in return, I was in no rush to approach her. I knew there was a very good chance that Eva might recoil from me. I knew full well that even if she didn't bolt, the road ahead wouldn't be smooth and that it might very well end in a ditch.

In fact, I wasn't sure I'd ever have the courage to tell Eva how I felt about her. My love for her might forever remain my little secret.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to hold her in my arms.

71

 

“So, what do you think about this guy John? You know, your old college buddy.”

I eyed Jake suspiciously. What could he possibly know about my troubling feelings for John? “Yes,” I said, “I know who John is. Why?”

Jake looked up at the ceiling and shrugged. “No reason. My mother just mentioned him the other night.”

Ah, Jake's inherent jealousy was once again rearing its ugly head. Sophie probably mentioned John's single status, and Jake put two and two together and came up with—well, with four. But he wasn't going to find out that his suspicions were in some measure correct.

Besides, I thought, weren't we just having fun in this “relationship”? Why would Jake care about my interest in other men?

Really, sometimes I sickened myself. Of course Jake would care, whether he should or not. Suddenly, I felt distinctly guilty and in need of making amends.

“Did she mention that John is a jerk?” I asked with a laugh. “A woman would have to be nuts to get involved with him. He's completely self-centered.”

Jake lowered his eyes from the ceiling. The boy was easily mollified. “Oh, yeah?” he asked, laughing, too. “She didn't mention the jerk part.”

“She always had a soft spot for him. I've always seen him for exactly who he is.”

Jake kissed my forehead (I hate when anyone does that.) and then went to the fridge for one of his specialty beers.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, after a swallow. “Mom's seeing someone. I met him the other night at her apartment. Some guy named Ben. He seems okay.”

Ah, ha! I knew Sophie had been keeping something from me! But Ben, huh? I hoped that she would have better luck with her Ben than I did with mine.

“That's great,” I said, though I wasn't sure I meant it. “Is she serious about him?”

Jake shrugged. “I think so. She looks at him all dreamy-eyed. It was a bit weird for me, but I've been through weirder.”

I doubted that but didn't challenge the boy.

“Is he handsome?” I asked mischievously.

“How should I know?”

“What color are his eyes?”

“I don't know. Brown? Maybe blue.”

Typical male inattention to detail.

“Oh, and by the way,” Jake said, “don't tell her I told you about him. She wants to tell people in her own time. I don't know what the big deal is, but hey, if it makes her happy to dole out the information.”

“It will be another one of our little secrets,” I said.

Jake sipped his beer thoughtfully before saying: “I'm not sure you'd like him.”

“Who—Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not? Is he a deadly bore?”

“No. I just don't see you two having a lot in common. But he and my mom seem really into each other. I can see them moving in together.”

Really into each other. Suddenly, I was overcome with an intense feeling of envy. It was like a revelation of sorts: I wanted what Sophie had, a real relationship. Not the sex-only relationship I had with Sam or the pretend relationship I had with Jake. I, too, wanted something real and complicated and—

The troublesome thoughts fled as quickly as they had come and I was left standing there in Jake's miniscule kitchen feeling terribly empty and bereft.

“What's wrong?” Jake asked, obviously concerned by what I'm sure must have been my bleak expression.

I ran from the kitchen and grabbed my bag from the secondhand couch. Suddenly, getting out of that place was vital. “Nothing,” I said without meeting Jake's eye.

“You're going? But we haven't even fooled around yet!”

“I feel a headache coming on.”

“Oh. Well, stay here. I'll get you some ibuprofen.”

I hurried toward the door. “No, thanks, it's best I go home.”

Jake followed. He tried to kiss me good-bye. I gave him my cheek just long enough for his lips to barely touch it.

The first thing I did when I got back to my apartment was to check my answering machine. There were no messages. My cell, too, had been silent all afternoon. I flipped open my laptop. No e-mail, except for an ad from a mortgage company. I pulled the mail from my bag. Only bills and a solicitation from a singles dating service.

Pathetic.

Briefly, I considered calling John. But what excuse could I give for the call? How could I ever admit to him the bitter thoughts in my head and the depth of my loneliness?

But maybe I deserved to be lonely. Because on the way home from Jake's it had occurred to me that all along I'd felt a bit superior to Sophie. I had a successful career. I had better clothes. I was in better physical shape.

But there had been something else, something that proved how inept I was at the art of friendship. You see, even though a part of me felt bad about keeping such a big secret from Sophie (felt bad about the nature of the secret, too), another part of me felt what one inevitably feels for the one being duped: a mixture of disdain and pity.

I lay down on the couch and put my arm over my eyes. Pity. It had become painfully clear that if anyone was the pitiful one in our “friendship” it was I.

72

 

“Mrs. Holmes, hey. Jake's buddy. We met at his apartment? My name's Jerry?”

Sophie and I were having lunch when this Jerry person stopped by our table.

Sophie's face brightened. “Oh, of course, Jerry, how are you?”

Jerry shrugged like only skinny twenty-year-old boys can shrug, with an easy, rolling motion. “On the vertical. Can't complain.”

“That's nice,” Sophie said, ever gracious. “Oh, Jerry, this is my friend Eva.”

Jerry looked down at me, his expression suddenly puzzled. Crap, I thought. Crap, crap, crap, he recognizes me from that horrible nightclub; Jake had waved to a group of friends and, yeah, Jerry had been one of them. With Sophie facing me there was no way I could signal this kid that he should keep his mouth shut.

Jerry's finger pointed at me and his mouth opened, but before he could say,
“Hey, dude, aren't you the woman who's doing it with Jake?”
I blurted: “We really should order now, Sophie. It was nice to meet you, Jerry.” I stuck out my hand and gave Jerry a bright and artificial smile.

Jerry hesitated a moment and then took my hand. His grip was weak and he mumbled something like, “Yeah, well . . .” before letting go and walking off.

Sophie frowned, no doubt disapproving of my rude dismissal of Jake's friend. I returned her frown with one of my own.

“So,” she said, aligning her fork and knife to be perfectly perpendicular on the napkin. “There's something I've been wanting to tell you since we sat down.”

“Oh?” I asked, suspecting the news to come.

“I met someone,” she said. “A man.”

“I kind of figured the part about the man. How long have you been seeing him?” I asked.

Sophie blushed—blushed!—and admitted she'd been seeing this guy for a few weeks. “I wanted to keep it a secret at first . . .”

“What's the big deal?” I asked bluntly. “Is he a celebrity, is he in the witness protection program, what?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Sophie considered for a moment before saying: “I don't know. Maybe I didn't want to jinx the relationship. Or maybe I was worried what you might think if I went on and on about some guy and then it didn't work out.”

“For God's sake, Sophie,” I said, “why would I judge you about a failed relationship? Everyone gets involved in relationships that don't work out. Some people even make a career of it.”

“Oh, I know,” Sophie said, “but you're so sophisticated about relationships, Eva. I didn't want to sound like a schoolgirl with a crush.”

How ironic. Just when I had begun to suspect that of the two of us Sophie might be the more sophisticated, at least, the more mature in the realm of relationships and I who might be the more . . . undeveloped. It wasn't a pleasant thing to suspect about myself, but I couldn't seem to avoid this new version of the truth. I mean, who was the one in an adult relationship and who was the one dodging twenty-year-olds ready to out me as a cradle robber?

“Well, I'm glad for you,” I said, forcing a smile. “When am I going to meet this mystery man?”

“Oh, not just yet,” Sophie replied. “I want to wait a bit longer before introducing him to my friends. It's a big step for me. I want to be sure he's going to be around for a while. You know?”

What I knew was that Sophie had already introduced her mystery man to her son. I wondered if Sophie subscribed to the notion of family being by definition more accepting and less critical than friends were.

“Sure,” I said.

Sophie smiled. “I'm going to tell John this afternoon.”

I'm sure, I thought, the news will make his day. And then I felt bad for having reacted, even silently, in such an unnecessarily snide way. Was I emotionally retarded? It was all too strong of a possibility.

“Where is our waiter?” I asked, flipping open the menu.