The Friends We Keep (32 page)

98

 

The phone rang six times before a male voice answered groggily.

“Brad,” I said, “it's Sophie.”

“I know. I have caller ID.”

There was no point in wasting time with pleasantries.

“I have terrible news, Brad.”

“What?” he demanded. “Did something happen to Jake?”

“Only that he got his heart broken!”

There was a moment of silence and then Brad laughed. “Is that all? Jesus, Sophie, I thought you were going to say that he was in an accident and broke a leg or something.”

“Brad! How can you be so callous? A broken heart is far worse than a broken leg.”

There was another moment of silence before Brad said: “Sophie, please. I'm sorry for Jake, but in the scheme of things, a broken heart isn't the worst thing that could happen to him. In fact, it's probably a good learning experience.”

“What!”

“Jake hasn't experienced much disappointment in his life,” Brad said matter-of-factly. “He needs to learn that life isn't all about winning. Besides, he's young, he'll get over it.”

“Not this time,” I predicted. “Not for a long while, anyway.”

Brad sighed dramatically. “Could you not be so enigmatic? I haven't had a cup of coffee yet. You are aware there's a time difference between California and Massachusetts?”

“Of course I'm aware! I've been waiting for hours to call you. It's”—I checked the clock over the sink—“it's five minutes after seven on the West Coast. You're always up at six thirty.”

Brad sighed again. “Sophie, we haven't lived together for over a year. Habits change. For future reference, I'm getting up at eight o'clock these days.”

“Oh,” I said. It had never occurred to me that Brad's daily habits might have changed. Why?

“Carly's on a late shift at the restaurant and doesn't get to bed until after midnight so I've adjusted my schedule to fit better with hers.”

I heard Brad murmur, “Thanks, honey,” and a moment later he said, “Ah. The first sip. Like magic. Okay, my brain is functioning now.”

I wondered if Carly was sitting at the kitchen table with Brad, listening to his side of the conversation, rolling her eyes at him, mocking his annoying ex-wife. I wondered what she was wearing. Did she sleep in a loose cotton nightgown, like I did?

“Sophie? Are you there?”

“Brad,” I said, “Jake was—seeing—my friend Eva. My college friend, the one I looked up when I moved back East.”

I heard Brad take another long swallow of his coffee before he said, “Whoa. That is big. Wait, how did you find out about it? Did Jake tell you?”

“No,” I said, “he didn't. I—I walked in on them in Jake's apartment. I have a key.”

Brad whistled. “First question: What were you doing breaking into your son's apartment?”

“I didn't break in! I told you I have a key!” Brad could be so infuriating. “Anyway,” I went on, “it was horrible, the worst experience of my life.”

“I would think so . . .”

“The . . . affair was wrong, terribly wrong.”

“Well, I agree that Jake and Eva might have shown better judgment. But I don't think what they did was wrong.”

“She's twenty years older than Jake!” I argued. “My God, Brad, the whole experience might have really damaged him! Emotionally, psychologically—”

“Sophie, calm down. First, Jake isn't twelve, he's twenty-one. Second . . .”

“What?” I demanded. “What's second?”

“Look, Sophie, Eva isn't the first older woman Jake's been involved with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Jake likes older women. He's had several relationships with women at least ten years his senior.”

I stared at a corner of the fridge until my eyes almost crossed.

“Sophie? You okay?”

“No,” I said finally, “I am not okay. Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“I didn't see any reason to upset you,” Brad said matter-of-factly. “See, now you know and you're upset. Sometimes it's best to keep certain things a secret. Jake and I agreed a long time ago that we should keep our mouths shut about this.”

My husband and my son had conspired against me. I felt betrayed and humiliated.

“Why does everybody think I can't handle the truth?” I demanded. “Does everybody think I'm a child?”

I heard some muted noise from Brad's end of the line—maybe Carly shuffling off to take a shower?—and then Brad sighed. “Look, Sophie,” he said, “be reasonable. If Jake had come to you in the beginning and told you he was involved with your friend, do you think it would have made a difference to how you feel? Of course not. By keeping quiet they were just trying to protect you.”

“Eva used my son,” I said. “She left a message on my voice mail claiming that Jake pursued her but I don't believe it for a second. She just doesn't want to take responsibility for her disgusting actions.”

“What did Jake say about it?” Brad asked.

“That's Jake's version of the story, too,” I admitted. “He says he showed up at her office building one day and well, asked her out.”

“See? Jake knew what he was getting into. He'll be fine.” It annoyed me that Brad sounded so smug and triumphant.

“But of course he'd say that,” I argued. “He doesn't want his mother feeling sorry for him. More importantly, he doesn't want to look like a failure to his father, a man who's dating someone more appropriate for his son!”

Brad didn't reply right away. I knew he was counting to ten. For all of Brad's faults, a fiery temper isn't one.

Finally, he said, calmly: “Carly isn't Jake's type. She's into murder mysteries and you know how Jake feels about detective fiction.”

I felt somewhat chastened but not enough to apologize. “You know what I mean, Brad. She's a lot closer to his age than to yours.”

This time, Brad only counted to five before saying: “Speaking of romantic entanglements, how are things going with Ben?”

“Fine,” I lied.

“Not according to Jake. He says you broke things off.”

Jake, it seemed, might be skilled at keeping his own secrets but he wasn't very good at keeping other people's. True, I hadn't asked him not to tell his father about my leaving Ben, but still.

“Ben was Eva's boyfriend,” I said. “He had sex with her. I—I just can't get past that.”

“Look, Sophie, I know you think I'm the last one to be offering advice on matters of the heart, but—”

“Yes, I do.”

“But I'm going to, anyway. Jake tells me this Ben seems like a good guy. He says you seemed very natural together. I just think it would be a shame to let a chance at happiness escape because of something that happened in Ben's life before you even knew him.”

I let Brad wait for my reply. “Sophie,” he said finally. “Did you hear what I said?”

“I heard. I was just wondering if you were finished offering your wisdom.”

“I know you, Sophie. A good marriage will make you happy. There's always going to be someone's past to accept and—”

I interrupted fiercely. “Eva was with Ben and then she was with Jake . . . And then I was with Ben! It's all feels so incestuous!”

“Your dating Eva's old boyfriend is simply coincidental,” Brad said. “Try to keep that fact separate from the Jake and Eva issue.”

I had tried to keep it separate. Hadn't I? No. Since discovering Eva's affair with my son I hadn't thought clearly about anything. “Mmm,” I said, unwilling to commit to taking Brad's advice.

“And by the way,” he went on, “while you're being so furious with Eva, why don't you direct some of your anger toward your son? He lied to you, too, in a way.”

My reply was spontaneous, involuntary, the mother protecting her child from any sort of culpability or blame. “He wanted,” I said, “to protect me from the truth.”

“I thought you resented people trying to protect you from the truth.”

“I do, it's just—”

“Has Jake apologized to you?”

“No. Why should he?”

“You might want to ask him for an apology. He's not a kid, Sophie. He's accountable for his actions. Again, I'm not saying he did anything wrong, technically, in getting involved with your friend, but he should be made to understand the effects of that choice.”

Interesting, I thought. Suddenly, Brad is offering advice on child-rearing, the one area of responsibility he'd left almost entirely to me. “Good-bye, Brad,” I said.

“You spoil him, Sophie. You let him off the hook too easily. You always have.”

“I'm not talking about this again, Brad. I have to go.”

“All right. I'm sure Jake will be fine but I'll check in with him later.”

Oh, I thought, I'm sure your call will fix everything.

“Good-bye, Brad.”

“Good-bye, Sophie,” he said and then he was gone, probably off to take a shower with Carly.

99

 

“I wasn't sure you'd take my call,” he said. I heard in his voice a trace of self-pity.

I'm not sure why I did take Jake's call. A nagging sense of guilt, I suppose.

“What do you want, Jake?” I asked evenly.

“I think I left—I mean, I think you left a CD at my place.”

“I never brought a CD to your apartment, Jake.”

“Oh. It must be Phil's. Or someone's.”

“Yes,” I said, “I'm sure it's someone's. Look, Jake, is that all? I really have to—”

“Did you know,” he interrupted, “that my mom had a thing with John back when you guys were in college?”

The words didn't register for a moment. And then, they did.

“By ‘thing,'” I said carefully, “I assume you mean a sexual affair?”

“Yeah. I think it went on for a few weeks.”

“No,” I said. “I didn't know. Frankly, I wouldn't have cared then and I don't care now.”

Jake made a sound of disbelief, something like a snort.

“Why did you tell me this?” I demanded.

“I just thought you might want to know.”

“Well,” I said, “you thought wrong. Good-bye, Jake.”

Jake said nothing. I disconnected the call.

“Idiot!” I hissed to the walls of my office.

But it wasn't Jake I was angry with. Jake was just a kid who'd had his ego busted up. He'd needed to restore his self-image by hurting the one who'd done the busting.

No, I was angry with Sophie and John. For all these years they'd kept their relationship a secret from me. And while withholding information isn't exactly the same thing as lying, it's close and I, if anyone, should know. I felt betrayed, much as Sophie must have felt—

Oh. Much as Sophie must have felt when she came upon her friend in her son's bedroom.

Of course. Sophie was hurt so deeply by our affair because she loved Jake, and maybe even me. At the very least, she cared about me, which is why our betrayal wounded her so deeply.

Sophie cared about me like I cared about or maybe even loved . . .

I took a few deep breaths and tried to think reasonably. Sophie had had sex with John. Fine. Their brief relationship was in the past, and the past, as I'd so often told myself, just didn't matter.

Except for when it did.

What a fool I'd been, and for so long. I hated myself at that moment, hated myself for my stubbornness and stupidity and utter lack of emotional courage.

Jake would never know just how effective his retaliating phone call had been.

100

 

As the days slipped by, days without Ben and days without Eva, my feelings about Jake's part in this mess began to change. I began to think that Brad was right. Jake was a man, not a boy, and should be made to realize the consequences of his selfish, careless actions.

Since that awful moment in Jake's bedroom I'd spoken to him only twice. The first time, later that night, he called to explain that “we never meant for you to find out” and, somewhat self-defensively, that “we didn't hurt anyone.” The second time he called, a few days later, he bragged that he was the one who had initiated the relationship with Eva. And then he asked if he could come for dinner sometime that week.

Just like that, as if nothing traumatic had happened to me. And that's when my mind began to change.

Jake showed up around seven. Our kiss on the cheek was awkward. I wanted to hug him like I always did—but I couldn't. Maybe later, I thought. Maybe after he apologizes to me.

Jake followed me to the kitchen.

“It smells great in here,” he said. He opened the door to the fridge. “No beer?”

“No,” I said. “I must have forgotten.” That was a lie. My hand had been on a six-pack of an expensive beer Jake liked, but I'd taken my hand away. For the first time in my life I wasn't in the mood to cater to my son's whims.

Jake frowned. “I guess I could have a glass of wine.”

I nodded toward a bottle on the counter. “The corkscrew is in the drawer,” I said. Do you know what it cost me to stand there and not open the bottle for him?

I'm sure Jake knew that I was going to confront him. Or maybe it had never occurred to him that I would.

“I want,” I said, “to talk about what happened.”

Jake sighed. “Mom, look, it's over between Eva and me. Let it go.”

A small, dry laugh escaped my mouth. “No, Jake, I won't let it go. I can't, not yet.”

Jake popped the cork on the bottle of wine and sighed again. “What is there to say?” he asked.

“You damaged my relationship with Ben,” I said evenly, amazed at my courage. “My head was so confused, what with finding out that he'd dated Eva and then”—careful, I thought, about how you word this—“with finding out about you and Eva.”

Jake looked puzzled. “That was your choice, Mom. You were the one who broke it off with Ben.”

Could he really not sympathize, not one little bit?

“But your actions contributed to my pain,” I said. “Now I've lost Ben and I've lost Eva.” No, I thought, I never had Eva. She'd only liked me for the proximity to my son. “It's not all your fault,” I said, “but I do think I deserve an apology.”

Jake said nothing.

“What were you thinking when you asked out my friend?” I pressed. “Didn't you have any idea of what trouble you might cause?”

“She didn't have to say yes.” Jake's tone was defiant. He took a long drink of wine—the wine I'd paid for—and returned the glass too loudly to the counter.

“No, she didn't,” I agreed. “She acted selfishly. You both did.”

Jake folded his arms across his chest and a look of petulance came to his face. I knew that look well, though I hadn't seen it for some time.

“I'm twenty-one, Mom,” he said. “I can see anyone I want.”

“Of course,” I said. “But can't you see any fault in your actions?”

Again, silence, as Jake considered how to get out of the conversation.

I waited. I had no place to go and no one to meet. I was very alone just then.

Finally, he unfolded his arms and stuck his hands in his front pockets. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay, I'm sorry. I just—I guess it was just lust.”

I felt so deeply disappointed in Jake right then. The enormity of what he and Eva had done to me made me feel almost sick with anger.

“Lust!” I cried. “I am so sick of the whole subject. I am so sick of hearing about husbands cheating on their wives and women having meaningless sex and middle-aged men marrying girls half their age!”

“Stuff happens,” Jake said with a shrug. “Nobody's perfect.”

His studied indifference infuriated me. “I'll say,” I shot back. “And what about you? When are you going to start being normal and date women your own age!”

I'd never raised my voice to Jake, even when he was little. And I'd never said anything so hateful, so hurtful, to him—to anyone.

“That was uncalled for,” he said, his voice wavering. “I'm perfectly normal. I resent your saying otherwise.”

I didn't apologize. I didn't want to. “Maybe,” I said, “your father is right. Maybe it's all my fault. Maybe I did spoil you, maybe I did smother you. Maybe that's why you're fixated on older women.”

“I'm leaving now.” Jake grabbed his bag off the kitchen table and turned for the door.

“Fine,” I said to his back. “I have nothing more to say.”

The door slammed shut.