The Friends We Keep

by Holly Chamberlin

  “I’m afraid the nature/nurture argument is one neither side will ever win,” John said. “And I, for one, am not qualified to expound on the subject.”

  I expected Eva to jump on John’s last remark, to twist it into an insult, to say something like, “You’re not qualified to expound on any subject more difficult than twirling spaghetti around a fork.” But she didn’t.

  Yes, something had happened between Eva and John. Maybe, I thought, they need a few minutes alone.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.”

  61

  Some people when lying will break out in a profuse and unusually odiferous sweat. Have the room deodorizer at hand before confronting such a person.

  —Everyone Has a Tell: Learning to Read the Language of Deception

  EVA

  I hadn’t seen John since the night I’d behaved like such a jerk. I’d been waiting for the guilt to go away but it hadn’t gone anywhere. In fact, it had dug itself deeper in my brain, or wherever it is guilt resides. Now, sitting face-to-face with him, I knew an apology was necessary. An opportunity came when Sophie went to the ladies’ room.

  “I—”

  “Look—”

  John gestured for me to go ahead. I steeled myself for his mockery.

  “Look,” I said, “about that night at the theater.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I acted like a bit of an ass. I guess I was in a bad mood or something. I’m sorry.”

  John nodded. “Yeah, I’m sorry, too. I guess I wasn’t in the best of moods, either.”

  I was shocked. John had apologized. His expression was sincere. Where was the gloating, the moralizing?

  “Truce?” he asked when we had looked silently at each other for a long, strange moment.

  “Yeah.” My voice sounded a little wobbly. “Truce.”

  I’m not sure what might have happened if Sophie hadn’t returned to the table at precisely that moment, because I had the odd conviction that I was going to lean across the table and kiss my old friend. Or that he was going to lean across the table and kiss me.

  “I’m back!” she announced unnecessarily.

  “There you are,” I said stupidly.

  “We missed you,” John said ridiculously.

  Just then, John’s cell phone rang—well, it vibrated, John being the sort to always turn the ringer off in public places.

  “Damn,” he said, when he’d snapped the phone shut. “Sorry. I’ve got to go. Emergency.”

  “I thought only doctors got called away from dinner,” I said lightly.

  “Yeah, well, you thought wrong.” John took a few bills out of his wallet and laid them on the table. “Let me know if I owe more.”

  “Poor John,” Sophie said when he’d gone. “He works so hard.”

  “He likes it,” I said. And then: “I admire him for it.”

  Sophie shot me a glance.

  “What?” I asked. “I can say nice things about him, too.”

  “I’ve never heard you say anything good about John.”

  I shrugged in a way I hoped appeared casual. “Well, there isn’t all that much nice to say.”

  “Well,” Sophie said, reaching for her menu.

  “I’m in the mood for a steak,” I said. “You?”

  62

  Dear Answer Lady:

  I live in an apartment building with a laundry room on each floor. One day shortly after moving in last year the machines on my floor were broken so I took my laundry to another floor. In one of the dryers I found this awesome T-shirt. It was so cute I took it back to my apartment. Since then, I check the machines on every floor a few times a week to see what other great stuff has been left behind. The way I see it, if you’re careless enough to forget your stuff, then someone else deserves to take it. But when I told my boyfriend about it, he got all huffy and said that I was stealing. He’s wrong, right?

  Dear Crook:

  Your boyfriend is right and you are wrong, end of story. Buy your own awesome, cute, and great stuff, you little bitch.

  SOPHIE

  “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

  Fib #27: While to all appearances you’re a middle-class working gal, in reality you’re a member of an ancient royal family from an unnamed European country, in hiding until your adored uncle is reinstated on the throne in a bloody coup that is sure to happen sometime in the next ten years. Note: Ten years down the line the people with whom you socialized as a single will have long since married and moved to the suburbs, having lost touch with you after the birth of their first child. No one will have any idea that you’re still hanging out in clubs, stuffed into too-tight jeans, and telling outrageous stories to whoever pities you enough to listen.

  —Single and Loving It: Fabulous Fibs to Wile Away the Lonely Hours

  SOPHIE

  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

  Dear Answer Lady:

  A friend recently gave another friend a birthday party at her apartment. I was asked to bring the cake. But at the last minute I just didn’t feel like going out. There was a really good movie on a pay channel and, besides, I don’t even like parties. So I emailed the host to say I felt sick and wasn’t coming. But now my friends are mad and say that I should have called and not emailed because the host didn’t check her email until after the party and they spent all night wondering where I was because I wasn’t picking up the phone (I hate to be interrupted when I’m watching a movie.) and if I really was sick (which they don’t believe) I should have asked someone to come and get the cake (which, by the way, I ate while watching the movie). I mean, why is everyone freaking out on me?

  Dear Clueless Wonder:

  Your former friends are right in condemning your shabby behavior. I hope you get disgustingly obese eating other people’s birthday cakes until the fire department has to hack your grotesque body out of an armchair so that you can be hoisted out through the window so that the department of health can fumigate the apartment you’ve become too disabled to maintain. Or something like that.

  JOHN

  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 you
ng 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

  Imagine waking each morning with an invigorating sense of moral superiority. Imagine walking through the day knowing without a doubt that you are more ethically minded than every person you encounter. Imagine going to bed each night secure in the knowledge that if, indeed, Heaven does exist, you will be seated at the right hand of God.

  —The Benefits of a Truthful Life or How to Build and Maintain High Self-Esteem

  EVA

  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.