Just Friends With Benefits

by Schorr, Meredith

  “What are you going to do in Hoboken?”

  “Just go to the bars, I guess. We always play things by ear.”

  “Don’t you have any single friends, Steph?” my mom asked.

  My mom tended to ask the same questions whenever I brought up my friends in conversation. I’d often thought about recording my responses to save my voice but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. “Of course I do, but I am closest with these guys.” But how could you know that since I’ve only told you two million times?

  “Well, can’t they introduce you to anyone? Don’t they know any single men?”

  I knew I would be opening myself up to a whole new topic of conversation with my next words, but said them anyway. “Hille’s single.”

  “Hille’s the smart one, right? You could do worse. But, you’re not interested in him, are you?” my mom said.

  When I didn’t say anything, she asked, “Are you?”

  I quickly debated telling my mom the truth. I usually didn’t. “I don’t know.”

  “But there’s a possibility you might like him? Isn’t he Paul’s best friend?”

  I giggled into the phone.

  “What’s so funny?” my mom asked.

  “Nothing, Mom. It’s just that Paul and I broke up in nineteen ninety-eight. Many life changing events have occurred since then. You became a grandmother, for one!”

  Ever focused on my love life, my mom released a barrage of questions. “So you like Hille? Does he know? Has anything happened there?”

  “Yes and no.” How could I possibly explain to my mom that Hille and I were friends with benefits?

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s complicated, Mom. We’re attracted to each other, but I don’t know what’s gonna happen there. Currently, we’re just having fun,” I said.

  “So, you’re fuck buddies?”

  I shouted, “Mom!” as my water bottle spilled across my desk. Searching my cabinets for extra napkins I had saved from eating lunch in my office, I asked, “How do you even know what that means?”

  “Stephanie,” she said, speaking slowly and clearly annunciating my name. “I’m not ancient and I’ve been around the block once or twice. Probably more than you.”

  At that statement, I grabbed the package of pink anti-nausea tablets I kept in my cabinet along with the stash of napkins and popped one in my mouth.

  “And besides,” my mom continued. “I think it was on an episode of ‘Sex and The City.’ So, are you and Hille fuck buddies or not?”

  “Not! We’re friends with…” Deciding not to go there, I interrupted myself. “We’re friends! But we’ve, uh, we’ve hooked up a few times. That’s all.”

  “Isn’t that the definition of a fuck buddy, Stephanie? Friends who hook up?”

  I muttered, “I suppose.”

  “So, can I assume you’ll be hooking up with him this weekend?”

  I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation even though I had started it. “I guess it’s a possibility.”

  “Is Hille the reason you’re so opposed to speed dating?”

  “Oy veh! What’s your obsession with speed dating, Mom? I’m fairly certain no guy I’d ever want to date would do speed dating. But, anyway, Hille is not the reason. I just want to try to meet someone in a less forced way.” It occurred to me I had almost the same conversation with Suzanne.

  “I understand. But do you think Hille will decide to upgrade your status from fuck buddy to boyfriend and girlfriend if you travel across states to have sex with him?”

  Finally appreciating the humor of my 62 year old mother’s repeated use of the phrase “fuck buddy,” I laughed into the phone. “For the last time, he’s not my fuck buddy, Mom.”

  In between chewing something, my mom said, “Okay.”

  “And, besides, it could lead to more.”

  “I guess.” I heard a cracking sound and knew it was gum. One nasty habit I had managed not to inherit.

  Hoping for more positive reinforcement, I pressed on. “Stranger things have happened, right?”

  “As long as you’re happy.”

  It was not quite the support I was seeking and as my buzz began to fade, I wondered who exactly I was trying to convince.

  Twenty-one

  In keeping with my vow to learn more about Hille while I was in Hoboken, I prepared a list of questions I wanted to ask and, in the nights preceding the weekend, I read it over and over again, adding and deleting questions. Some of the questions were silly—What is your favorite television show? If you could only listen to one CD for the rest of your life, what would it be? What is the first concert you ever went to? Who would play you in the movie of your life? Some of the questions delved deeper into his psyche—What is your biggest fear? Have you ever been in love? If you had to be either blind or deaf, which would you choose and why? I also made sure I had my own answers to these questions in case he asked—(“Criminal Minds,” “The Joshua Tree,” George Michael, Zooey Deschenal, dying alone, I don’t think so, deaf because I could learn to read lips and use sign language.) I knew I couldn’t just whip out the list and ask these questions to Hille all at once without looking like a psycho, so I hoped to ease them into the natural flow of conversation. If I had to ask the others the same questions to make it look less obvious, so be it.

  I took the train to Philadelphia on Saturday morning and drove the rest of the way to New Jersey with Eric, Jess and Hope. Paul was meeting us there. I hadn’t spoken to him since the ‘drool incident’ but, since it was his birthday, I decided not to hold a grudge. He was turning thirty-five, the oldest of the group. I figured that was punishment enough.

  While stuck in traffic on the New Jersey Turnpike, Jess called Hille to give him a progress report.

  “We just passed East Brunswick so at least we’re in Jersey,” she said to him. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, should it? I’m starving. What are we doing for dinner?”

  I turned to Hope and whispered, “How could she be hungry? We just stopped at McDonalds less than an hour ago. I still feel like I’m gonna hurl.”

  Before Hope could respond, Jess called out from the front seat, “I heard that.”

  “I didn’t say anything bad, Jess! I just can’t imagine eating again. I want to digest so I can actually drink later. So, what did Hille say?” For instance, did he ask about me?

  “Not much, as usual. Paul is there and started drinking already.”

  “Great,” Hope said sarcastically. “He’ll be nice and wasted before we even get there.”

  “Too bad. I always find him less annoying when we get drunk at the same time,” I said.

  Flashing me a mischievous grin through the rear-view mirror, Eric said, “You’ll just have to catch up quick then. I brought a bottle of whisky—a couple shots should do the trick.”

  Although my plan was to watch my shot intake so I wouldn’t get too drunk to ask Hille any of my questions, I dryly responded, “Can’t wait.”

  We didn’t get much farther before Jess requested a bathroom break.

  “We’re less than forty-five minutes away, Jess. Can’t you wait?” Eric asked.

  “Unless you want your plush leather seats stained yellow, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jess said.

  “Jesus Christ. I’m buying you a catheter for your next birthday.” Looking over his shoulder quickly, Eric pointed at me and Hope and asked if either of us had to go too.

  “I can pee on demand,” I called out as Hope said, “Sort of.”

  Eric shook his head and muttered, “Too many women in my life. I better have a son someday.”

  Jess scooted to the center of the front seat and sat closer to Eric. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “I can’t wait to have a mini-you.” She sat there until we reached the Thomas Edison rest stop and I noticed she would occasionally rub his right thigh or reach up to run her hands through the curls in his hair. I remembered my urge to scratch Hille’s leg while he was driving and wondere
d if I would ever be in a relationship where I could satisfy such an urge without a moment’s hesitation. I absently smiled upon them until Eric caught me through the rear-view mirror and gave me the loser sign. I shot him the finger in response and turned my head to look out the window.

  An hour or so later, we finally made it to Hille’s apartment in one of the three identical rust-colored high-rise apartments near the Hudson River. Although it housed its own parking lot, Hille only got one spot and his own car was parked in it. We spent about twenty-five minutes searching for a parking spot on the street with no luck and finally called Hille and Paul to come down and take up some of our stuff, including several six-packs of beer, bottles of alcohol and munchies. While we waited for them, Eric got out of the car to smoke and I, high on nervous energy, joined him to stretch my legs. Hope and Jess stayed inside.

  When Hille exited the building, casually dressed in faded jeans and a navy sweater that complimented his olive complexion, he looked at the bags of supplies and started cracking up.

  I flashed back to the moment he looked me deep in the eyes and proclaimed us friends with benefits and my stomach dropped. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “You’ll see for yourself when you go upstairs, but let’s just say, if we experience a remake of the Great White Hurricane and…”

  Hille paused, probably in response to the lack of recognition on my face. “You know. “The famous Blizzard of Eighteen eighty-eight?”

  Still clueless, I nodded, “Gotcha.”

  Hille shrugged. “Well, anyway, if a blizzard results in Hoboken being buried under fifty foot snow drifts, we’ll still have enough food and drink to survive in my apartment for at least a month. I stocked my fridge and Paul brought two bottles each of vodka and tequila.” Nodding to Hope, who had stuck her head out of the window, he said, “And he brought cranberry juice for you, but told me he plans to use very little of it in your drinks, so watch out.”

  “Consider me duly warned.” Gesturing to the rows of cars parked bumper to bumper along the street, Hope said, “So, Hille, what’s up with the parking? We drove all over and found nothing.”

  Nodding, Hille said, “Yeah, parking is brutal in Hoboken. Why don’t you guys bring up some of this stuff and I’ll go with Eric to park? I’ll tell the doorman you’re with me—SixteenL. Paul will let you in.”

  “What? He couldn’t come down and greet us?” I asked.

  Smiling at me, Hille said, “He hasn’t moved from the couch since he got here. I swear he’d ask me to use the bathroom for him if he could.”

  I wondered if Hille would think I was strange if I took the opportunity to ask about his favorite CD of all times. I decided the timing was off and let it go.

  After Jess, Hope and I entered Hille’s one bedroom apartment, I ignored Paul who had simply called out “It’s open,” and ran to the window, which overlooked the river and a stunning view of the New York City skyline. Turning around to face the others, I said, “Wow, Hille’s view is breathtaking!” Then I walked over to where Paul was standing with his hands in the pockets of his brown cargo pants. I jabbed my pointer finger into his doughy beer belly and said, “Happy Birthday, you.”

  Paul lifted me up into an embrace, squeezed me hard and said, “Thanks, Cohen, my favorite ex-girlfriend ever! You know why I love you?”

  I looked at him skeptically and said, “No, why?”

  “Because you can take a joke, that’s why.”

  “Oh. That’s why. I thought it was because I have dirt on you that I’m kind enough to keep to myself.”

  “That too,” he said, before walking over to Hope and dipping her Hollywood-kiss style.

  You could tell a lot about a person by the books he read so, while Hope canoodled with Paul on the couch and Jess peed again, I perused Hille’s bookshelf. As far as I could tell, the only books we had in common were A Separate Peace and Yankee Century-100 Years of New York Yankees. Hille owned the The Origin of The Species and I made a mental note to work Charles Darwin into a conversation later. He also owned New Ideas for Dead Economists and I was pretty positive he could probably give me some great investment advice. I turned to the back cover of The Universe in a Nutshell, couldn’t even understand the synopsis and quickly put it back on the shelf. I was so amused by the highly intellectual nature of his book collection it took me a few moments to realize he had returned. His stainless steel refrigerator door was opened and he was kneeling down, rearranging items on the bottom shelf. I wanted to bend down and kiss the back of his neck but took a more conservative approach instead.

  “Great apartment, Craig,” I said.

  Standing up to face me, Hille grinned and said, “Thanks. It better be, considering it’s sucking over twenty-five hundred a month out of my soul.”

  “Wow, I thought my rent was bad.” Cheaper rent might be a good incentive for Hille to move to D.C. And maybe I could get him a job in my firm’s IT Department.

  Interrupting my wishful thinking, Hille asked, “So, you want something to drink? I figured we’d drink a bit here before we head out to the bars.”

  “Sounds good. You mind if I check out your fridge?”

  Hille shook his head, said, “Help yourself” and moved away to allow me access.

  As I bent down to check out my options, I noticed a six-pack of heffeweizen. “I love this stuff! You mind if I take one?”

  “That’s why it’s there. I sliced up some limes for the Corona and I think there are some lemon slices in there, too. They go with wheat beer, right?”

  “Yup! What’s your favorite beer, Craig?” The question wasn’t on my list but I figured it fit nicely into the conversation.

  “Tossup. Sometimes I crave a dark beer. Other times, a Bud Light does the trick,” he said.

  I brought the glass to my nose, inhaled the citrus aroma and took my first sip as Hille watched me. “Mine’s definitely heffeweizen. Do you like it?”

  “Never tried it, actually.”

  I was about to ask Hille if he wanted to try mine when Eric and Jess came out of what I assumed to be Hille’s bedroom. I hadn’t even noticed they were gone.

  “Time to make a toast to the birthday boy,” Hille said. “Does everyone have a drink?”

  “You have any champagne?” Eric asked.

  “Champagne? Since when do you drink champagne outside of New Year’s Eve?” I asked.

  “Just in the mood to celebrate, that’s all. I’ll settle for a beer, though.”

  Hille handed Eric his beer, turned to Jess and asked, “What about you, Jess? What’s your poison?”

  “You have any orange juice?” she asked.

  “Yeah, you want me to make you a screw driver?” Hille asked.

  “No, just orange juice. Thanks.”

  “Why aren’t you drinking, Jess. You okay?” Hope asked.

  “She’s fine.” Eric said. Then he turned to Jess, smiled brightly and put his arm around her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck while the rest of us looked at them in silence. I was confused and wondered if I was the only one.

  “What the hell is going on?” Paul asked. “Fuck the OJ! Let’s do shots.”

  Eric rubbed Jess’s back and whispered something to her. She removed herself from his embrace and turned to face us, her eyes watery. She looked at Eric and said, “You tell them.”

  “You sure?” Eric asked.

  Jess nodded. “Positive. I can’t keep anything from these guys.”

  Eric locked eyes with each of us one at a time until he got to Paul. “Paul, I know you love to be the center of attention but I’m gonna have to steal your thunder tonight. I promise to make it up to you next year.” He paused dramatically. “Jess just gave me some big news and, well, she said it was okay to tell you guys so….”

  “We’re pregnant!” Jess shouted.

  There was a delay between Jess’s words and any reaction from the rest of us, almost like we were speaking through a trans-continental telephone line. I wasn’t even sure I
had heard her correctly since I didn’t even know they were trying. But then again, I’d never seen Eric’s face quite that bright before, and Jess’s excessive hunger and constant trips to the bathroom certainly made more sense now.

  My feet were still frozen to Hille’s wood floor, but the sounds of everyone else screaming “Oh my God!” and “Congratulations!” awoke me from my stupor and to the realization that my best friends were seriously having a baby. And that we were actually old enough to be parents. I made my away over to the dad to be, pushed Paul to the side and pulled Eric into a tight hug. I whispered, “Congratulations” in his ear and, after we separated, said, “Wow. Eric Fitzgerald—Dad. That’s some crazy shit!” It was hard to imagine the same guy who organized naked slip ‘n slide at a college party changing his own child’s diapers.