The Friends We Keep

by Jane Green

  “Don’t bother me,” said her mother. “I’m going back to Stockwell.”

  “You can’t say I haven’t tried,” sighed Evvie, who went through this every time she saw her.

  Evvie was on her way back to her open-plan loft in the Meatpacking District, not too dissimilar to the one she once lived in with roommates when she first came to New York, except bigger, brighter, and much tidier. The exposed brick walls were flooded with light from the giant floor-to-ceiling windows, her furniture a collection of things she had gathered during her travels.

  Enormous white sofas that were as big as beds were piled with Indian hand-blocked pillows. Leather poufs from Marrakech were scattered around the Balinese door coffee table, and antique wicker lounge chairs sat on either side of the fireplace on top of an ivory and pale pink dhurrie rug.

  It was an eclectic and beautiful blend, what Evvie liked to think of as “boho chic.” There were objects she had collected from all over the world, hand-carved African sculptures, painted pots from Tunisia, antique suzanis thrown over the backs of chairs.

  Everywhere she looked, she saw a memory, and no matter how glamorous her trips, returning home was always something she looked forward to most of all. The agency had sent a car to pick her up from the airport, and as it rounded the corner, her heart sank, for there was the familiar figure of Patrick, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his PalmPilot.

  Evvie’s first instinct was to tell the driver to keep on going, but she couldn’t avoid him forever. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected him to show up. Being in Jamaica was a much-needed break from him, and she had done her best to put him out of her mind. A year ago, when she met him, she had thought he might be the One, this charming, funny venture capitalist who owned a vineyard on the North Fork and loved the outdoors.

  He didn’t show his other side until nine months in, until Evvie was truly smitten, could see a future with him. They had been having an argument one night, Patrick’s jealousy getting the better of him. He was convinced she had spent the evening flirting with a photographer at a party they had been to.

  Evvie had laughed in disbelief at Patrick’s rage. The photographer in question was gay, in a well-documented long-term relationship, and Patrick, who was almost frothing at the mouth by the time she had laughed, slapped her. Evvie’s hand had risen to her face in shock as she stared at him, eyes widened, unable to believe what just happened.

  Patrick was horrified, immediately apologetic, disgusted that he had done such a thing. He swore it would never happen again as he wept, with great heaving sobs, and Evvie, who was shaken to her core, then had to reassure him that he wasn’t the most terrible man in the world and that these things happen, and she would forgive him. But if it ever happened again, she said, she would be gone.

  It happened again. Of course it happened again. He pushed her, body-slammed her into a wall before screaming in her face. He sobbed that time as well.

  Just before she left for her next shoot, Evvie booked the vacation with her mother and grandmother to join her. She needed to feel as safe as she could, needed the break, and the only bad thing about the trip was knowing it would be over, that she would be coming home to Patrick. Two days before the vacation ended, she e-mailed him to tell him it was over.

  And here he was, outside her building. She would have to confront him sooner rather than later, but didn’t want to be left alone with him. She leaned forward to the driver, reaching for her wallet and pulling out a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

  “I need you to do something for me. I need you to escort me up to my apartment, and not leave until that man has gone.”

  The driver turned around, seeing the money, and nodded. “Of course, ma’am. Anything you need.”

  He parked and opened the door as Patrick looked up, coming over immediately.

  “We need to talk,” he said as Evvie steeled herself, determined not to show her fear.

  “I’ve said everything I need to say. I don’t know why you’re here. It’s over, Patrick.”

  “Evvie.” Tears sprang into his eyes. “I love you. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I know I have some issues but I’ve started seeing a therapist, and she says she can cure me. You have to give me another chance.”

  Evvie looked in his eyes then, marveling at how irresistible she had once found him. Now, she was mostly scared.

  “No,” she said. “I’m glad you’re getting the help you need, but I don’t feel safe around you anymore. It’s over.”

  Patrick roared in fury and came toward her as she cringed, and the driver stepped forward, using her suitcase to create a barrier between them, ready to wield it as a weapon if needed.

  “Sir, if you don’t leave her alone, I am calling the police.”

  “What for? I haven’t fucking done anything,” sneered Patrick. “Yet,” he added menacingly, looking at Evvie, who was shaking. But he slunk off down the street, turning around to call Evvie a cunt as he left.

  The driver came upstairs, asking if he could call anyone to be with Evvie.

  “I’m fine,” she said, even though she wasn’t. “I have very good locks and a security system. Thank you.”

  She put on The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill and let the music relax her, dancing as she unpacked, with a large glass of wine in her hand. She had a video security system, and when Patrick didn’t return, after a few hours she started to unwind. He was a classic abuser, so like all the men she ended up dating. Handsome and charming, until he wasn’t.

  She showered and put on the men’s boxer shorts she usually slept in and a stretchy camisole top, and had just made herself a cup of tea (she didn’t drink the builder’s tea of old anymore—now it was mint tea, with a slice of lemon rather than copious amounts of milk and sugar), looking forward to lying on the sofa and watching some television before crawling into bed, when the phone rang.

  She jumped, presuming it was Patrick, nervous about picking up the phone lest a string of abuse come barreling down the line. If that happened, she would hang up and leave the phone off.

  “Evvie?” The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t Patrick. She breathed a sigh of relief as she tried to place it.

  “This is she,” she answered cautiously.

  “It’s Ben,” he said. “Ben Curran. Maggie’s husband.”

  Her heart pounded as she forced her voice to sound normal. “I know who you are, Ben.”

  “How are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She looked at her hand holding the phone, noting it was shaking, unsure now if it was because she was expecting Patrick to be on the line, or if it was because it was Ben.

  “I’m in New York just for tonight and wondered if we could get together. I know you’re probably busy, but Maggie sends her love and said I should call you, and . . .”

  He stopped talking and there was a long silence. “Evvie,” he said eventually, pain evident in his voice. “There are things I need to say to you.”

  More silence as Evvie thought about her early night, knowing she should stay home, should do as she planned, going to bed, but before she could stop herself, she found herself asking, “Where are you staying?”

  “The Mark Hotel.”

  She looked at her watch. “I’ll meet you in the bar at eight,” she said, before hanging up the phone.

  She decided to dress down to see him. At his wedding, she had been ridiculously overdressed, standing out like a sore thumb, and tonight she wanted to blend in, to be comfortable and cozy: she wanted to feel safe today, at least in her clothes.

  She took off her pajamas and pulled on her oldest long-sleeved T-shirt, worn soft and thin, with her most faded jeans and scuffed leather boots. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she deliberately kept her face free of makeup. Whatever tonight was about, she decided, for her it was about honesty, and she couldn’t be honest if she covered herself up wi
th artifice of any kind, be it jewelry, makeup, or designer labels.

  She got there early, wanting to have the upper hand, taking a deep breath as she walked into the small dark bar off the reception area. She ordered a vodka martini, drinking it down quickly—Dutch courage—then ordered a second one to sip slowly.

  Ben walked in, squinting in the darkness, looking for her. She watched him for a while, wishing her heart didn’t still ache after all this time, then raised a hand and watched his face light up as he came to greet her.

  Two kisses, one on each cheek, as if they were just old friends from college, as if he were just the husband of a girl who had once been one of her best friends.

  “Can I get you another?” he asked, gesturing to her drink, sliding onto the bar stool next to her.

  She shook her head. “I’m fine for now.”

  He ordered a Manhattan and grinned at her, shrugging his shoulders. “When in New York,” he said, and she smiled back, although her grin felt forced. She was nervous, and uncomfortable, and unsure of what he was doing there.

  “How’s Maggie?” she asked.

  “She’s good.” He nodded. “Great, actually. We’re good. We moved to Somerset and it’s been great for both of us.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy together.” She didn’t mean for it to sound sarcastic. Of course she wanted Maggie to be happy; she loved her. She just wished her friend’s happiness wasn’t so painful for her; she wished that Maggie had been able to find the same level of happiness somewhere else. She stared into her drink, unable to look at him.

  “I’m so sorry that I . . .” Ben said finally.

  Evvie turned to look at him, cutting him off. “So sorry that what? That you said you wouldn’t forgive me? That you didn’t think about what my life would be like if I’d had a baby? That you were completely selfish, only thinking about yourself, and then punishing me for not doing what you wanted, even though it would have meant giving up everything in my life?”

  “No. That’s not what I was about to say. I was about to say I’m sorry that I told you I would never forgive you. I forgave you almost instantly. I wanted to come and see you, but I didn’t think you would want anything to do with me.”

  “What?” Evvie stared at him.

  “I shouldn’t tell you this. I suppose it’s water under the bridge now, but . . . I fucked up. I fucked up in every way imaginable. I fucked up by not telling you what I felt about you, and then trying to emotionally blackmail you to be with me.”

  Time stopped as Evvie stared at him. “What do you mean, what you felt about me?”

  “What do you think I mean?” Ben sounded angry. “Don’t make me say it. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. None. If you had feelings for me, you knew where I was. Why didn’t you pursue me instead of saying you would never forgive me?”

  “Because I was devastated by the abortion. And devastated at losing you. And I had no idea how to tell you. You were embarking on this modeling career, and everything in your life was going right, and I didn’t think you wanted me. If you did, you would have said something.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Evvie turned her body to face his. “First of all, when someone says they’ll never forgive you, you believe them. Why would I have said anything when you had already made it clear? You had your grant, your future, and both of us had talked about pursuing our dreams. We never talked about compromising and finding a way to be together. I presumed it was a few days of pleasure, and that was it. Now, all these years later, you’re telling me it was something more? What the fuck, Ben?”

  “I thought you were too good for me. I thought you wouldn’t have wanted me, not once we had left West Country and were in the real world. Let’s face it, Evvie. You could have any man you wanted. Why on earth would you even have thought about me?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I loved you. I love you. I couldn’t have done anything differently. You needed to come after me.”

  There. She’d said it. She sat back, shocked. Embarrassed, a part of her unaware she even felt this way, but as soon as she said it, she knew it was true. She busied herself rustling around in her bag to pay for her drink and leave as Ben put his hand on her arm. She looked down at his hand, remembering it so well, remembering what his hand, his fingers felt like on her body, inside her body, and then she looked at him, and he had tears in his eyes.

  “I loved you too,” he said, but he didn’t take his eyes off her, and Evvie wasn’t sure for a while whether he had said loved or love. She sank back on her stool, deflated and confused, knowing exactly what his gaze was saying.

  “Please don’t do this,” she whispered. “We can’t. Not now. You’re married to Maggie.”

  “I love my wife,” he said, his voice trembling. “It’s true. Maggie is wonderful. You have to understand that I love her . . . but not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought about you.”

  He reached over then and touched her cheek, cupped her chin, as Evvie trembled. After Patrick, after every abusive boyfriend she had ever had, here was the one man who had only ever made her feel safe. Then every thought she had disappeared as she felt, once again, that buzz of electricity, before Ben leaned forward and kissed her.

  They walked to the elevator in silence, staring straight ahead. As they stepped into it, Evvie steadied herself, every muscle and fiber in her body tingling and buzzing, feeling more alive than she had in years.

  Outside the door to Ben’s room, she paused, feeling him pressing up behind her, his breath on her neck. She closed her eyes briefly before turning and kissing him the way she had wanted to ever since she saw him on his own wedding day.

  Their lovemaking—and it was lovemaking—was intense and fast. There was no foreplay, Ben was inside her, and she started crying as he moved back and forth. He kissed away her tears. Later, much later, when both of them had slept a little and awakened to find it was still dark, still night, when Evvie realized that this was not a dream but that Ben was beside her, gazing at her just as he once had, they made love again. This time it was slow, and languorous, and loving and lustful, and when she came, she heard her own voice shouting from somewhere else, and it was only afterward that she realized the only time this had ever happened before, this intensity, was with Ben.

  “How was that?” Ben said.

  “It was transcendental,” she sighed, before frowning again. “Oh Christ, Ben. What are we doing? What are we going to do?”

  “I want to be with you,” he said. “I love Maggie, but not like you. I know it will be hard, but she will be fine. She’s an amazing woman, and it could be so much worse. At least there are no children. I can find work here. I can move to New York and we can start again over here.”

  “We can’t,” said Evvie, her voice catching. “I can’t. Maggie would never get over the betrayal, and honestly, I would never be able to forgive myself. I know we’re barely in touch, but still, she’s someone I love. I couldn’t cause someone I once knew so well this amount of pain. I don’t want to be the other woman. It would be different if you weren’t married, but I can’t be responsible for breaking up a marriage.”

  “So that’s it?” Ben looked at her, shocked. “We have this one incredible night and we both go back to our lives as if nothing has happened? I’m willing to tell Maggie. I’m willing to give this a shot. Maggie wants children but we haven’t started trying yet. If we’re going to do this, now’s the time.”

  “I can’t. I can’t do this. I could never live with myself, knowing I stole you from Maggie.”

  “You didn’t. This, us, existed before Maggie.”

  “But you’re married. And we barely know anything about each other. Sure, we have amazing chemistry, and it feels like love, but who knows whether we would actually be able to sustain a relationship. We had a fantasy week together when we we
re children, but we don’t know each other. I can’t blow up your marriage when I have no idea what the future would hold. I can’t do this to myself and I can’t do this to Maggie. I won’t do this to people I love.”

  “But you love me.”

  “It’s different. Maggie doesn’t deserve this. I can’t do it.” She took a deep breath before looking at him. “This is closure, Ben. We will never do this again.”

  Even in the semidarkness, Evvie could make out the stricken look on his face. And she realized then that she was the one who had to be strong through this, resolute; she was the one who had to make sure this never happened again.

  “We aren’t meant to be together, Ben. Perhaps back then, had either of us got in touch with the other, things would be different, but we are where we are. You cannot leave Maggie for me.”

  “What if I left Maggie anyway, and after a period of time, we got together.”

  “No. Because I would always know. I’m sorry.”

  Evvie left soon after that. She gave him a last lingering kiss, and started crying as soon as she closed the hotel door behind her. She sobbed as she came down in the elevator, and waved away the concerned concierge as she walked through the lobby and over to Madison to find a cab.

  She sobbed all the way home, and through the rest of the night, back in her apartment, feeling as if her heart had truly broken and that life would never hold anything good, anything to look forward to, ever again.

  * * *

  • • •

  Five weeks later she was on a modeling job, and in a furious mood. Usually she was able to turn it on for a photo shoot. However she may have felt waking up in the morning, there was something about the cameras being focused on her, a photographer (usually handsome) telling her how beautiful she was, how great the pictures were, that built her up and brought out her bubbly side. But today she couldn’t snap out of the funk.