Just Friends With Benefits (16 page)

Although once again, I did not recognize the 201 number, I once again knew instantly it was Hille. I was going to save his number to my contacts but had this fear that doing so would be presumptuous and result in his never calling me again. I had just turned on
“Grey’s Anatomy” but decided that Hille was McDreamy enough for me and muted the television. Nervous as usual, I picked up the phone with one hand and with the other began instinctively twirling my hair. After initial pleasantries, Hille got to the point of his call.

“Did you happen to get that information for me?” he asked.

“What information?”

“About your IT department. Remember?”

I repeated, “About my IT department?” and then I remembered. “Oh shit. I forgot, Craig.”

“Oh. That’s okay. Do you think you can get it, though?”

“You mean you really need it?” I could’ve sworn he had only asked as an excuse to call me.

“Well, it’s not absolutely necessary. I was able to compile information from other firms.”

I knew it. “Oh, good.”

“So, Paul’s birthday is coming up,” he said.

I was glad he was finally changing the subject. “Uh huh. I thought about buying him sensitivity, but Target was all out of it,” I said.

Amusing Hille was becoming one of my favorite pastimes and when he laughed, I tried to contain my own grin and continue the conversation as if I hadn’t noticed. “What’s up for his birthday?” I asked.

“No one’s seen my new place and so I was thinking about inviting the gang over to Hoboken to celebrate his birthday there. There’s no shortage of bars. I just wanted to make sure you’d be up for it.”

I was beginning to wonder if it was just a coincidence that the gang was getting together more frequently since Hille and I first had sex. “I’d be up for it,” I said.

“Awesome!”

I measured Hille’s response on my imaginary enthusiasm-meter. He thought it was ‘awesome’ that I was up for a road trip to Hoboken. Not quite ‘ga-ga,’ but not too shabby at all.

The renewal of my Match.com subscription would have to wait.

A vendor had taken a few of the paralegals out for a three hour lunch, during which I drank three-plus cocktails. During lunch, I silently vowed to speak coherently to Hille while in Hoboken and not simply to say, “Yes. I’ll have sex with you again.” I was going to ask him questions and not just whether he had a condom. I was going to try to solve the mystery of Hille. There was more to him than his penetrating dark eyes and almost genius IQ and I wanted to know everything.

Due to my long lunch, I missed my mother’s daily phone call and, in my tipsy condition, was eager to talk to her. My mom was not entirely unaccustomed to seeing or hearing me under the influence of alcohol. Although she would sometimes “tsk, tsk” me for getting drunk or for my occasional drag of Al’s cigarette after too many glasses of wine, she once confessed to enjoying my drunk proclamations that she was the best mother in the whole wide world.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you back sooner. I took a long lunch and just got back,” I said.

“Just now? Go anywhere good?” my mom asked.

“Yup! A vendor took me and a few other paralegals to Perry’s.”

“Very nice. What did you eat?”

“Lots of sushi and lots-o-wine.”

My mom chuckled. “Aha! I knew you sounded more excited to speak to me than normal. I just thought it was because you missed me.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit buzzed. But, I do miss you!”

“I miss you too, sweetheart. When will I see you again?”

“Maybe I can come over for dinner on Sunday.”
And maybe you can make your famous baked ziti parmesan.

“I have a mahjong tournament on Sunday, but what about next weekend?”

“Can’t. Going to New Jersey,” I said.

“What’s all the way in New Jersey?”

“Hille lives there. In Hoboken. It’s supposed to be like a mini-New York City. Lots of bars and stuff. We’re going to celebrate Paul’s birthday.”

“Is Paul still dating Hope?”

“Yes,” I said.

“So, I assume she’s going too? And Jess and Eric?”

“I’m pretty sure,” I said.

“And who else?”

“Just Hille.”

“So, it will be all couples except for you and Hille?” my mom asked.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that Hille might invite some of his local friends, too. I hoped not since that might include girls. “I think it’s just the core group, Mom. But we’re all such good friends, it hardly matters. Hold on. I want to close my door.” After I put the receiver on the desk, I got up to shut my office door. Then I walked back to my desk, took a sip from my water bottle and put the phone on speaker. “Okay. I’m back. What were we saying?”

“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.

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.”