The Friends We Keep (34 page)

104

 

Please don't let it be cookies.

That was my first thought when I brought the package from my sister into my apartment. When Maura was a kid she was an enthusiastic but lousy baker. For all I knew her baking skills hadn't much improved.

I reached for the box cutter that sat on a cardboard box unopened since I'd moved in to my apartment. What I found in Maura's package wasn't cookies at all.

I felt light-headed, almost as if I was going to faint. Before I could fall on the open box cutter blade I put it on a high shelf behind me. Then, I breathed deeply and reached for a folded sheet of paper with the words “Aunt Eve” printed wildly in a kid's hand.

I unfolded the paper. Maura's handwriting was difficult, just like our mother's. The note began:

I picked up one of the notebooks. It looked as if it had been left out in the rain but the handwriting (mine) was still legible.

I refolded the note and put it on the table next to my old notebooks. Carefully, I picked up and opened another. Wow, I thought. I really was a terrible artist. But the words . . .

And suddenly I couldn't stand being alone for another minute.

I grabbed my cell from my bag and pressed the button for his cell. He answered on the second ring.

“It's me,” I said.

“Eva, are you okay? You sound out of breath.”

“I'm fine,” I lied ridiculously. “Just—could you come over? Now? I want to show you something.”

“I'm on my way.”

I shut my cell and waited for John.

I didn't have to wait long. He was at the door, then in my living room. And that's when the tears came, a ridiculous flood of them, like they'd been dammed up for years and someone had poked a hole in the dam.

John reached for me but I turned and pointed to the pile of old notebooks. He strode over to the table and then looked back at me.

“Where did you find them?” he asked.

“My sister.”

I watched as John picked up one of the notebooks and carefully opened it to a page, then to one more. When he put it back on the table and reached for another, I walked over to him and put my hand on his.

He looked at me, a question in his eyes, and then, the answer.

“Eva,” he whispered and took me in his arms.

I buried my head in his shoulder. I leaned my body into his. I was so tired.

“Eva,” John said softly. “I hope this isn't the wrong thing to say right now. But I can't help it. I love you, Eva. I love you.”

The words I had been waiting to hear. “It was the right thing to say,” I whispered.

We kissed frantically, desperately, and the whole time I continued to cry. Finally, John lowered us onto the floor—because I'd never bought a couch—and held me. I don't know how long we sat there. I think I might have fallen asleep a bit and maybe began to dream, because suddenly I found myself saying: “My left foot drags when I'm tired.”

“I'm prone to athlete's foot.”

My shoulders began to shake. John held me tighter. But I pushed away. The laughter burst out of me.

John frowned. “What's so funny?”

“I don't know,” I gasped, wiping my eyes, now full of laugh-tears. “Just the way you said it, the athlete's foot. It was—cute.”

“Cute, huh?” John grinned. “Well, I'll take it. It's better than being called an egomaniac.”

“I have called you lots of things, haven't I?”

“And none of them nice. Except for friend.”

Yes, my friend. “I love you, John. There. I said it. God, that took a lot of nerve.”

“Thank you, Eve. I mean, Eva. Crap. I really didn't do that on purpose.”

I laughed again. “For once. Every other time was to make me angry, wasn't it?”

“Yes. But I'm through with making you angry. At least, on purpose.”

“I really was a horrible artist. Those sketches are awful.”

“At least you tried. Maybe you could take a drawing class.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But let's talk later, okay? Now . . .”

So, it was finally time. Best friends with benefits.

105

 

I miss Eva. I wish none of this had happened—but what do I mean by “this”? I wish Ben had never met Eva; I wish I had never gotten back in touch with Eva; I wish I had never known that Ben and Eva had been involved—what? And if it's this last, am I saying that I would have preferred to live with Ben in ignorance, that I would have preferred he and Eva share a secret and because of that, remain bonded?

I wish that Eva hadn't had an affair with my son. That I know for sure. I know I'll never forget what Eva did. I wonder if I'll ever be able to forgive her.

Oddly, I continue to feel Eva's betrayal of my trust more deeply than I feel Brad's betrayal of our marriage vow. Maybe because Eva was my first real friend. And even though she'd changed so drastically since college, I still loved her—even at those moments when I didn't much like her. I still wanted her in my life, as a witness to my past; as a participant in my present; and, hopefully, as a part of my future.

But that's all over now.

Ben and I are getting married next autumn. His semester will be in full swing so we'll put off a honeymoon until the following summer.

I'll invite Jake to the wedding, of course. But after everything that's happened, his presence doesn't feel essential. It hurts to admit that, but it's the truth. I love him but right now I don't much like him. I hope that in time our relationship will improve and that we'll be close again.

But for the moment, I'm concentrating on me.

106

 

I love John.

And I will never tell him about Sam or about the other meaningless affairs I had over the years. John's not dumb. I'm sure he has his suspicions about the way I lived certain years of my life. Why do I need to confirm such ugly truths about myself?

It's said that a guilty conscience needs no accuser. And while I didn't break any laws or commit any crimes of a legal nature, some of my actions—like having sex with married men—weren't exactly ethical. I hurt people and I feel bad about that. I know I hurt Sam and though he seems to have recovered nicely (he's married now), that doesn't erase the fact that I treated him as somewhat less than a human being.

My old habit of selective amnesia should come in handy when the guilt gets too loud. Because revealing a past crime isn't a way to ease guilt. Revealing a past crime just creates a mistrust that will follow you forever, no matter how exemplary your behavior.

Some might argue that a couple should engage in full disclosure if their relationship is to be strong. I disagree. Which is why I've also decided not to tell John that I know about his brief affair with Sophie. By doing this I'm allowing John his privacy in addition to guarding my own. Though I have learned to love, I am, at the core, deeply self-protective, deeply wary. I will do my best to keep the door to myself open, but only partway.

I hope John will understand.

107

 

I love Eva.

I remember Ellen saying once that maybe Eva is my cross to bear, that if she was “possible” I wouldn't want her the way I do.

Eva challenges me to be a better person by pushing the very buttons that result in my being the worst I can be: a judgmental know-it-all.

I hope that I challenge her to be . . . if not a better person, then a happier, more fulfilled person. Only time will tell.

After getting the box from her sister, Eva enrolled in a graduate program. She's working toward a master's in creative writing. It's not like her to do things partway, to audit a class to see if she's still got her academic chops. No, she had to dive right in and, honestly, she seems happy. At least, content. And though her schedule is more hectic than ever, she manages to spend a lot of time with me without complaining that I'm interfering in her life or keeping her from more important things. Eva's transformation is a bit of a miracle, really, even though she hasn't changed entirely from the woman I first had dinner with a few months ago.

But that's okay by me. I love her for who she is and not for who I thought her to be or who I wanted her to be. Or something. This love thing—this big, serious love thing—is new to me. I don't really know how to talk about it so maybe I'll just shut up and get to work. Eva's coming over for dinner and I'm hoping to persuade her to spend the night. I've got a pretty good shot; my apartment is so much more comfortable than hers that she doesn't need much coaxing to stick around until morning. The other day I even found a toothbrush stashed under the bathroom sink. It made me smile to see that little by little she's allowing our lives to mesh.

Now, if only I can talk her into meeting the family, all eleven of them. But I'll be patient. And I'll try to believe that all good things will come in time—like our marriage.

108

 

Some time had passed since I'd last attempted to talk to Sophie about my affair with Jake. Maybe it would have been easier just to let it go, but I couldn't. I wanted to apologize. I hoped Sophie was finally ready to listen.

I called her one weekday evening. I realized there was a chance that Ben or Jake would be at her apartment. I just prayed that neither man would answer the phone.

“Hello?” It was Sophie's pleasant voice.

“Sophie,” I said, “it's Eva.”

She didn't reply immediately. I thought she might hang up, but after a moment she said, “Oh. Hello.”

“Do you have a moment?” I asked.

“I suppose.”

Her reply wasn't encouraging but I hadn't expected open arms.

“Sophie,” I said, the words rehearsed, “I'm sorry about what happened with Jake. I never should have gotten involved with him. It was hurtful to you. And I'm sorry I got so mad at you about Ben. You did nothing wrong. I guess I was just—surprised.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” she said evenly.

Maybe I should have ended the call there. Instead, I asked: “Can you forgive me?”

“I don't know.”

“Okay.” What else could I say? You can't force someone to forgive you. You can only get them to lie about forgiving you so that you'll shut up and go away.

“It's all right about Ben, I guess,” Sophie said suddenly. “I really didn't want you to find out the way you did. I felt bad about that.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your understanding.” And then: “And about Jake?”

“You used my son.”

Me and my big mouth. Never content to leave well enough alone.

“He pursued me,” I said. “We were consenting adults.”

“But he cared for you,” Sophie argued.

“He thought he cared for me. But he didn't.”

“How do you know?” she demanded.

How to explain my experience with Jake? Finally, I said, “I looked into his eyes.”

Sophie laughed bitterly. “As if someone like you could look into someone's eyes and know what they're feeling! You understand nothing about real intimacy, nothing.”

The force behind her words stunned me. Still, I tried very hard not to answer in a defensive way. After all, I was the first to admit there was room in my life for improvement.

“I'm not evil, Sophie,” I said after a weighty moment. “I just had to learn how to take care of myself. I was alone at Jake's age. I had virtually no family. I discovered I had it in me to fight for success so I did. I have some regrets but I'm also proud of what I've accomplished. You can judge me all you want; I can't change what happened.”

Sophie said defensively: “I don't judge you.”

I asked how Jake was faring.

“He's fine,” Sophie said, almost as if she begrudged her son his happiness. Had she really been hoping—for her own complicated reasons—that Jake would fall apart after our breakup? “He's seeing someone named Lisa.” After a pause she added: “She's a few years older.”

Of course. A few years older but of childbearing age. Perfectly acceptable for all occasions.

“I'm glad he's happy,” I said.

“Ben and I are getting married.”

I felt for any feelings of jealousy or pain. There were none. “Congratulations,” I said. “That's great.”

A note here: John thought that telling Sophie about our being a couple might help heal the rift, might humanize me a bit in her mind, but I didn't agree. I thought Sophie would see our being together as another betrayal and I feared her anger. John argued that my refusal to tell Sophie about our relationship compelled him to secrecy, too. I sympathized, but held my ground.

“Well,” Sophie said then, “I have to go.”

“Okay. Thanks for listening. I appreciate it.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Look, maybe someday we could have lunch or something.”

“Sure,” I said. “That would be great. Give me a call sometime.”

It was a comfortable fiction. We both knew that the friendship had suffered a deadly blow. We knew that we would see each other again only by chance.

“Good-bye, Eva.”

“Good-bye, Sophie,” I said.

And another part of my life was over.