The Friends We Keep(33)

Evvie was silent. This was the very last thing she ever expected to hear. She had no idea what to say.

“I know it sounds crazy.” Ben’s voice was rushed, heightened with what sounded suspiciously like excitement. “But I think we could do this. I’ve always wanted children, and obviously, this isn’t planned, but this could be the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Us, thought Evvie. There is no us. And there couldn’t be an us, not when she was at the very beginning of her adult life, when having a baby would change everything. She didn’t want a baby, and as much as hearing Ben’s voice gave her a pang that felt like missing him, they barely knew each other. Bringing a baby into the world would be the last thing either of them needed.

“This isn’t what I want,” said Evvie. “I’m sorry. I really am, but I can’t have a baby. Not now.”

“But it’s not just about what you want. What about me? What about what I want? This baby is half mine. This isn’t a decision you can make by yourself.”

It’s not a baby yet, thought Evvie. It’s a collection of cells. I refuse to think of this as a baby or I don’t know if I will have the strength to do what I need to do.

“I’m sorry,” said Evvie. “It is a decision I can make by myself, and it’s a decision I’ve already made.”

“Don’t do this,” said Ben, his voice now hard. “You can’t do this. If you go through with this, Evvie, I will never forgive you.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as a long silence fell. And because neither of them knew what else to say, she put down the phone.





PART II


   the in-between years





sixteen


- 1992 -



Topher eased his eyes open and looked at the clock. It said 3:32, and for a few seconds he was completely disoriented. Was that 3:32 in the morning or in the afternoon, and if it was in the morning, why was there daylight visible through the bedroom blinds, and could it be possible that he had been asleep for a day and a half?

Of course not, he realized. Last night was the usual danceathon at Club USA, doing lines in the bathroom that kept him wide awake and dancing until the early hours, getting back to his apartment sometime around ten. In the morning. Shit! Wasn’t the audition for that soap today? Jumping out of bed, he grabbed his planner, letting out a sigh of relief that he’d got it wrong, the audition wasn’t until tomorrow, as he gratefully crawled back into bed and sank against the pillows. He couldn’t go out tonight. This audition was for a major role in a long-running soap, and Topher’s agent had said that not only was he perfect for it, they were excited to meet him. He would not fuck it up by going clubbing tonight. No way, no how, because even when he would tell himself he was only going for an hour, a quick drink, it always seemed to turn into an all-nighter.

At least he was alone, he thought. No one to get rid of, nothing to regret on that front. So much of the New York gay scene had been decimated by AIDS, the ones who were left were determined to squeeze every last inch out of life. Topher was among them. He was young and pretty, and although decidedly not into one-night stands, or casual flings, he loved being admired, and no one was a better flirt.

He needed food, he thought, a sudden craving for one of Maggie’s perfectly pale homemade French omelets. He hadn’t spoken to Maggie much, nor Evvie, which would be ridiculous if not for the fact that Evvie’s modeling career had taken off and she was hardly ever in New York. When she was, they would try to get together, but the clubs and bars they frequented were not the same, although Topher was still always surprised that they didn’t see each other more.

There was a diner on the corner, but Topher didn’t want diner food; he craved homemade. He could be in and out of Gristedes and back home cooking in twenty minutes. He pulled on sweatpants and sneakers, threw on last night’s T-shirt, and gave his teeth a cursory brush before grabbing his wallet and taking the elevator downstairs, running his hands through his hair in a bid to make himself more presentable.

“Afternoon, Topher,” said Louis, the doorman, grinning. “Big night?”

“Always,” said Topher, raising a hand as he passed him.

In Gristedes he pushed the small cart around, trying to figure out what he wanted. Eggs, naturally. Emmental. Mushrooms. Spinach. Garlic, because why not. Sourdough bread. A Viennetta as a treat. He’d try not to eat the whole thing.

He was aware of someone close to him, and looked over to see a man peering into his cart.

“That looks like a delicious seduction dinner,” said the man, who was a little older than Topher, and extraordinarily cute.

“Hardly. It’s my hungover-from-too-late-a-night-at-Club-USA recovery breakfast,” laughed Topher.

“You need more greens,” said the man, looking into Topher’s eyes. “And more protein. In my book, bacon makes everything better.”

“Bacon!” Topher laughed. “How could I have forgotten the bacon?”

“I’ll get it for you,” the stranger said, turning toward the refrigerators. Topher watched him walk. Nice butt, he thought, smiling when he realized the man had turned and caught him looking.

“I’m Larry,” said the man when he got back. “This bacon is the best.”