The Friends We Keep(77)

thirty-four


- 2019 -



Maggie shut the car door and headed toward Topher, who was already standing in the station car park, to give him a hug before turning to Evvie, who was sitting on a bench with an elegant older man, his hands resting on a silver-topped cane.

“That’s Benedict?” She gestured to Benedict as she looked at Topher.

“Yes, that’s him. He’s been dying to meet you.”

“He’s so elegant!” She approached the bench and extended a hand to Benedict, telling him how lovely it was to meet him. Benedict ignored her outstretched hand and stood up, giving her a big hug.

“I can’t possibly not hug you.” His voice was filled with warmth and graciousness. “I feel like I know all of you, and I am so happy to meet you finally, after all this time.”

Maggie stepped back, blushing slightly. Of course he was gay, and old enough to be her father, but the combination of his good looks and charm was instantly disarming. He kept them amused all the way to Maggie’s house, with stories of what he’d been up to in London.

They turned down Maggie’s lane, through the gates, as a silence descended. Maggie parked and turned to them. “Well, here we are. Home.”

Evvie got out of the car, her mouth hanging open. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is your house? You live here?”

She slowly swiveled, taking in the golden manor house, the overgrown topiary yews, turning around to see the old wooden gates now creaking their way closed. “This is like something out of a movie. I feel like I’m in Brideshead Revisited. It’s gorgeous.”

“This is breathtaking,” Dickie agreed. “The classic English country manor house.”

“It’s beautiful but a little high-maintenance, and the decorating’s very old-fashioned now,” said Maggie, looking at her house with fresh eyes as she beckoned them into the hallway, where they all stood, swiveling around to take in the oak paneling, the chintz curtains, the sweeping staircase. She had spent the last twenty years in love with this house, while simultaneously apologizing for it. Pretending that it was a burden, that they couldn’t really afford it, that she was slightly embarrassed. But seeing it now, taking in its beauty, she stopped talking. She had said enough.

“First of all, anything this size is going to be high-maintenance,” said Evvie. “Between all of us, spreading the work, it becomes . . . practical. If we all lived here, it would probably be entirely manageable. As for redecorating, that’s easy. I’d love to help. We can get rid of all the chintz and get some lovely Swedish grays and neutrals in here. And we’ll fill it with new memories.”

Topher turned, taking in the large inglenook fireplace in the hall, big enough to roast a large animal. “I already love everything about this house. I want to live here starting right this second. I’m not joking. This is heavenly, and I’m ready to move in tomorrow.”

“You know what I think?” Maggie laughed. “I think it’s time to put the kettle on. It’s chilly in here anyway. Let’s build a fire in the den, and we can talk about it some more. Nothing needs to be decided today.”

“Of course it’s chilly in here,” said Topher. “It’s an English manor house. There would be something wrong if it wasn’t chilly.”

Maggie turned to go to the kitchen, followed by Evvie, as she told Topher and Benedict to feel free to explore—Topher looked like he’d explode if he didn’t get to see it all immediately.

Walking into the kitchen, Maggie felt an energy and levity in the house that hadn’t been there for years. She had had the same sensation as she did arriving back at the house just a few moments ago, seeing it with fresh eyes. It wasn’t her tired old kitchen filled with the ghosts of children she never had and a husband she had lost, but a large, sun-filled room with a limestone floor, cream kitchen cabinets, and a kitchen table large enough for ten people. It was a room crying out to be lived in, and loved. It was a room begging for people sitting around the table, for laughter, for bottles of wine being opened, for huge casseroles being cooked and served at the table.

She had not served this house well, she thought. She had blamed the house for all that had gone wrong in her life, and for the first time today, she knew that this house did not deserve it.

The kitchen was a beautiful room, as it was a beautiful house, a house she and Ben bought because it felt like a house that needed to be filled, with children, with people, with animals. And it was only today, for the first time, with her dearest, oldest friends right behind her, that she realized this was what was meant for the house, this was what the house had been waiting for: her family of choice.

Already, it felt like a completely different house; already, it felt like a new home.

By the time they brought tea into the living room, complete with Maggie’s buttermilk scones (they were hiding in the freezer, but defrosted beautifully), Topher had built a fire, Benedict looked completely settled in the battered old leather wing chair next to the fireplace, and Evvie had started to feel excited. She wasn’t worried about keeping Jack a secret, for Jack, with his life in Oakland, was so far away from this, it felt probable that even if she lived here, never the twain shall meet.

“Are those Liquorice Allsorts?” Evvie slid a glass jar over, filled with the multicolored candy. “Maggie! I haven’t had these since college! I can’t believe you still eat them.”