The Friends We Keep(8)

“Roberta. Come on, girls, you can do better.”

Maggie shrugged. “I’m not a big film person.” She peered at him closely. “So why are you here? Are you at the university?”

“Yes. I just arrived. My parents are living over here for my father’s work. He’s in oil. I got here this morning to find I’m stuck on a floor with a bunch of rugby players, and my roommate is playing Led Zeppelin at high volume as he installs a series of bongs on his desk. It’s hell.”

“So, you decided to move into Habitat instead?” Maggie ventured.

“Only temporarily, sadly. I wanted to find somewhere peaceful to read, and you have to admit, this room setup is rather wonderful.”

“You look like you have good taste. We’re trying to do up our room. Want to help us choose pillows and throws?” Evvie had warmed to this boy immediately.

He grinned, reaching for his shoes. “Shopping is my middle name. I’m Topher.”





four


- 1986 -



Topher pushed the thick wedge of Welsh Rarebit around his plate with a frown, before sliding the plate away.

“I just can’t,” he said. “I know it’s delicious but it’s all so unhealthy. I tried the fruit salad yesterday thinking it would be good, but it was swimming in some kind of syrup.”

Maggie grinned through a mouthful of cheese, bread, and Worcestershire sauce. “It’s worth it. These breakfasts are yummy.”

Evvie had already finished her slice of Welsh Rarebit, which was one slice of thick white bread with melted cheese and Worcestershire sauce grilled to perfection, with the added sin of a fried egg dripping in butter on top. It hadn’t been long, but already her jeans were less baggy, and she knew she’d have to stop soon. At home, she had always helped her grandmother make breakfast every day—saltfish fritters, johnnycakes, ackee. She’d never experienced the full English breakfast, and she couldn’t stop eating. It wasn’t as if she could afford the freshman fifteen. Who knew when it might stop? Given her predilection for compulsive eating, a freshman fifteen could very easily become a freshman twenty-five, or worse.

She looked at her empty plate, feeling shame. She had wolfed the food down, not even tasting it, and she had been contemplating going back for more. She pushed the plate away and sat back. “I’m so full,” she lied. “I can’t believe I ate that much.”

“Maggie? Want mine?” Topher moved his plate over to Maggie, who gratefully took it. It wasn’t fair, thought Evvie. Even though it had only been a couple of weeks, Evvie saw how much Maggie ate, and yet she remained as slim as a reed. She was one of those natural athletes who thought nothing of going for a run to let off some excess energy. Maggie had said her whole family had ridiculous metabolisms; they all ate like horses and all stayed slim. Evvie, on the other hand, could easily gain five pounds just thinking about a wedge of chocolate cake.

She could feel that the switch, the switch that had to flick on in order for her to have enough self-control to diet, was slipping back. And it didn’t help that Maggie always had cookies in their room. Maggie kept them just in case she felt an urge, but once Evvie discovered chocolate Hobnobs, there was no going back. They’d whisper to her from Maggie’s desk drawer, and before she could even think about it, she would wolf down three, and then make herself go out so she wouldn’t eat any more.

“I think we should go to Chez Jacques tonight.” Topher sipped his coffee. “Apparently the food is decent. I can run in on my way to class and book a table.”

Evvie blanched. She felt completely at home with Maggie and Topher, who seemed to be an almost permanent fixture in their room already, so much so that he had grabbed another chair from the common room so the three of them could sit in the bay window sipping hot chocolate and watching the world go by, gossiping about everyone. But why did the two people whom she had chosen as best friends seem to have such expensive tastes? She had to get a job, and fast.

“We can’t tonight,” Evvie said, relieved as she remembered their prior commitment, one that wouldn’t cost nearly as much as the fanciest French restaurant in town. “It’s the fresher bad-taste pub crawl, remember?”

“Oh God,” Topher groaned. “The one where we’re supposed to go with our residence halls? I can’t go with those rugby players.”

“So come with us. You’ve practically moved in anyway and all the girls love you. Especially Naomi.” Maggie grinned. “She’s desperate to lure you into her room.” Naomi was a pretty Londoner who had one of the rare single rooms, tucked away under the eaves and accessed by her own staircase.

“Oh, Naomi. So pretty, and so precious, but she freaks me out.” He shuddered. “Every time she sees me, she strokes my back. I can’t bear it.”

Evvie frowned at him. “Why not? That’s sweet.”

“I don’t like being touched by people I don’t know.”

Maggie started to laugh. “You don’t like being touched by people you do know. I tried to hug you the other day and you cringed!”

“I said I was sorry at the time. Don’t take it personally. I’m just . . . weird about being touched.”

“What is your type, anyway?” asked Evvie, who was convinced Topher was gay, but didn’t feel that was something she could ask. What straight man channeled Sebastian Flyte, complete with teddy bear? And what straight man flinched when a woman touched him? It wasn’t just that; it was that he didn’t seem to exude any sexual energy. But, as Maggie pointed out, it could be that he was undecided. Or bi. Or even perhaps asexual, which she had decided was the likeliest. “I think he just likes beautiful things, and beautiful people, which is why he loves you.”