The Friends We Keep(85)

“Then let’s go back after breakfast and start exploring flights.”

“Am I going to be okay?” Topher took a deep breath.

“You’re going to be better than okay. We’re all going to be great. This is our second act, and it’s time. And even if we end up not being great, at least we’ll all be together.”





thirty-nine


- 2019 -



It was the little things that irritated the most, Maggie realized. It had been so long since she lived with anyone besides Ben, she had forgotten how easy it was for the tiny annoyances to lodge themselves under your skin and itch.

The sink was empty when Maggie went to bed last night. She made sure she took note. Every morning she thought she was going mad when she found the sink filled with cereal bowls and empty mugs. How hard was it to put them in the dishwasher? Just open the door and pop them in. Why can’t the culprit load the bloody dishwasher?

She had said something two mornings ago, and four mornings before that.

“Guys, can we just make sure everything goes in the dishwasher rather than the sink if you use anything?”

They were sitting around the kitchen table, Topher on his phone, Evvie eating toast while scouring the classifieds in the local paper for a job. They had looked up and nodded, which Maggie presumed meant they had heard. And here were the cereal bowls again.

Don’t let it bother you, she told herself. These, after all, were the minor irritations that you would expect when a group of adults lived together. Of course they were going to do things that annoyed the others, get on each other’s nerves from time to time.

The key was not to dwell on it, not build up resentment. The key was to be mindful of the fact that they were all doing their best.

Still. Was it really too much to ask of the secret late-night cereal eater to put their bloody bowls away? Also, Maggie turned to inspect the glass jar that sat on the counter that was normally filled with granola but now held merely crumbs. Would it be too much to ask the cereal eater to buy more or even just to add it to the shopping list? There were now three people living here, and Maggie would have quite liked some cereal today, which was strange only because Maggie’s breakfast had always been two slices of toast with butter and jam, and a cup of tea. She had only ever filled the glass jars with cereal because it looked nice.

It had been a month since everyone moved in, and Maggie still couldn’t quite believe how lovely it was—mostly—to have people here. It was as if the house had woken up after a long, deep sleep. She lay in bed at night listening to the sound of footsteps, a loo flushing, the murmur of people saying good night, and she smiled to herself. She wasn’t alone anymore, had been waking up every morning filled with excitement at what the day would hold. There was always someone to talk to, to eat with, to sit with. If she didn’t feel like being around people, she could take herself off to her little office (but that had only happened once, for she was loving the change).

The energy of the house was completely different. It felt lighter, brighter, buzzing with possibility, even when everyone was out. Maggie had had no idea how lonely she was, how dull and quiet and dead she had allowed her life to become, until her friends moved in. She had no idea how depressed she had been, and how much her life had come to a standstill until now.

During all those years married to Ben, she had hoped that he would take care of her, but now it was quite clear that Maggie was happiest when she was taking care of other people. Having people to cook for, to nurture, to love, was making her whole again in a way nothing else had.

Sometimes she wondered what would have happened to her had she not dragged herself out of bed and gone to the reunion. She shuddered to think.

In a throwback to their time at university, Evvie had once again taken over breakfast. She still made her famous ackee and saltfish, her johnnycakes, but she added homemade blueberry pancakes, waffles, giant slabs of vanilla-infused French toast, and streaky bacon cooked until it was crispy. She bought bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese. Evvie introduced them to strata—a sort of gourmet French toast casserole, but savory, with asparagus, mushrooms, and tons of cheese.

And Maggie, who was ever so slightly competitive in the field of cooking (and when did Evvie learn to cook so well, for Maggie was always the only cook in the house), had been making decadent cakes and buttermilk scones for tea, and homemade chocolate Florentines with lacy bottoms and thick chocolate tops.

“My God,” Topher said the other day, polishing off three scones heaped with strawberry jam and clotted cream. “We’re all going to weigh four hundred pounds if you keep feeding us like this.”

“I can’t help it,” said Maggie. “I’m just so happy to have people to cook for again. You don’t understand. I haven’t cooked for anyone since Ben died.”

“What did you eat when you were by yourself?” Evvie had asked.

Maggie shrugged. “Whatever was in the fridge. Sometimes I picked up soup. I ate a lot of toast. Cooking for one isn’t much fun, and most of the time I forgot to eat.”

“No wonder you’re so thin,” said Evvie. “I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten to eat in my life. That’s why I’ve got my lovely big belly.” She stuck it out.

“We love your big belly,” said Topher, who had been slapping Evvie’s hand every time she moaned about her weight, telling her to embrace herself, reminding her endlessly that she was gorgeous, curvy, and sexy, and telling her she needed to let go of her former skinny self. “It’s feminine.”