The Friends We Keep(94)
“That looks delicious,” he said. “Maybe we’ll have a little something to eat.”
“Either way, doesn’t matter. Take the table and first round is on the house.”
“Karen, you don’t have to . . .”
“I know I don’t. I want to. And, Maggie, let’s you and I get together this week. I’ve missed you. Righto, everyone. What will you all have?”
A few minutes later they were cozily ensconced near the fire with drinks in hand. “Now this,” said Evvie, sipping her gin and tonic and looking around the pub, “really does feel like we’ve regressed. I haven’t been in a pub since I moved to New York.”
“I thought there were tons of Irish pubs in New York,” said Maggie. “I’ve been there. I’ve seen them.”
“They’re not like this though. Not proper English country pubs. They’re more like bars, with four-leaf clovers and pictures of leprechauns everywhere. I haven’t been in a proper, centuries-old, cozy beamed pub with a giant fireplace since college. Cheers!” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to many more nights in the pub.”
“Here’s to bad-taste pub crawls in our future,” said Topher, shooting Evvie a look.
“Yes!” Maggie started laughing. “Here’s to Evvie dressing up as a pregnant nun.”
“What were you?” Evvie looked at Topher. “I remember you were there but I have no idea what your costume was.”
“I went as a drunk. I covered my pants with mushy peas as if I’d vomited on them.”
“Oh my God, now I remember. That was disgusting.”
“That’s probably why you forced yourself to forget.”
“Excuse me?”
They all stopped talking and laughing to look up and see a handsome, clean-cut man standing near their table—one of the men, Topher thought, that was sitting at the bar.
Maggie squinted at him, feeling her heart plummet. Oh God. Not this again.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but . . .” He looked at Evvie. “Are you Evvie Thompson?”
Evvie nodded. “Do I owe you money?” she joked, not knowing quite what to say, for no one had recognized her in such a long time.
“Oh my God. I thought it was you, but then I thought, what on earth would Evvie Thompson be doing in my sleepy little village? I’m sorry. I’m just, I’m a huge fan. I used to watch you on that TV show where you played Yolanda, and I’ve just . . . wow. Sorry. I just can’t believe you’re in this pub. What are you doing here? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of stalker or anything.”
“No, that’s fine,” said Evvie, who was glowing, because whoever this man was, and despite the fact that he was wearing a wedding ring, he was quite clearly smitten with her. Evvie, who was still bigger than she would like to be, who still believed the world could only be her oyster if she was skinny, still so hung up on her weight, she didn’t think she would ever have this effect on anyone again. “I live here now.” She smiled, feeling beautiful for the first time in ages.
His eyes widened in shock. “You do? I know Stella McCartney’s nearby but I never heard your name. I’m James Sullivan, by the way.” He shook Evvie’s hand, then Topher’s, before giving an embarrassed smile to Maggie. “Hi, Maggie. Nice to see you in the pub. You’re looking well.”
“Nice to see you here,” she said. “Do you have a permanent roost at the bar?”
He narrowed his eyes. “No. I’m not here often enough. I’m just here for a quick bite to eat while Emily’s out with the girls.”
“Chicken?” Maggie asked, before she started to laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
“That’s okay. I took your advice and bought earplugs. Now the children all like the rooster. I’m sorry I was such an arse that day. Can I get you all a drink to apologize properly?”
Maggie was about to say no, but before she had a chance, Topher jumped in. “That would be lovely. Thank you. I’m having a vodka martini with olives.” He looked at the others, who all chimed in, with Maggie adding her own gin and tonic.
“He’s nice,” said Evvie, when he had gone to the bar to get the drinks. “A little young perhaps, but very handsome.”
“And very married,” added Topher, gesturing to the third finger on his left hand, “before you get any ideas. Although he does seem to be rather smitten, you cougar, you.”
“First off, I wasn’t thinking that,” said Evvie, blushing. “Secondly, he wouldn’t be interested in me. I’m not only old enough to be his mother, look at me. I’m hardly the Evvie Thompson of old. Or rather, I’m twice the Evvie Thompson of old. He’s just got a celebrity crush.”
“Evvie, you are stunning,” said Maggie. “Whatever weight you are, you are beautiful. How can we get this into your head? When will you stop beating yourself up about your size? Frankly, I thought you were way too thin when you were modeling. I used to see pictures of you and wish I could fly over and feed you.”
“She’s right,” said Topher. “I think you have to let go of this weight madness.”
“I’m working on it,” Evvie said, which was true. Rather than avoid full-length mirrors, which she had done since the end of her marriage, she had bought a full-length mirror for her room, and stood naked, looking at herself, every day. She embraced her full breasts, her rounded stomach, her thick thighs, telling herself she was curvy, womanly, and feminine. “I am lush,” she whispered to herself, “and luscious. I am beautiful exactly as I am. This belly has held my child. Some women pay a fortune to have breasts like mine.” These affirmations felt ludicrous when she started, but the more she said them, the easier it was, and even though she was a work in progress, she had started to feel better about herself.