Just Friends With Benefits (17 page)

Although my plan was to watch my shot intake so I wouldn’t get too drunk to ask Hille any of my questions, I dryly responded, “Can’t wait.”

We didn’t get much farther before Jess requested a bathroom break.

“We’re less than forty-five minutes away, Jess. Can’t you wait?” Eric asked.

“Unless you want your plush leather seats stained yellow, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jess said.

“Jesus Christ. I’m buying you a catheter for your next birthday.” Looking over his shoulder quickly, Eric pointed at me and Hope and asked if either of us had to go too.

“I can pee on demand,” I called out as Hope said, “Sort of.”

Eric shook his head and muttered, “Too many women in my life. I better have a son someday.”

Jess scooted to the center of the front seat and sat closer to Eric. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “I can’t wait to have a mini-you.” She sat there until we reached the Thomas Edison rest stop and I noticed she would occasionally rub his right thigh or reach up to run her hands through the curls in his hair. I remembered my urge to scratch Hille’s leg while he was driving and wondered if I would ever be in a relationship where I could satisfy such an urge without a moment’s hesitation. I absently smiled upon them until Eric caught me through the rear-view mirror and gave me the loser sign. I shot him the finger in response and turned my head to look out the window.

An hour or so later, we finally made it to Hille’s apartment in one of the three identical rust-colored high-rise apartments near the Hudson River. Although it housed its own parking lot, Hille only got one spot and his own car was parked in it. We spent about twenty-five minutes searching for a parking spot on the street with no luck and finally called Hille and Paul to come down and take up some of our stuff, including several six-packs of beer, bottles of alcohol and munchies. While we waited for them, Eric got out of the car to smoke and I, high on nervous energy, joined him to stretch my legs. Hope and Jess stayed inside.

When Hille exited the building, casually dressed in faded jeans and a navy sweater that complimented his olive complexion, he looked at the bags of supplies and started cracking up.

I flashed back to the moment he looked me deep in the eyes and proclaimed us friends with benefits and my stomach dropped. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

“You’ll see for yourself when you go upstairs, but let’s just say, if we experience a remake of the Great White Hurricane and…”

Hille paused, probably in response to the lack of recognition on my face. “You know. “The famous Blizzard of Eighteen eighty-eight?”

Still clueless, I nodded, “Gotcha.”

Hille shrugged. “Well, anyway, if a blizzard results in Hoboken being buried under fifty foot snow drifts, we’ll still have enough food and drink to survive in my apartment for at least a month. I stocked my fridge and Paul brought two bottles each of vodka and tequila.” Nodding to Hope, who had stuck her head out of the window, he said, “And he brought cranberry juice for you, but told me he plans to use very little of it in your drinks, so watch out.”

“Consider me duly warned.” Gesturing to the rows of cars parked bumper to bumper along the street, Hope said, “So, Hille, what’s up with the parking? We drove all over and found nothing.”

Nodding, Hille said, “Yeah, parking is brutal in Hoboken. Why don’t you guys bring up some of this stuff and I’ll go with Eric to park? I’ll tell the doorman you’re with me—SixteenL. Paul will let you in.”

“What? He couldn’t come down and greet us?” I asked.

Smiling at me, Hille said, “He hasn’t moved from the couch since he got here. I swear he’d ask me to use the bathroom for him if he could.”

I wondered if Hille would think I was strange if I took the opportunity to ask about his favorite CD of all times. I decided the timing was off and let it go.

After Jess, Hope and I entered Hille’s one bedroom apartment, I ignored Paul who had simply called out “It’s open,” and ran to the window, which overlooked the river and a stunning view of the New York City skyline. Turning around to face the others, I said, “Wow, Hille’s view is breathtaking!” Then I walked over to where Paul was standing with his hands in the pockets of his brown cargo pants. I jabbed my pointer finger into his doughy beer belly and said, “Happy Birthday, you.”

Paul lifted me up into an embrace, squeezed me hard and said, “Thanks, Cohen, my favorite ex-girlfriend ever! You know why I love you?”

I looked at him skeptically and said, “No, why?”

“Because you can take a joke, that’s why.”

“Oh. That’s why. I thought it was because I have dirt on you that I’m kind enough to keep to myself.”

“That too,” he said, before walking over to Hope and dipping her Hollywood-kiss style.

You could tell a lot about a person by the books he read so, while Hope canoodled with Paul on the couch and Jess peed again, I perused Hille’s bookshelf. As far as I could tell, the only books we had in common were
A Separate Peace
and
Yankee Century-100 Years of New York Yankees
. Hille owned the
The Origin of The Species
and I made a mental note to work Charles Darwin into a conversation later. He also owned
New Ideas for Dead Economists
and I was pretty positive he could probably give me some great investment advice. I turned to the back cover of
The Universe in a Nutshell
, couldn’t even understand the synopsis and quickly put it back on the shelf. I was so amused by the highly intellectual nature of his book collection it took me a few moments to realize he had returned. His stainless steel refrigerator door was opened and he was kneeling down, rearranging items on the bottom shelf. I wanted to bend down and kiss the back of his neck but took a more conservative approach instead.

“Great apartment, Craig,” I said.

Standing up to face me, Hille grinned and said, “Thanks. It better be, considering it’s sucking over twenty-five hundred a month out of my soul.”

“Wow, I thought my rent was bad.” Cheaper rent might be a good incentive for Hille to move to D.C. And maybe I could get him a job in my firm’s IT Department.

Interrupting my wishful thinking, Hille asked, “So, you want something to drink? I figured we’d drink a bit here before we head out to the bars.”

“Sounds good. You mind if I check out your fridge?”

Hille shook his head, said, “Help yourself” and moved away to allow me access.

As I bent down to check out my options, I noticed a six-pack of heffeweizen. “I love this stuff! You mind if I take one?”

“That’s why it’s there. I sliced up some limes for the Corona and I think there are some lemon slices in there, too. They go with wheat beer, right?”

“Yup! What’s your favorite beer, Craig?” The question wasn’t on my list but I figured it fit nicely into the conversation.

“Tossup. Sometimes I crave a dark beer. Other times, a Bud Light does the trick,” he said.

I brought the glass to my nose, inhaled the citrus aroma and took my first sip as Hille watched me. “Mine’s definitely heffeweizen. Do you like it?”

“Never tried it, actually.”

I was about to ask Hille if he wanted to try mine when Eric and Jess came out of what I assumed to be Hille’s bedroom. I hadn’t even noticed they were gone.

“Time to make a toast to the birthday boy,” Hille said. “Does everyone have a drink?”

“You have any champagne?” Eric asked.

“Champagne? Since when do you drink champagne outside of New Year’s Eve?” I asked.

“Just in the mood to celebrate, that’s all. I’ll settle for a beer, though.”

Hille handed Eric his beer, turned to Jess and asked, “What about you, Jess? What’s your poison?”

“You have any orange juice?” she asked.

“Yeah, you want me to make you a screw driver?” Hille asked.

“No, just orange juice. Thanks.”

“Why aren’t you drinking, Jess. You okay?” Hope asked.

“She’s fine.” Eric said. Then he turned to Jess, smiled brightly and put his arm around her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck while the rest of us looked at them in silence. I was confused and wondered if I was the only one.

“What the hell is going on?” Paul asked. “Fuck the OJ! Let’s do shots.”

Eric rubbed Jess’s back and whispered something to her. She removed herself from his embrace and turned to face us, her eyes watery. She looked at Eric and said, “You tell them.”

“You sure?” Eric asked.

Jess nodded. “Positive. I can’t keep anything from these guys.”

Eric locked eyes with each of us one at a time until he got to Paul. “Paul, I know you love to be the center of attention but I’m gonna have to steal your thunder tonight. I promise to make it up to you next year.” He paused dramatically. “Jess just gave me some big news and, well, she said it was okay to tell you guys so….”

“We’re pregnant!” Jess shouted.

There was a delay between Jess’s words and any reaction from the rest of us, almost like we were speaking through a trans-continental telephone line. I wasn’t even sure I had heard her correctly since I didn’t even know they were trying. But then again, I’d never seen Eric’s face quite that bright before, and Jess’s excessive hunger and constant trips to the bathroom certainly made more sense now.

My feet were still frozen to Hille’s wood floor, but the sounds of everyone else screaming “Oh my God!” and “Congratulations!” awoke me from my stupor and to the realization that my best friends were seriously having a baby. And that we were actually old enough to be parents. I made my away over to the dad to be, pushed Paul to the side and pulled Eric into a tight hug. I whispered, “Congratulations” in his ear and, after we separated, said, “Wow. Eric Fitzgerald—Dad. That’s some crazy shit!” It was hard to imagine the same guy who organized naked slip ‘n slide at a college party changing his own child’s diapers.

“I know. I’m still in shock myself. Jess has been trying to tell me since last night but said she couldn’t find the right moment.” Eric then looked over at Jess, who was talking to Hope, and said, “She’s got some strange timing but I’m not complaining. That woman can do no wrong right now.”

“You’re gonna make a great dad, Eric. You always took care of me when I puked in the fraternity house.” Mock glaring at Paul, I said, “My loving boyfriend at the time just directed me to the bathroom and lifted the toilet seat. You, however, actually held my hair back once. Yes, you will make a great daddy!”
Naked slip ‘n slide participation notwithstanding
.

Laughing, Eric responded, “My kid isn’t drinking until he’s thirty. And, if she’s a girl, make it forty.”

“Good luck with that, Dad,” I said before turning to Jess who had finally separated from an extremely long embrace with Hope.

I remembered the night I had met Jess, my junior year of college. Eric, a senior, was bartending at the Longpost on a Monday night and the bar was empty save for me, Paul and the spunky red-head freshman Eric had met earlier that weekend. Eric fed us free drinks all night, which led to Jess’s drunk confession that she thought Paul and I were an odd match. Prophetically we broke up the following month, deciding we’d be better off as friends.

Pouncing myself on Jess, gently of course to avoid hurting the unborn baby, I exclaimed, “My turn!” After we hugged, I said, “I’m so happy for you guys. Truly.”

“Thanks, Steph. You ready to be an aunt again?” Jess asked.

Wiping a tear from my eye, I said, “Really? You want me to be an aunt?”

“Absolutely!” Jess said.

I turned to Hope and said, “And Hope doesn’t mind sharing the title?”

Wrapping her arms around me, Hope said, “Hope doesn’t mind! We can have fun buying baby clothes together. If it’s a girl, we can teach her about men. And if it’s a boy, we can teach him how to treat women!”

Eric, who had just walked over, said, “Uh, the child is not even born yet. Can you refrain from discussing him/her in the context of sex at least until we know what sex it is?”

“Speaking of which, how far along are you?” I asked. “You’re certainly not showing.”

“Only seven weeks. I know you aren’t supposed to tell people during the first trimester but I couldn’t imagine keeping something like this from you guys, especially when I’m in an apartment full of alcohol and drinking juice!” Jess then rubbed her belly, something I had a feeling she’d do often during the next seven or so months—at least if she was anything like my sister-in-law and every other pregnant woman I had ever known.