48 EVIE
E VIE
Do you remember the Labor Day barbecue that Kate used to have every year? Her backyard patio would be set with tiki torches and a colorful assortment of flatware, plates, and cups in the colors of red and blue. That year was the last one we ever went to, and maybe that’s why it sticks in my mind.
It was just before dark, and most of the guests had gone home, leaving a few of us stragglers scattered in patio chairs, drinks in hand. The local jazz station played through speakers from a nearby windowsill.
“Anyone want another?” Steve stood over a steel washbasin that had been filled with ice and fashioned into a cooler, Martha Stewart–style. Bottles of beer and wine coolers floated like bobbing apples.
I leaned toward Kate, who sat on the cushioned seat next to me, and I whispered, “I know we’re trying the whole modern-divorce thing, but this feels weird.
” She followed my glance toward Steve. “I don’t know if this was such a good idea.
Maybe we should take turns hanging out with you guys or something. ”
“I know. I’m so sorry. But you’re our best friends,” she said. “It’s not like we couldn’t invite him. We love you both. Please don’t do that thing where we lose our best friends because someone goes and gets divorced. At least you guys are getting along, right?”
“I guess. But I should be heading home, anyway. It’s getting late.”
“Oh, don’t leave yet. Come on. What on earth do you have better to do at home? Will you please stay?” She had a point.
“What about you, Ev? Water?” Steve called over to where I sat.
I looked over to Kate and sighed, reluctantly giving in.
“Sure. I’ll take some more iced tea while you’re up, thanks.
” When I spoke, Lucas burrowed farther into me.
After a long day playing in the sun, he was tuckered out.
He’d curled up in my lap a half hour earlier and was dozing.
I brushed the hair off his forehead and lay a beach towel over his cool legs.
The rest of the kids were all piled in Kate’s game room watching a movie.
“I’ll take another beer, buddy.” Kate’s husband, Jim, sat across from me, chatting with a friend who was admiring their newly redesigned landscaping.
Jim and Kate had gotten married just a few months before Steve and I did.
The two guys had stayed best friends since grad school, getting their MBAs together.
The four of us had quickly become a comfortable four musketeers.
There were a few other people and friends rounding out the crowd, including Kate’s next-door neighbors, Brandi and Bob.
Steve handed me an iced tea in a blue plastic cup.
“Heads up!” I chirped, looking past his shoulder.
He spun around just in time to catch a football in his left hand.
I grabbed the cup, barely avoiding spilling the contents on my black cotton sundress.
He threw the ball back to Jim, who had taken his place in the grass, just off the patio.
The two men, both dressed in khaki shorts and polos, tossed the ball back and forth with ease while sipping their beers.
Steve ran a hand through his sandy-blond hair.
One long afternoon out in the sun and he was already turning tan.
“So did you guys go to Myrtle Beach again this summer?” Brandi asked, turning to me. Brandi meant well, but when she asked a question like that, you got the sense that she might have been making sure she was appropriately keeping up with the Joneses.
“Brandi!” Kate hissed.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—I don’t know what I was thinking .
..,” she stammered, looking horrified and glancing toward Steve and then back toward me.
“Eek. I totally forgot. Too many margaritas.” Her awkward high-pitched laugh cut through the night as her drink sloshed a little over the edge and onto her shirt.
Her plump chest had grown red and splotchy in the sun, matching her hair.
“It’s okay; don’t worry about it,” I said. “Steve’s parents just bought a house at the shore. The kids spent some time there, but not much else.”
“Well, that sounds nice!” she said, clearly trying to make amends but sounding mostly disingenuous. “We headed to the Hamptons this year.” She sat up a little taller as she said this, and I got the sense she’d brought the subject up just so she could have this moment.
“Oh, nice! What part?” Kate asked.
“We rented a place in Montauk. Our kids don’t need to go to college, anyway,” she joked.
“Evie used to live in the Hamptons,” Kate said, nodding in my direction, ever the good hostess.
Jim and Steve returned, evidently having tired of their brief game of catch. “You want me to take him inside?” Steve asked, looking down at Lucas. “Put him on the sofa?”
“Thanks,” I said, gingerly shuffling the sleeping boy into his arms. I stretched, free of the extra weight.
“Really? When did you live in the Hamptons?” Brandi sipped her drink, clearly deflated.
“I didn’t. I lived on Long Island. Not the Hamptons. Big difference.”
“Why on earth did you ever come back here?” She scowled.
“She came back because she couldn’t stay away from me, of course,” Steve chimed in, closing the patio doors behind him. “Obviously.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah, Casanova. I’m pretty sure that’s not exactly how it happened.”
“Sorry, ole boy,” Jim chimed in. “I think you’ve got a few things backward. If I remember correctly, it was you who always did the chasing. Following poor Evie around like a puppy until she finally just gave in.” He winked at me.
“Well, hey. How can you blame me? Look at her,” Steve said kindly, a rare note of something quiet in his voice. Everyone paused, looking at us both as if unsure how to proceed. The divorcing couple messing up the flow of the night. Thankfully, Bob interjected, emerging from the house.
“What’s this about the Hamptons?” His voice boomed, littered with the gravel of a Jersey accent.
He opened another beer, which would make his personality a little more caustic than usual.
He dropped into a chair with a heavy thump and put his feet up on the glass patio table, which let out a shrill creak in complaint but remained intact.
“We were just talking about how Evie used to live on Long Island,” Brandi told her husband.
“Really? I didn’t know that. You live there with your family?”
“No. In my twenties.” I stood up to get a light sweater out of my bag. The evening had grown cool. “Speaking of moving, what’s up with the F OR S ALE sign next door? Are they moving?”
There was talk about the neighbors getting divorced. Something about someone having an affair with an office worker. The kind of suburban chatter and gossip that only serves the purpose of making everyone feel a little better about their own lives.
“Okay, people, this music is putting me to sleep.” Kate jumped up and went to the stereo, adjusting the volume.
A Dave Matthews song came on. “What is it about that guy’s voice?
Takes me back.” Kate mused, bobbing her hips the way she did when she’d had one margarita too many.
“If I could meet anyone famous, it’d be him. ”
“Seriously?” Jim asked, giving her a cockeyed look. “Really. Of everyone in the whole world. Dave Matthews? You’re joking.”
“What? Who doesn’t like Dave Matthews?” She looked at him like he had two heads.
Steve raised his hand.
Kate shrugged. “Anyway, there’s something ... I don’t know, kinda cute and quirky about him. I think he’d be fun to hang out with. Or ... maybe if I could only meet one, hmm ... maybe Bradley Cooper. Yes. That’d be cool too.”
Jim joined in. “I’d meet—lemme think. Earl Warren.”
“Who?” Kate and Brandi both asked in unison.
“Supreme Court Justice in the fifties and sixties. You know, Brown versus Board of Education. Miranda and all that.”
“Steve Jobs,” Steve said, walking up the steps and rejoining the discussion.
“Yeah, he’d be good too,” Jim said, nodding.
“Oh my god, could you guys possibly be any more boring?” Kate groaned.
“Or Kate Beckinsale,” Jim said. “She’s kind of a badass. I dig it.”
“Now we’re talking.” Bob and Jim clinked bottles in a toast.
“Robert Redford,” Brandi added. “Definitely. Robert Redford.”
“Aww, I love him,” I said. “ The Way We Were , ugh, gets me every time.” I wiped a mock tear from my cheek.
“Oh god. Shoot me,” Steve said.
“He secretly loves that movie,” I whispered.
“Yeah. Right. Love it. Watch it every day. Sometimes twice.” As usual, Steve had everyone chuckling again. Steve was the kind of guy who turned the game on when I’d tried to light candles and wear lingerie. Lovable but not huge on romance, that one.
“What about you, Evie? Who would you meet?” Brandi asked.
“Oh, don’t ask her. She doesn’t count,” Kate added. “She’s met everyone.”
“That is not even a little bit true,” I replied.
Bob looked between us, confused. “What? Why doesn’t Evie count?”
“Because once upon a time, Miss Fancypants here used to meet famous people for a living.”
“She’s exaggerating,” I said.
“I thought you did, like ... some sort of part-time freelance thing from home? Writing for the local paper, right?” Brandi asked.
“Wait, you work?” Bob asked. “I thought you stayed home with the kids?”
“I started working again last year.”
“And?” Brandi pushed.
“And back before that, I used to work in the music industry. I was a music journalist. And filmmaker. Sort of.”
Bob narrowed his eyes, then waved his hand. “Nah, you’re pulling our leg.”
“No, seriously, she was kind of a big deal!” Kate exclaimed.
I shook my head. “No I wasn’t. It was forever ago and only lasted a few years.” Was that true? I supposed it was. But it felt like more.
“She even was supposed to go on some world tour with a band.”
“Get outta here.” Bob was now belly laughing. “What were you gonna do, be the official cupcake baker of the tour?”
“Uh-oh. Here we go again,” I heard Steve mutter.