No doubt Virginia had added the women’s snipey comments to make Casey feel better, but Casey didn’t mind Keiko’s attractiveness. So be it. What threw her was the fact that he was with another Asian woman—as if they were cogs to be replaced on a machine. That was the problem with fetishes, wasn’t it? There could be real love, but one couldn’t feel certain what was the basis for attraction. It gave her some relief that she was with Unu now, a Korean, as opposed to a WASP who’d fallen off his class rung. Somewhere she’d read that when Yoko Ono was asked, “Why do white men like Asian women?” she’d apparently replied, “Maybe Asian women like white men.” Well, Casey liked Unu, but she had also liked Jay. Ted had long ago remarked that Jay was the type of white guy who ended up with Asian women, as if Asian women were consolation prizes for these white guys who couldn’t score high with one of their own kind. Ted was such a prick, she thought.
Casey skimmed the rest of the letter for more news about Keiko and Jay, but there was none. Virginia had written more about her love affair with Paolo. When she was in the initial throes of romance, Virginia sounded even more literary and precious than usual. In the final paragraph, she wrote, “I’ve given up the prospects of my degree. It is impossibly hard to remain cloistered in these glorious libraries and pretend that I care any more about my subject when I fear that it is irrelevant.” What? Casey shrugged, then read the last lines: “I left Paolo in Rome, because, well, because. A love affair can die, Casey. You know that. He didn’t love me enough, so I began to love him less. My heart responded less because he gave so little. He never gave me a birthday gift. That seems so silly, because I didn’t want anything as much as to know that he had thought of me. I’d wanted some token to remember him when we weren’t together. Oh well. Is that very American? Then I met Gio at the American Express office in Bologna. So I wrote to Paolo to say good-bye. He was devastated, and I’m not sorry. It had to end. Darling Casey, I have news. I think I am carrying Gio’s child. Be happy for me.”
She ended the letter just like that, and at that moment, Virginia’s grandiloquent writing peeved her intensely. But maybe Casey was just mad at the messenger. Jay was gone.
The train stopped. She had missed Ella’s house by two stations. She got out of the car, crossed to the other side, and boarded the train heading back to Manhattan to correct her mistake. Not five minutes later, she got off at Ella’s station and walked to her house.
Casey was still holding the letter in her left hand and her second cigarette since lighting up at the station in her right, when Ella—who must’ve been waiting by the door—opened on Casey’s first ring. Ella wore her gold-wire-framed spectacles that made her look like a pretty undergraduate; her dark hair was gathered in a topknot with a banana clip left over from her high school days, and a yellow burp cloth was draped over her left shoulder. Irene was latched on to Ella’s dark pancake-size nipple. Somehow, in spite of the black jogging pants and white T-shirt with wet spots across her breasts, Ella managed to look lovely. A kind of striking prettiness had bloomed in her face again, and Casey hadn’t noticed that it had been gone so long until she recognized its return.
“Your boob is showing,” Casey said. She embraced her, being careful not to lean into Irene’s happy round head. “When are we going to stop that?” She made a face. “Isn’t she kinda old for that?”
“I’m sort of weaning her, but. . .” Ella shrugged. Irene was a year and four months, and though she could have stopped, it made Ella sad to think of it ending.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Ella. Why do I always have to stick my foot in it?” Casey was aware that she’d made a suggestion for which she had absolutely no standing.
“No. No. You’re right. Irene is already drinking cow’s milk during the day from a cup, and there’s no reason. . .”
The coffee table was set up with a pot of tea, scones, and sandwiches, two teacups on a floral-design tray. “Wow. That’s so nice.” She went to her favorite spot in the walnut-paneled living room. Dr. Shim had decorated it like an English hunting lodge, except with antique Korean chests along the walls. Casey sat on the wing chair upholstered in green corduroy.
Irene had fallen asleep, and Casey took her in her arms so Ella could adjust herself. She snapped the flap of her nursing brassiere over her breast and pulled down her shirt. She scooped Irene back into her arms, then set her down to sleep on the porta-crib set up in the middle of the living room.