Ruth felt warmth and connection radiating from Carrie, and she welcomed it—plus, Shirley would appreciate her making friends. Wouldn’t that show her mother-in-law that Ruth was committed to creating a good life in Wynnefield?
“Do you want to have coffee tomorrow?” Ruth asked as she examined the apples for bruises.
“That sounds nice, but I’m usually busy in the mornings.”
Ruth was surprised at how disappointed this made her feel. “Just one cup. I can come to you, if that’s easier. Lillian said we should become friends, didn’t she? Friends have coffee.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Carrie pulled a pencil and paper scrap out of her pocketbook. “Here’s my address. Eli leaves around eight, so let’s say eight thirty, just to be safe.”
“Eight thirty it is.” She felt as elated as she had the time she discovered a handwritten invitation to join AEPhi, the Jewish sorority at Barnard, slipped under her dormitory door.
Ruth entered through the Appelbaums’ basement, and as she carried the grocery bags upstairs, she heard Shirley’s voice in a one-sided conversation. Her mother-in-law was on the phone.
Ruth pressed her back against the butler pantry, with its wall of cabinets, and clutched the Penn Fruit bag tightly so the produce didn’t fall and become bruised.
Snooping did not become Ruth. Still, it wasn’t her fault she could hear Shirley, so Ruth wasn’t eavesdropping. Not technically.
“Don’t you worry,” Shirley was saying. “I’ll call you when it’s over.”
Worry about what? Hair appointments? When what was over? A bridge game?
Ruth caught herself. It wasn’t right to prejudge, yet Ruth had distilled Shirley’s life into just two categories. Home and social, and the required preparations for each. Shirley had mastered the housewife culture and seemed suited for it, as did Lillian and Harriet.
Ruth came from hardworking, passionate women. Though she’d never met her grandmothers, her great-aunt extolled that they’d been proud suffragettes. Ruth didn’t remember her mother, but heard that she’d worked as a talented seamstress, specializing in elaborate dresses such as wedding gowns and theatrical costumes. The Singer her mother had used remained a fixture in their home, a reminder to her of Bess’s work ethic and expertise.
Once she heard Shirley hang up, Ruth shook off the past and stepped into Shirley’s sight line. “I’m back.”
“Thank you, Ruth. The boys will be home in an hour. Why don’t you set down the bag and go freshen up.”
This wasn’t a suggestion—more like an order—yet Shirley had barely glanced her way. Ruth deposited the bag on the counter. She wanted Shirley to examine the bounty, to see that Ruth could at least be trusted to shop correctly.
No thanks were forthcoming. Shirley unloaded the fruit into the Frigidaire so mindlessly, she might even have dented a precious Sunkist orange in the process.
Ruth combed and sprayed her hair and changed from her navy skirt and white blouse to her belted white cotton shirtwaist with printed apples across the full hem and buttoned cuffs. She dabbed a little rouge on her cheeks and applied lipstick. She spritzed perfume from the atomizer that had been left on her bureau. A floral scent of roses trailed after her.
She felt ready for the evening. Almost.
Instead of returning downstairs, she grabbed a bar exam study guide she’d stowed under the bed and cozied up on the padded window seat. Just a page or two.
The next time Ruth glanced at the clock, thirty minutes had passed. How would she explain her absence? Ruth popped off the window seat and tossed her book onto the bed. She ran down the steps, her skirt floating up and then back into place as she slowed near the landing.
Whenever she and Asher got their own home, it would be a place where she could not only run down the stairs, but could read quietly whenever she wanted to. A place to host dinner parties and impromptu picnics on the floor. Where all of that would be allowed, even welcomed. It would be a merging of the two of them, the best of their families rolled into one.
But it was too soon to press for that. They’d barely moved in and hadn’t yet talked of leaving, only of saving enough money to make it possible.
Another reason to find work as a lawyer.
Maybe she and Asher could share an office. That way they could leave the bedroom for bedroom activities. She smiled at the thought.
But first, tonight’s dinner.
Ruth had taken too long. A white tablecloth was already draped over the dining room table, and the pot roast aroma had filled the first floor, leaving just a hint of Shirley’s trademark citrusy Jean Naté beneath.
She took a breath and stepped toward the kitchen. Just jump in. “Shall I set the table for four?” she asked.
Shirley stood at the stove; her lipstick had been reapplied to a crisp and clear apple red. “Thank you, yes. You look lovely, Ruth.”
Ruth felt her cheeks flush and she tugged at her belt, basking in the compliment as she went for the dishes. She’d learned how to set a proper table long before arriving in Philadelphia. Her father was a printer, not a caveman, but prior to Ruth’s first dinner with her in-laws in their home, she’d allowed her mother-in-law to show her a place setting as if this were something new.
Whom did it hurt?
In succession, she carried four dinner plates to the table, four bread plates, four salad plates, four water glasses, and all the useful, as well as pointless, silverware. She walked by her mother-in-law to retrieve the napkins from the pantry and the relish tray from the refrigerator.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to freshen up,” Ruth said.
“It’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it,” Shirley said. She pointed to the cabinet with her manicured nails. “The napkins on the left side of the cupboard have been ironed.”
By the time the table was set and the water glasses filled, Asher and his father should be home. One of the benefits of Asher joining his father’s firm, Appelbaum Accounting, was that he would always be home for dinner. “Except February through April,” Shirley said. Ruth would be a tax widow.
“All done.” Ruth walked into the kitchen and tied on an apron. Shirley, who was stirring something at the stove, looked up briefly and smiled but said nothing, magnifying the silence between them.
When Ruth cooked dinner in her and Asher’s own kitchen, she was going to hum, maybe even sing. She broke through the quiet by clearing her throat.
Her mother-in-law turned to face her. “You looked like you were having a good time at Lillian Diamond’s.”
“Yes, and I saw Carrie at Penn Fruit. I’m going over to her place for coffee tomorrow.”
Shirley’s eyebrow raised and she seemed genuinely pleased. “Good for you. We’ll defrost something for you to take.” She didn’t wait for an answer but returned to stirring the pot, letting steam waft into the air.
Ruth stepped back from the rising cloud of vapor that threatened to flatten her hair and melt her makeup. Her mother-in-law dumped a colander full of string beans into the boiling water. Then she turned back to Ruth and smiled. “That’s a lovely shade of lipstick.”
“Thank you. Do you want me to watch the string beans?” Ruth held up a giant spoon, indicating she could wear lipstick and stir string beans at the same time. The only thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do was call Shirley Mom. Ruth had only one mother, Bess Cohen.