After a brunch-worthy spread of bagels and lox, complete with champagne, Asher said, “We got married” as casually as if he had asked them to pass the kugel.
“That’s how you thank us?” Shirley had screeched to Asher. “For college, and graduate school, and this apartment, and a job to come home to? You exclude us from your wedding? We’re so terrible?” Shirley wiped tears with the backs of her hands and glared at Ruth. “You should have known better.”
Should she have?
She hadn’t considered any lasting implications of eloping—all she’d wanted was security with Asher.
Leon had wrapped his arm around Shirley and whispered in her ear.
“I will not watch my step!” his mother said, and shifted away from her husband.
“Ma, listen,” Asher said. “This was my idea. Don’t blame Ruth.”
Asher had defended her—which made Ruth want to take the blame. Almost.
“The plan is to work for Dad and for us to live in the attic, right, sweetheart?” Asher continued.
It was? For how long? They hadn’t discussed this. They hadn’t discussed anything. Wasn’t impetuousness the hallmark of eloping? Before she’d said a word to her in-laws—the term felt strange—Ruth realized she was nodding.
Shirley sniffed. “You’ll love Wynnefield, dear. I just know it.”
Ruth hadn’t wanted to anger or sadden her new mother-in-law, so she forced a smile, unable to conjure up the right words. This was new—Ruth had always loved and commanded words.
She dragged her reflections back to the present as Lillian waggled her finger. “No gossiping, girls.” She stood and walked back through the living room. “Continue getting to know one another. I’ll be right back.”
Lillian gave the impression she always knew what to say. Ruth envied that.
“I think eloping is kind of romantic,” Irene whispered once Lillian had left the room.
Harriet rolled her eyes.
“Thanks, Irene. It was.”
Ruth had carried a bunch of corner-store daisies as her bouquet and wore a Dotsie-made daisy-chain crown and a pale-yellow suit. Asher and she had written their own vows, and after the short ceremony they rode through Central Park in a carriage, like romantic tourists.
Irene pushed on Ruth’s arm instead of saying “You’re welcome.” She was an effusive girl, open and unguarded—a strange contrast to her rough edges. “I might not have much romance in my life, but I know it when I hear it. Eloping is romantic—exciting even.” She blushed. “I mean, you don’t look like you had to get married.”
“Oh my God, no.” Children were not part of Ruth and Asher’s immediate plan. They would come later, when Asher rose to partner and Ruth had established her career.
“You didn’t get all the goodies like a bridal shower, or registering for china, or wedding gifts, or a—”
“Stop, Harriet,” Irene said. “Ruth looks plenty happy to me. Don’t make her feel bad. We’re all here for the same reason.”
To placate their mothers-in-law?
“To become the perfect wife,” Harriet said.
Ruth sighed.
“I don’t need perfect,” Irene said. “But I’d like to teach proper etiquette to my daughters.”
“You have children?” Carrie asked.
“Four.” Irene grinned. “Two of each.” She unlatched her pocketbook and removed a photograph of four children squashed together on a floral, plastic slip–covered sofa. They passed it around, and each one oohed and aahed louder than they had for Harriet’s ring. To these girls, the purpose of marriage was babies.
“I’d love a little girl,” Harriet said.
“I’ve heard if you lie upside down with your legs in the air, there’s a better chance you get a girl,” Irene said.
“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Carrie said.
Harriet crossed her arms, defiant. “How do you know?”
“Because I am—or rather was—a nurse,” Carrie said.
“What do you mean, was?” Ruth asked.
“Eli didn’t think it looked right. Me working.”
“Even though you were helping people?” Ruth asked. “How do you think it looks?”
Carrie said nothing.
“No husband worth his salt wants his wife to work,” Harriet said.
“What if she wants to?” Ruth asked.
Carrie and Irene stared at her.
Harriet cackled and pretended to slap her knee. “Oh, Ruth. You’re so funny.”
Chapter 4
LILLIAN
Lillian walked in, heard the last comments from the girls, and held her breath. But the smoke from her inhaled cigarette escaped in a cough and a swirl of gray. She scanned the faces around her.
Harriet was charmingly romantic and traditional yet woefully out of touch. Ruth hadn’t meant to be funny; her question struck Lillian as bold and curious. Ruth, new to the community, to marriage, and to the Appelbaum family, exhibited a keen sense of self. Lillian, at least a decade older, envied her—she sometimes struggled with her own identity.
Maybe Shirley also saw her past self in Ruth. Perhaps it was a modicum of envy on Shirley’s part that hindered the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship, rather than hurt feelings. What else could it be?
Lillian could tell Ruth was trying to please Shirley because of the efforts she had made by coming to the etiquette class.
Shirley! She’d announced that she planned to pop in on the lesson, which might prove to be too much of a distraction. Lillian stood. “I’ll be right back, girls.” She’d head off Shirley before she could let herself in the kitchen door and sidetrack the class.
She scampered toward the kitchen. “Sunny,” she said, “when Mrs. Appelbaum arrives, ask her opinion on something to keep her in the kitchen. Whatever you do, don’t let her into the . . .”
As Lillian passed the pantry, Sunny shook her head and shifted her eyes to the right.
“Don’t let me where?” Shirley leaned against the counter.
Lillian’s neck prickled. She stopped short. Regrouped. “Shirl, what a surprise!” She kept her voice neutral. “Sunny, did you offer Mrs. Appelbaum a cold beverage?”
“Would you like some ginger ale?” Sunny pulled open the Frigidaire with arthritic hands. “We have a can of Black Cherry Wishniak soda if you’d rather. We also have grapefruit juice. It’s Mr. Diamond’s favorite. Fresh squeezed, of course.” She pointed at the pitcher of juice, closed the Frigidaire, and walked toward the dining room. “Or I could make you a cocktail if you’d like.”
Shirley touched Sunny’s arm and she stopped. “No, thank you, it’s much too early for me. But thank you for asking.” Shirley clasped and unclasped the top tortoiseshell button on her maroon cardigan, a shade so close to Lillian’s own burgundy suit. This season’s latest trend.
Sunny nodded. Smiled. Knew exactly when to back off.
When Sunny began working for her mother after Lillian was born, Sunny’s loyalty was to Anna. “Do as your mother says” and “Let your mother be” were among Sunny’s favorite sayings. Anna and Sunny had been friends since they were in high school, despite growing up on different sides of the neighborhood. They had bonded in the public library over a shared copy of the latest Nancy Drew novel set aside by the librarian for her favorite patrons. Anna and Sunny adored mysteries.