and a grey arborite table with two red chairs. They had borrowed a truck to pick up a couch and a couple of armchairs at the Sally Ann, bought two twin beds at Eatonâs, and raided Margaretâs stash in the basement at home for lamps and curtains and pots and pans and dishes and cutlery.
Patrick and Murray tried to describe their apartment one night when everyone was in the living room watching I Love Lucy. Billâs face looked attentive but he laughed nearly every time Lucy opened her mouth, pounding the arms of his chair in appreciation. Margaret wouldnât let Bill watch his other favourite show, The Honeymooners, not if she was around anyway, because growing up sheâd had enough of sloppy, angry men screaming to last her two lifetimes and how could this possibly, possibly be funny?
She had understood for a long time that the invective at her own girlhood kitchen table, the blind faith in strict rules and the outrage that followed their breaking, had been prompted mostly by a sick longing for order, for a kind of peace, and she knew this longing was not unusual, probably not even despicable. But now, from the vantage point of middle age, standing at the kitchen sink, at her kitchen sink, she recognized that all of it together had been nothing more than ordinary selfishness and stupidity and perhaps even laziness, all of it together had only been her fatherâs way to make things easier for himself.
She guessed Bill likely turned on The Honeymooners when she wasnât home. Heâd told her that Art Carney was the one to watch, not Gleason, said the way Carney survived Gleason was what made it so enjoyable.
In a commercial for Everlasting pots and pans, when the boys saw the chance to bring everyoneâs attention back to themselves, they announced that neither Margaret nor Daphne would be allowed to come in to clean their apartment. This claim to independence caused a look to pass quickly from Margaret to Daphne, one look among the many they would come to perfect between them, âthe repertoireâ it would eventually be called, after enough time had passed.
Sometimes Patrick and Sandra drove into London to see Murray. They would pick him up for an early show or just sit around talking before he had to go to work at midnight. Sometimes they arrived with groceries and Sandra made her Home Economics recipe for chili or stuffed green peppers or apple crisp. A few times a month they stayed overnight, telling everyone Murray was going to be there when he wasnât.
Because Murray never had anyone at the apartment and because he drove home every time he had a couple of days off, Patrick assumed he had nothing special going for him in the city and it seemed reasonable to ask Sandra to set him up with someone. She soon had several possibles for consideration but Murray wasnât biting. He worked, he slept, he drove home to see his parents, he went over to the house as usual to spend some time talking to Daphne or Paul or to Bill and Margaret.
Patrick didnât say so directly, but he thought Murrayâs reluctance was peculiar. He couldnât comprehend why Murray was dragging his feet, especially since Sandra was willing to help with the hard part and the rewards were substantial. But he gave it up, carried on alone, left Murray out of it.
He had started to go out to Sandraâs and sit around on the porch with her father and the dogs if she was washing her hair or something, and soon he didnât have to ask her out any more, sheâd just tell him if she had to do something else. They would go to a show or lie around one house or the other watching television until they couldnât stand it any longer and then they would drive out to the lake to find a private depression in a grassy dune.
Like Daphne, Sandra had two more years of high school, and one night out at the inland lakes after theyâd spread the blanket on the sand, at her insistence they began to discuss a
Patrick and Murray tried to describe their apartment one night when everyone was in the living room watching I Love Lucy. Billâs face looked attentive but he laughed nearly every time Lucy opened her mouth, pounding the arms of his chair in appreciation. Margaret wouldnât let Bill watch his other favourite show, The Honeymooners, not if she was around anyway, because growing up sheâd had enough of sloppy, angry men screaming to last her two lifetimes and how could this possibly, possibly be funny?
She had understood for a long time that the invective at her own girlhood kitchen table, the blind faith in strict rules and the outrage that followed their breaking, had been prompted mostly by a sick longing for order, for a kind of peace, and she knew this longing was not unusual, probably not even despicable. But now, from the vantage point of middle age, standing at the kitchen sink, at her kitchen sink, she recognized that all of it together had been nothing more than ordinary selfishness and stupidity and perhaps even laziness, all of it together had only been her fatherâs way to make things easier for himself.
She guessed Bill likely turned on The Honeymooners when she wasnât home. Heâd told her that Art Carney was the one to watch, not Gleason, said the way Carney survived Gleason was what made it so enjoyable.
In a commercial for Everlasting pots and pans, when the boys saw the chance to bring everyoneâs attention back to themselves, they announced that neither Margaret nor Daphne would be allowed to come in to clean their apartment. This claim to independence caused a look to pass quickly from Margaret to Daphne, one look among the many they would come to perfect between them, âthe repertoireâ it would eventually be called, after enough time had passed.
Sometimes Patrick and Sandra drove into London to see Murray. They would pick him up for an early show or just sit around talking before he had to go to work at midnight. Sometimes they arrived with groceries and Sandra made her Home Economics recipe for chili or stuffed green peppers or apple crisp. A few times a month they stayed overnight, telling everyone Murray was going to be there when he wasnât.
Because Murray never had anyone at the apartment and because he drove home every time he had a couple of days off, Patrick assumed he had nothing special going for him in the city and it seemed reasonable to ask Sandra to set him up with someone. She soon had several possibles for consideration but Murray wasnât biting. He worked, he slept, he drove home to see his parents, he went over to the house as usual to spend some time talking to Daphne or Paul or to Bill and Margaret.
Patrick didnât say so directly, but he thought Murrayâs reluctance was peculiar. He couldnât comprehend why Murray was dragging his feet, especially since Sandra was willing to help with the hard part and the rewards were substantial. But he gave it up, carried on alone, left Murray out of it.
He had started to go out to Sandraâs and sit around on the porch with her father and the dogs if she was washing her hair or something, and soon he didnât have to ask her out any more, sheâd just tell him if she had to do something else. They would go to a show or lie around one house or the other watching television until they couldnât stand it any longer and then they would drive out to the lake to find a private depression in a grassy dune.
Like Daphne, Sandra had two more years of high school, and one night out at the inland lakes after theyâd spread the blanket on the sand, at her insistence they began to discuss a
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