thing for one second so we can have a real conversation?” and I’d said, “What lawyer thing? This is me, take it or leave it.”
“No way, there’s a real person in there, a real girl who can feel something.”
“Feel what,” I asked him, “What am I supposed to be feeling, and how is my job somehow an impediment to that?”
“Who uses words like impediment in everyday conversation?”
“Stop changing the subject,” I said.
“I want to talk to you about having a family and all you can do is respond with arguments and logic, and your career . . .”
“And now we get to the point,” I told him. “My career that you seem to find so threatening.”
“Can’t you just have some feelings, for God’s sake?”
And so I gave him feelings. I screamed at him for all I was worth about my feelings. And the next day I came home to find his set of keys on my front table and the closet half empty.
Beck says, “Are you in there?”
“I guess.”
“What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “What isn’t wrong? Mom’s getting evicted, she could have had a stroke, my dad . . . Forget it. I better eat something or they’ll have to pull up a bed for me next to Mom.”
The sandwich tastes like dust, but I force myself to chew every bite, appreciating Beck for his respectful silence.
Chapter 17
Maeve
S ince I’m banned from working, I might as well take advantage of the privacy.
I slip my hands into the handles of my sewing shears. Sitting on top of my bed is not the most reasonable place for a sewing project, but it’s the only space I have that’s big enough. Back in the old days, when I used to sew clothes for Anna, I’d set up a card table in the office space and duck back there during slow moments.
That’s not an option for this particular project.
Back in the old days I also would have whipped up this dress without a pattern, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done much serious sewing. The rhythmic, metallic snip, snip is calming, which is good for me, all in all.
The doctor had discharged me with an armload of pamphlets, including one about stress reduction. I almost laughed in his face, but he was just trying to help.
I suppose, in her way, Anna is also just trying to help, but she must have realized the last thing I need is harassment, because since the hospital she’s backed off.
My wedding ring taps my chest as I sit back for a moment and stretch. I didn’t even hesitate when I put it back on, though I made sure Anna wasn’t looking. It’s my ring and I can wear it how I like. As I sit forward to snip again, it swings briefly into my view, a glint of white gold.
Small white flowers swirl over a field of blue in the shade of a cool spring sky. It will be a shift dress, sleeveless, to the knee. It’s always been flattering on me and I can’t find them anymore. It was the style of dress I was wearing when I met Robert, in fact.
Dean Martin croons on my CD player about pillows and dreaming. I used to take so much flak for my taste in music, because all the other kids were shimmying to the waning days of disco or getting stoned listening to The Who. I didn’t like the teasing, but I didn’t change my ways, either. I wasn’t like all those other girls, and maybe that’s why Robert liked me back.
It was 1973 when we met. I used to tag along with Sean, my older cousin and the closest thing I had to a brother. Sally was hanging out in the group, too. She was quirky, and her quirky was still cute. She was eight years older than Sean and shaving years off her age even then. Her wild, kinky black hair and heavily kohled eyes were exotic and exciting to me. Sally called me “doll” and I loved being included that way in their circle of sophisticated people. I was only eighteen, still in high school.
One night in early fall I went to the drive-in. I was supposed to meet Nick, a pock-marked boy with big teeth who I’d thought was nice. I’d grabbed a ride with Sean and then wandered
“No way, there’s a real person in there, a real girl who can feel something.”
“Feel what,” I asked him, “What am I supposed to be feeling, and how is my job somehow an impediment to that?”
“Who uses words like impediment in everyday conversation?”
“Stop changing the subject,” I said.
“I want to talk to you about having a family and all you can do is respond with arguments and logic, and your career . . .”
“And now we get to the point,” I told him. “My career that you seem to find so threatening.”
“Can’t you just have some feelings, for God’s sake?”
And so I gave him feelings. I screamed at him for all I was worth about my feelings. And the next day I came home to find his set of keys on my front table and the closet half empty.
Beck says, “Are you in there?”
“I guess.”
“What’s wrong?”
I shrug. “What isn’t wrong? Mom’s getting evicted, she could have had a stroke, my dad . . . Forget it. I better eat something or they’ll have to pull up a bed for me next to Mom.”
The sandwich tastes like dust, but I force myself to chew every bite, appreciating Beck for his respectful silence.
Chapter 17
Maeve
S ince I’m banned from working, I might as well take advantage of the privacy.
I slip my hands into the handles of my sewing shears. Sitting on top of my bed is not the most reasonable place for a sewing project, but it’s the only space I have that’s big enough. Back in the old days, when I used to sew clothes for Anna, I’d set up a card table in the office space and duck back there during slow moments.
That’s not an option for this particular project.
Back in the old days I also would have whipped up this dress without a pattern, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done much serious sewing. The rhythmic, metallic snip, snip is calming, which is good for me, all in all.
The doctor had discharged me with an armload of pamphlets, including one about stress reduction. I almost laughed in his face, but he was just trying to help.
I suppose, in her way, Anna is also just trying to help, but she must have realized the last thing I need is harassment, because since the hospital she’s backed off.
My wedding ring taps my chest as I sit back for a moment and stretch. I didn’t even hesitate when I put it back on, though I made sure Anna wasn’t looking. It’s my ring and I can wear it how I like. As I sit forward to snip again, it swings briefly into my view, a glint of white gold.
Small white flowers swirl over a field of blue in the shade of a cool spring sky. It will be a shift dress, sleeveless, to the knee. It’s always been flattering on me and I can’t find them anymore. It was the style of dress I was wearing when I met Robert, in fact.
Dean Martin croons on my CD player about pillows and dreaming. I used to take so much flak for my taste in music, because all the other kids were shimmying to the waning days of disco or getting stoned listening to The Who. I didn’t like the teasing, but I didn’t change my ways, either. I wasn’t like all those other girls, and maybe that’s why Robert liked me back.
It was 1973 when we met. I used to tag along with Sean, my older cousin and the closest thing I had to a brother. Sally was hanging out in the group, too. She was quirky, and her quirky was still cute. She was eight years older than Sean and shaving years off her age even then. Her wild, kinky black hair and heavily kohled eyes were exotic and exciting to me. Sally called me “doll” and I loved being included that way in their circle of sophisticated people. I was only eighteen, still in high school.
One night in early fall I went to the drive-in. I was supposed to meet Nick, a pock-marked boy with big teeth who I’d thought was nice. I’d grabbed a ride with Sean and then wandered
Similar Books
