Goodbye To All That (45 page)

“So now you know.”

“Where’s your sister?”

“She called from the road. She said the traffic is awful, but they should get here by about four.”

“
They
,” Ruth muttered. “What do you know about this new one? He’s not a hairdresser, is he?”

“He’s a lawyer,” Brooke told her.

“Ah.” Ruth didn’t want to seem snooty, but she was pleased that her Ivy-League daughter was dating someone at her professional level.

“Not Jewish,” Jill warned.

“That’s okay. He’s a lawyer. They’ll have something to talk about besides styling mousse.”

“I liked Luc,” Brooke said wistfully, then took a long drink of wine. “I’ll go bring these into the living room for the boys to munch on.” She lifted the vegetable platter, nestled the small bowl of dip beneath the broccoli blossom she’d created, grabbed her wine glass and glided out of the kitchen.

“It’s nice of her to help,” Ruth noted. “She doesn’t usually contribute in the kitchen.”

“She’s helped me plan this entire dinner, Mom. I can’t believe it, but she and I are really getting along well. We’ll be moving into our office on December first. I think it’s going to work out.”

“I think you’re both nuts,” Ruth said, “but why not? You can afford this?”

“Not right away. We’ll both be operating at a loss for a while, but the accountant said that’s to be expected.” Jill sighed. Obviously, she wasn’t thrilled about operating at a loss. After a long slug of Diet Coke—straight from the can; why couldn’t she drink out of a glass like a civilized person?—she smiled. “We’re both taking a risk. The rent is cheap, at least, although God knows they wouldn’t dare to charge more for this room. It’s not much bigger than a closet. Actually, it’s smaller than the closet in Brooke’s bedroom, but she’s got a humongous closet. We’ll make it work. We’re planning to share a desk, which is good because there’s no way we could fit two desks into the place.”

“And you’re going to lose money?”

“Because of you, Mom.” Jill placed the lid back on the pot of boiling potatoes and gave Ruth a hug. “You took a risk. You took a chance. You took a leap of faith. That’s what we’re doing—taking a leap of faith.”

“Faith has nothing to do with me,” Ruth argued. “As it is, I haven’t been in touch with the B’nai Torah Sisterhood in weeks.”

“I mean faith in things working out. Or faith in yourself, knowing that if they don’t work out you’ll still be okay.” She released Ruth, and when she stepped back Ruth saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “If I lose money trying to expand my catalogue writing business, I’ll be okay. If Brooke’s party planning business doesn’t work out, she’ll be okay.”

“Of course she’ll be okay, all the money Doug makes.”

“And we’ll be okay, too. I thought Gordon would be opposed to this. I expected him to wave the checkbook under my nose and explain that we couldn’t afford it. But he’s fine. He said I should give it a try and see what happens.”

“He’s a good man, your husband,” Ruth said, and meant it. If she’d stayed with Richard while working at First-Rate, he would have hated it. He would have seen her job as a commentary on him. He would have worried that people might think he didn’t earn enough to support her. Or he would have been embarrassed that she was doing a job you didn’t need a college degree for. She’d hinted for years that she wanted to get a job, and he’d always laughed off her comments or reminded her she already had a job.

Taking care of him. That had been her job. Taking care of him, the house, her children—everything and everyone but herself.

She’d had to leave. For her own sanity, for her own satisfaction, she’d had to.

Abbie bounded into the kitchen, munching on a curl of green pepper. “Hey, Grandma!” She raced to Ruth and squeezed her in a crushing hug. When had she gotten taller than Ruth? Not only had she grown an inch in the couple of weeks since Ruth had last seen her, but she’d grown in other ways. Her bosom was no longer just a couple of bumps the size of mosquito bites on her chest, and her waist seemed a little narrower. So did her face. She was losing the baby fat that had softened her cheeks and chin.

Before Ruth could comment, Abbie popped the rest of the pepper into her mouth and spoke while she was still chewing. “I didn’t even hear you and Grandpa arrive. I was texting Caitlin, and the next thing I knew, you guys were here. Grandpa said he drove you. Does that mean you’re back together with him? Because I think your apartment is so cool.”

“I think it’s cool, too,” Ruth assured her. “Grandpa and I are friends. I’ve still got the apartment, though.”

“Cool. Because if you decide to move back in with Grandpa, you should keep the apartment anyway. Like a secret hideaway or something.”

“An escape hatch,” Jill said.

“Kind of like Mom’s office.” Abbie grinned mischievously. “I know she’s renting the office just to get away from me and Noah because we
drive her crazy.
” She made her voice deep and spooky when she said that, and waved her hands wildly in front of her mother’s face. “Noah is eating all the carrots. He’s such a pig.”

“Tell him to eat the broccoli.”

“Oh, yeah. Fat chance.”

The doorbell rang and Abbie sprang toward the door. “Aunt Melissa!” she shouted, and Ruth never had a chance to tell her how right she was about keeping the apartment.

“I’m a registered Democrat,” he said, saving Abbie from her grandmother’s disapproval.

“Last time Aunt Melissa visited, she brought Luc,” Mackenzie commented.

“Yeah, Luc,” Madison chimed in.

“He did hair,” Mackenzie said.

“I do intellectual property,” Aidan informed her, winning points for being unflappable in the face of such tactlessness. “It’s similar to hair.”

“He also helped me get the price down on the apartment,” Melissa added. “He’s a hell of a negotiator. So—something to give thanks for!” She lifted her wine glass in a toast to herself. “My bid was accepted, and now I’ve just got to survive the mortgage application.”

Congratulations were shouted, glasses were raised, Doug mentioned something about how the real estate market in Manhattan seemed impervious to the upheavals in other regions and Brooke mentioned the name of an interior designer she knew in Soho, if Melissa was interested. Melissa joked that by the time she was done paying the down payment and closing costs, she’d be lucky to afford an air mattress. Decorating would have to wait.

“It’s a terrific apartment,” Aidan assured everyone.

“How many bedrooms?” Jill’s father asked.

“Two.”

“Two bedrooms? You need two bedrooms?” Jill’s mother tilted slightly in her chair, as if trying to glimpse Melissa’s abdomen. Jill, at the foot of the table, could have told her there was nothing to see.

“I might eventually,” Melissa said laconically.

Aidan was less discreet. “The second bedroom would make a nice nursery.”

An uproar ensued—a happy uproar, for the most part, punctuated by the twins squealing, “What? What’s everybody screaming about?”

The hubbub was silenced by Melissa’s vehement announcement: “I am
not
pregnant.” Jill scanned the long table and noticed more people were staring at Aidan than at Melissa. The object of their critical scrutiny was grinning. He wasn’t photo-spread handsome like Luc, but he had an animated smile and sparkly green eyes. And he was demonstrating an admirable ability to take on her family without quailing.

“It’s just, you two haven’t known each other very long,” Jill’s mother said. She sounded as if she was selecting each word with care, but it was too late for diplomacy.

Across the table, Jill’s father turned to Aidan, who was seated next to him, and said, “Not that this is any of our business.”

“Of course it’s your business,” Aidan said affably. “She’s your daughter.”

That won him a few points from Jill. “Aidan, have some more stuffing,” she offered, nudging the bowl toward him. “Doug, you look like you could use some more turkey.”

Doug held up his hand in protest, but when Gordon passed him the platter of meat, he forced himself to spear a slice of breast meat and add it to his plate.

“So, you didn’t want to have Thanksgiving with your own family?” Jill’s mother asked.

“They live on Long Island,” he said. “I see them all the time. Besides, I’ve got four sisters and a brother. One less mouth to feed is okay with them.” He grinned and scooped a spoonful of stuffing onto his plate. “Your stuffing is better than my mother’s. She ruins it by putting raisins into it.”

“Raisins! Eew!” The twins erupted in giggles while Noah made gagging sounds and wrapped his hands around his neck, pretending to choke.

“Did you know,” Abbie addressed him, “that Grandma is a musician?”

“No, I didn’t,” Aidan said, glancing quizzically at Melissa.

Jill’s mother shook her head and waved her hand. “I majored in music, sweetheart. That doesn’t make me a musician.”

“She wrote a paper about this old composer. What was his name, Grandma? I forgot.”

“Corelli.”

“Right, Corelli,” Abbie confirmed.

“She wrote about his suspenders,” Noah added.

This elicited some confusion among most of the guests. Jill corrected him. “Suspended seconds,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”

“Yes.” Jill’s mother attempted a modest smile, but she sat straighter and a flash of pride lit her eyes. Maybe she was sort of a single woman, maybe she was destined to become a divorcée, maybe she was a clerk in a convenience store—but she’d written an honors thesis on Corelli’s suspended seconds, and that was worthy of respect.

“I think classical music is boring,” Noah said.

Abbie gave him a withering look. “You’re probably just too immature to understand it.” She turned back to Jill’s mother. “Next time I visit, will you play me some Corelli?”