Rich and Pretty(24)

“I’ve noticed,” Lauren says.





Chapter 8


As a kid, Sarah hated Sundays, felt itchy from first thing in the morning, not because of church, Huck and Lulu weren’t church people, but from that awareness of the looming Monday, that quiet sadness of the city on a Sunday, though it was worse, worse by far, to spend the Sunday in Connecticut, as they sometimes did, and she’d lobby to leave the house by lunchtime so she could be home, safe, ready for something, some nameless thing that was gathering, that she could sense. She still doesn’t love Sundays.

They wake early. Dan gets the coffee, she gets the paper, which the doorman has dropped in front of their door, pointlessly wrapped in its blue plastic bag. They don’t lie around in bed, which she makes up the minute they’re up because she hates an unmade bed, but they don’t rush to dress either, and Dan will turn on one of those soft news Sunday-morning programs, folksy and upbeat, and do four, five things at once, drink coffee, watch television, check e-mail, read the paper, make notes, look at his phone.

Sunday nights are, it’s understood, dinner as a family. There have been exceptions, as of course there would be over the course of thirty-two years: illness, travel, work, college. Dan understands. Dan comes, it’s nice to be four instead of three, some balance restored, contra the God they don’t believe in, the one who killed her brother. This Sunday Dan’s not there, he’s at work; there’s always that, because work is respected in this house, particularly Dan’s work.

“You saw that the Westons are putting their house on the market?” Lulu flits. She doesn’t like to sit. She’ll eat three bites, get up and start cooking dessert. They never eat in the dining room, these nights, just the family: That’s for formal affairs, when there’s a caterer on hand. Sundays, they eat in the kitchen, talking while Lulu stirs and chops and takes breaks to dash back to the table for another bite or to get a sip of water. “There’s bread, I bought it at a stand in Union Square just for tonight, I almost forgot it.” Lulu gets up again to fetch the bread.

“Where are the Westons going?” The same roast potatoes, the same crunch. It’s comforting, as it’s meant to be. Sarah sips her wine.

“The Westons are what we in the industry call ‘cashing out.’” This is a classic of Huck’s: references to the “industry,” no matter what’s being discussed. It’s not funny, though Sarah accepts that he means it as a joke.

“Empty nest!” Lulu deposits the bread on the table. Slick and oily, a cross-hatching of rosemary on it. “The twins are out of college now, what do they need with that big old house, just the two of them? This looks good, doesn’t it?”

It does look good. Sarah tugs at the end of it, no need for the knife—they’re not formal. It’s surprisingly gummy. “I’m out of college, Mom. What do you need with this big old house?”

“Can’t break bread when the bread won’t break, Lulu.” Huck tugs at the loaf.

“I’ll get the knife.” This, said as she’s already across the room, doing just that. “Don’t think we haven’t had offers on this house, Sarah. But I’m sentimental.”

“I would be lost if we sold this house. Lost!” Huck, mimicking horror. “You’ve lived your entire life here, you don’t want to see it sold, do you?”

She wrests a piece of the loaf off before her mother is back, chews it thoughtfully. “I’m teasing, Papa. No. But the Westons. I mean, I get it. Hey, this bread is good, Mom.”

Lulu beams as if she’s made it herself. “I know, they had free samples, that’s why I bought it. Free samples. I ate three!”

Sarah chews thoughtfully. She wishes, not for the first time, for Lulu’s metabolism, but we don’t get to choose what we inherit. She peels the skin off the chicken, which is unfortunate, because it’s the best part.

“We need this house for our parties, of course,” Lulu says. “And I love it here.”

“Speaking of our parties, your mother’s had a good idea. I don’t know why we haven’t had this idea yet, but leave it to Lulu.”

“I wonder where they’ll go, the Westons.” Lulu slices into the bread. “Not Florida? People don’t actually do that, do they?”

“They do, Mom. Maybe you and Papa should do that. Go somewhere warm.”

“We’ll buy in Cuba the second Castro dies. Any day now!” Huck raises his glass in salute.

“Ridiculous.” Lulu reaches for the brussels sprouts.

“Okay, then, I’ll bite.” Sarah looks at her parents. They’ve always been this way. The Huck and Lulu show. “What’s the big idea?”

“I should add it was cheap, this bread, seven dollars, imagine, you’d pay seven dollars just for the rosemary, to be honest.” It’s unclear to whom Lulu is speaking.

“Well, it was your mother’s idea, but I’ll do the talking. It’s about your wedding, your nuptials, the ceremony; you should do it here, at home, don’t you think? Why haven’t we talked about this possibility yet?” Huck looks at her. He’s in professorial mode. “I mean, not a church. There’s the club, but you and Dan, you’re not club people, are you? That’s so old-fashioned.”