The Middlesteins(53)
Around the room the other guests took their seats, and again we noticed the new configuration of the Middlesteins; the traditional notion of the head table was now kaput, with the kids sitting with their school friends, Rachelle and Benny sitting with Rachelle’s parents and Edie, whose date had now disappeared, while at another table Robin sat glumly with her father, while her boyfriend chatted animatedly with the British woman, who seemed dazed, perhaps even a little angry, although she still held Richard’s hand tightly. We wouldn’t have wanted to be sitting anywhere else, but at the same time we wouldn’t have minded being a fly, hovering back and forth between Edie and Richard.
We tried to decide if we should go over and say hello, but to which table? We had never officially taken sides in the split. We still saw Richard at the health club and said hello, we still spoke to Edie, who was no more erratic than usual, giving and taking her affection and attention from us; we loved her when we saw her, but we hadn’t been able to count on her being emotionally present for years. Plenty of divorces had rolled through our lives, our children, our siblings, other peers, but we thought that once we hit a certain age, we were in it for life. When Richard left Edie after she got sick, especially after she got sick, there were too many ways to interpret it for us to decide how we felt. Everyone agreed that Edie was a tough woman to love, though she was worth loving. Was Richard saying that these unspoken rules did not apply to him? Was he a bold individual making a last grab for happiness? Or a coward who could not contend with fighting for his wife’s life? Was he merely soulless?
Did we even know these two people at all?
We are happy to inform you we were not disappointed with the food. The salmon—obviously we all ordered the salmon over the chicken, because (a) we just knew that chicken was going to be covered in cream sauce, and boy, was it ever, and (b) you can’t get enough omega-3 these days—was delicious. Also, the sauvignon blanc was so buttery it was practically sublime, and the women drank three glasses each, first depositing ice cubes from their water glass into their wineglass with their spoon, while the men, with the exception of the two designated drivers, drank Heinekens poured into glasses ceaselessly throughout the night.
At least a few of the Middlesteins had joined us in the celebration: Robin’s head lolled gently on her boyfriend’s shoulder, her eyelids barely open. We also were pretty sure we saw a bread roll go flying from the table where Edie sat over toward Richard’s general direction, bouncing instead off his chair. Richard’s girlfriend, who we had determined had a cute little figure on her and was at least five years younger than Richard, if not more, and who was overheard in the bathroom offering a stick of gum to someone, and definitely was British, or was at least British at some point in her life, and whom we never got to meet because we are apparently unimportant, made a not-quite-dramatic exit soon after this incident with barely a brush of lips to his cheek. We watched Edie watch this, and we watched Edie smile. Then she saw us watching her and hoisted herself up from her chair with the help of her son and came in our direction, walking slowly but surprisingly with ease, considering her weight, and, of course, those surgeries.
We had to admit she looked glorious, our Edie Middlestein, even as she was so ill of health. Her skin was a bluish putty, and she had gained another twenty pounds since the last time we saw her—was she three hundred pounds now? Three-fifty? We couldn’t tell anymore—but her hair was dyed a deep, lustrous black color, and it sprang out beautifully from her head, and she was covered in a vibrant plum-purple caftan flecked with shimmering gold threads, and she wore a fantastic array of gold jewelry, the centerpiece of which was a long braided necklace from which dozens of charms dangled, bouncing up and down on her chest as she made her way toward us, until finally she was leaning casually above us. We could only presume she was channeling some sort of higher spiritual force (or dark demonic agent) to power her through the night.
“My dear friends,” she said.
Dolly! we cried. We offered her our chairs, but she declined, instead grasping the back of Bobby Grodstein’s.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get over here sooner. There’s just so much excitement tonight.”
You look beautiful. How’s the health?
“Enough about me. Can you believe the children?”
Could you be any prouder?
“Not possible.”
But really, Edie, how are you feeling?
“Top of the world,” she said, and she opened her arms wide, and then she stumbled a little bit, and Al Weinman, still so fit, jumped up and steadied her. “I’m fine,” she said. “Too much excitement.”
We said: Why don’t you sit, Edie? What we were thinking was: What a shame her husband isn’t here to catch her.
She did sit, finally, and we all unclenched whatever body parts we had been clenching. “The kids are going to do a little dance in a minute,” she said. She did some jazz hands. “A little razzle-dazzle for the crowd. Hey, did you understand the theme?”
Yes, we’re at the waltz table. It’s a very old dance for very old people.
That cracked Edie up, and she laughed so loudly that other people turned and stared, but we loved that laugh, we loved her as much as she scared us sometimes. She was just so deeply feeling about so many ideas, and when she was present and capable of loving, she had astonished us with her fire. She had driven us to doctors’ appointments and written us lovely notes when our children got married and brought deli trays over when we sat shiva for our parents. She had convinced us to try sushi for the first time, and also to donate money to Planned Parenthood, even though, obviously, none of us had ever had abortions. When she was engaged, she could make anything happen. When she was sad, and she had been so much lately, she could do nothing but eat.