The Stationery Shop(56)

Everybody waited for Roya’s stomach to swell, for a baby to arrive. Walter’s mother, Alice, smiled hopefully at Roya’s waistline as though willing it to expand with life. It was very difficult to disappoint them.

One night, Walter’s sister came to visit from her apartment in downtown Boston. Roya served meat loaf and boiled carrots, not wanting to bother Patricia with Persian cuisine. The last time she had served her chicken and prune khoresh, Patricia had moved the food around on her plate and sighed. It had annoyed Roya to scrape all that food off the plate into the garbage afterward. What a waste. Patricia clearly did not like her food, which was fine. But what hurt Roya more was that Walter’s older sister clearly also did not like her.

“And what is new in the world of our lovely couple: Walter and Roya?” Patricia asked tentatively now at dinner, after sniffing the meat loaf on her plate.

“Walter is studying very much these days. And nights,” Roya said.

“Well. It’s completely understandable that he’d have to do so in law school, isn’t it? You can’t take it personally, Roya. He has to study hard. That’s how it works over here.”

“No, what I mean is that—” Roya started to say.

“Walter, are you getting enough rest? Enough to eat?” Patricia cut her off. “I can bring you a roast, if you like. Might be a nice break from . . . from the rest of it?”

“Oh, Roya is giving me everything I need. I’m all set. Thanks though, Patricia.”

“Well then.” Patricia smiled tightly. “Pardon me.”

They continued to sit and eat in silence. After a few minutes, Patricia raised her fork and then said, “So?”

“So, what?” Walter responded wearily.

“Oh, do I have to spell it out for you two! So. Shall I be stitching initials on a baby blanket anytime soon?”

Roya’s body went slack.

“See now, Patricia. What you need to understand is that Roya here is a modern woman. It’s 1959, for the love of God.” Walter took a gulp of his gin and tonic. “Roya wants to work,” he said. “As a scientist. And she’s very well qualified. You know that. She’s been sending out her applications and looking for a position ever since we moved back east.”

Patricia’s fork stayed suspended in midair. Then she put it down and said, “Don’t patronize me, Walter. As if I don’t work! But if you are married, it makes sense to have children. That is all.”

Patricia had never married. Five years older than Walter, she was employed by a bank in the financial district. She was known to be quite a whiz with numbers, and increasingly resentful of the secretarial work that she was relegated to doing.

“May I get you another drink, Patricia?” he asked.

Patricia glared and said something incomprehensible under her breath. Walter took that as a yes and went to the kitchen.

“I just want to work for a year or two,” Roya said meekly when left alone with her sister-in-law. The things Patricia had said unnerved her. A wedding, a husband, a house in the suburbs: these things were easier to accomplish and had already been neatly checked off the list. But children terrified her. She was not ready for the role of mother.

Patricia took a bite of meat loaf, chewed, and swallowed. She carefully dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “You can’t have everything fall into place for you just because you’re in America now. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh, I know,” Roya said. “I sure do.” She couldn’t resist saying it in an exaggerated American accent.

Patricia just stared at her for a few seconds. Then she muttered, “Poor Walter.”

Patricia had always made it clear that it was bad enough that her little brother had chosen a Persian bride over the many established WASPs in their social circle. To now have this little Iranian girl insist on working, for no good reason, seemed to truly rattle her.

“Not something you can control, now, is it?” Patricia said. “And there’s Walter to consider.”

“Pat, here you go!” Walter came back and handed his sister a fresh martini. His forced good cheer stopped when he saw Roya’s face. “Did I miss something?”

“Nothing, Walter dear.” Patricia took the drink. “Some people just think they control their own destinies, that is all. Too na?ve and foolish to know better.”



A few weeks later, Walter came home from law school and gave Roya a kiss as she stood at the stove cooking. “You know, one of my classmates has a sister who works at the business school. She’s leaving her job to have a baby.”

“Good for her,” Roya said. After the disastrous dinner conversation with Patricia, she had repeated in private to Walter that she just wasn’t ready for kids. He knew, he said. No rush. Don’t let my sister mess with you.

Why was Walter bringing up somebody’s baby now?

“Well, this fellow says that his sister’s position is going to be available.”

Roya stopped stirring the sauce on the stove.

“Look, I know it’s in the business school, and that’s not what you want. But it’s a job, Roya. And—well, you may want to apply before others do. Soon it’ll be officially opened up and loads of applications will come in.”

“I don’t want to be a secretary.” She thought of Patricia in her pencil skirts and tight sweaters typing for men at the bank, seething with thwarted ambition.