Well Behaved Wives(14)
She took a breath and stepped toward the kitchen. Just jump in. “Shall I set the table for four?” she asked.
Shirley stood at the stove; her lipstick had been reapplied to a crisp and clear apple red. “Thank you, yes. You look lovely, Ruth.”
Ruth felt her cheeks flush and she tugged at her belt, basking in the compliment as she went for the dishes. She’d learned how to set a proper table long before arriving in Philadelphia. Her father was a printer, not a caveman, but prior to Ruth’s first dinner with her in-laws in their home, she’d allowed her mother-in-law to show her a place setting as if this were something new.
Whom did it hurt?
In succession, she carried four dinner plates to the table, four bread plates, four salad plates, four water glasses, and all the useful, as well as pointless, silverware. She walked by her mother-in-law to retrieve the napkins from the pantry and the relish tray from the refrigerator.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to freshen up,” Ruth said.
“It’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it,” Shirley said. She pointed to the cabinet with her manicured nails. “The napkins on the left side of the cupboard have been ironed.”
By the time the table was set and the water glasses filled, Asher and his father should be home. One of the benefits of Asher joining his father’s firm, Appelbaum Accounting, was that he would always be home for dinner. “Except February through April,” Shirley said. Ruth would be a tax widow.
“All done.” Ruth walked into the kitchen and tied on an apron. Shirley, who was stirring something at the stove, looked up briefly and smiled but said nothing, magnifying the silence between them.
When Ruth cooked dinner in her and Asher’s own kitchen, she was going to hum, maybe even sing. She broke through the quiet by clearing her throat.
Her mother-in-law turned to face her. “You looked like you were having a good time at Lillian Diamond’s.”
“Yes, and I saw Carrie at Penn Fruit. I’m going over to her place for coffee tomorrow.”
Shirley’s eyebrow raised and she seemed genuinely pleased. “Good for you. We’ll defrost something for you to take.” She didn’t wait for an answer but returned to stirring the pot, letting steam waft into the air.
Ruth stepped back from the rising cloud of vapor that threatened to flatten her hair and melt her makeup. Her mother-in-law dumped a colander full of string beans into the boiling water. Then she turned back to Ruth and smiled. “That’s a lovely shade of lipstick.”
“Thank you. Do you want me to watch the string beans?” Ruth held up a giant spoon, indicating she could wear lipstick and stir string beans at the same time. The only thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—do was call Shirley Mom. Ruth had only one mother, Bess Cohen.
Asher had explained to Shirley that, since Ruth’s mother had died when she was four years old, asking Ruth to call her Mom was an insensitive request. Her mother-in-law’s only acknowledgment of this perceived slight came via flinches and grimaces when Ruth called her Shirley in public.
The string beans danced in the rolling boil. Shirley puttered around the square kitchen. Ruth could sense her stealing glances her way. Was she not string-bean trustworthy?
Ruth pictured the book she had dropped on her bed. She wished the words and theories wound right down the steps and into her brain. She wished needing to study didn’t mean she had to take time away from setting the table. Otherwise, how would she find those four hundred hours?
Push it out of your head.
Ruth shut off the burner when the string beans turned a bit more gray than green. Her shoulders pricked from an imaginary breeze. She didn’t have to look to know what caused it; she could feel Shirley’s eyes on her.
The front door squeaked open, then clicked closed. Thank goodness. Asher would help her.
Shirley removed her apron and crouched down to peek at dinner—and her reflection probably—in the window of the Hotpoint. She ran her fingers over her cheeks, perhaps appraising the smoothness of her skin. When Shirley stepped away, Ruth patted her hair and was glad she had applied lipstick. In that moment, the swipe of color on her lips made her feel . . . what? . . . wifely. Despite everything, the thought of Asher—happy to see her, and finding her pretty—set her heart aflutter.
She hadn’t expected this, yet it felt great. Freshening up would now be part of Ruth’s plan.
“We must have taken a wrong turn, son,” Leon said. “Our wives have been replaced by movie stars.”
Silly, loving compliments were Leon’s shtick and made Ruth and Asher chuckle. Still, Shirley flushed as she swatted at him. It was almost endearing.
“Smells good, Shirl,” Leon said, sniffing the air.
Though he was as warm as she was cool, there was no kiss or furtive glance between them. Ruth wondered if maybe that’s how it was after thirty years of marriage. She only had her uncles and aunts to go by. Her family was demonstrative—ferociously hugging and planting loving kisses on cheeks and atop heads for anything from hello to a major milestone, like her college graduation.
Public affection didn’t come naturally to any of the Appelbaums. The first time she’d kissed Asher on the cheek as they walked through Morningside Park, he blushed to purple and all but wiped it off, glancing around for gawkers, of which there were none. Ruth laughed and enjoyed mocking him as she chased him for another kiss. Asher let himself be caught, but only once he was sure there were no onlookers.