Well Behaved Wives(39)

Ruth felt relieved. She hadn’t misjudged him. “I hate secrets. Hate lying.”

“You mean to my parents?” Asher scratched his chin. “Maybe it’s not so much a lie as a surprise.”

Asher was clever, but Ruth couldn’t be comforted by semantics. He knew she wasn’t convinced. “Look, I know you don’t want a life like my mother’s—stuck in her simple ways.”

Ruth whirled out of Asher’s arms. “I don’t think it’s simple at all, Ash. Your mother raised three children. Managed her marriage so your father always looked good. Planned her own activities, a social life with your dad, and events as a family. Even with a cleaning lady, she ran this household. Taught etiquette lessons. Allowed people to live with your family. Not to mention being involved with the Sisterhood, mah-jongg, bridge, and, I’m sure, the PTA.” She paused to take a breath. “You’re underestimating her. I’m sure she’s always done ten things at once. I don’t think having a daughter-in-law who’s a lawyer will rattle her. She might even be proud.”

Ruth thought saying it aloud might allay her fears. It did not.

He stared at her, concern written on his face. “That you work? No. I know my mother.”

Ruth planted her feet. “I want to start studying for the bar without hiding.”

Asher scratched his head like he suddenly didn’t know this woman at all. “The more she likes you, the easier it will be. It’s happening, Ru. Just be patient. Please. This is hard for me too, you know. I don’t want to disappoint you. But I need my mother to be on board.”

“We’ve been here two weeks; we’ve been married for seventy-eight days. The longer we wait, the harder it will be. She’ll feel betrayed.”

“I think if we wait, there’s a better chance they’ll accept it.”

“Ash, I’m taking the bar and getting a job. I want your parents to be happy for me or I wouldn’t have gone along with this. But I don’t need their approval. I didn’t go to law school to be a housewife spending all my time with women who have easy lives. I want to do the good I know I can. This is not a surprise to you, Ash.”

She hadn’t meant to be so confrontational. She bristled at pushing against him, but didn’t have a choice.

“I know.” Asher nodded.

When he buried his head on her shoulder, she chose to believe him.

“Can we wait until after the holidays?” he asked. “If an opportunity to tell them hasn’t presented itself, we’ll create one.”

Rosh Hashanah was only two and a half weeks away. A reasonable request.

Possibly. Or was that Asher’s way of putting things off? Of not having to confront his mother? Of postponing having Ruth speak her truth? Was Harriet right that Ruth needed their permission to live her life?

Maybe. But no matter what else she believed, Ruth understood that compromise was the cornerstone of a solid marriage. Asher would step up and defend his working wife when the time came. Harriet and everyone else would see. Ruth needed to believe that. She wasn’t ready to give up on her dreams or her marriage to Asher.

“You promise? No matter what?” Ruth asked. “After the holidays?”

“I promise.”





Chapter 17


LILLIAN

Lillian hummed, which was unlike her. Maybe she wanted to be a Lillian who hummed. She was seen as accomplished and well turned out, not playful or fun. But here she was, sidestepping around the kitchen to the beat in her head, purring. The light heart of a girl with nary a care. Which she was not. She was an accomplished etiquette teacher.

Today at Saks had been fun, as she’d hoped. She taught the girls how to look their best and showed them they needn’t be overbearing to get what they wanted. And her time with Maryanne had evoked Lillian’s mother in a way that wouldn’t have happened if Lillian hadn’t decided to do things differently.

There was a comfort about the memories of her mother when she was around Maryanne.

Even though Anna was institutionalized, they had once had happy times. Had shared broken pretzels.

She too might be a broken pretzel—and that was okay. Anna had shown her that perfection was overrated. The pieces were just as sweet, just as crunchy.

Pammie came into the kitchen. Penny, as always, was on her heels. “Can you teach me how to make breakfast?”

Lillian laughed. “Don’t you want dinner first?”

Pammie gave an exaggerated sigh to indicate teenage exasperation at a parental joke.

“For Donald,” Pammie said. “So I know how to make him breakfast when we get married. He likes pancakes with lots of syrup.”

Lillian stepped back from the fowl and rinsed her hands. “You’re fourteen. There is no way you need to be thinking about making breakfast for an imaginary husband. I’m sure whatever you make for the man you marry will be fine. In the meantime, what about you? What’s your favorite breakfast?”

“Mother! My favorite breakfast will be the one that comes when I wake up as Donald’s wife.”

Lillian felt her heart beating a little faster and took in a breath. At least she’d been a junior in college before marriage had really occurred to her. But fourteen? She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let Pammie waste her life like that.