Well Behaved Wives(9)

Since Shirley and Lillian were longtime friends, Ruth had expected to be admonished for eloping. Perhaps to save face, Shirley hadn’t shared the whole truth about that sunny Sunday in late June that Asher had implored his parents to visit him with the promise of “big news.”

After a brunch-worthy spread of bagels and lox, complete with champagne, Asher said, “We got married” as casually as if he had asked them to pass the kugel.

“That’s how you thank us?” Shirley had screeched to Asher. “For college, and graduate school, and this apartment, and a job to come home to? You exclude us from your wedding? We’re so terrible?” Shirley wiped tears with the backs of her hands and glared at Ruth. “You should have known better.”

Should she have?

She hadn’t considered any lasting implications of eloping—all she’d wanted was security with Asher.

Leon had wrapped his arm around Shirley and whispered in her ear.

“I will not watch my step!” his mother said, and shifted away from her husband.

“Ma, listen,” Asher said. “This was my idea. Don’t blame Ruth.”

Asher had defended her—which made Ruth want to take the blame. Almost.

“The plan is to work for Dad and for us to live in the attic, right, sweetheart?” Asher continued.

It was? For how long? They hadn’t discussed this. They hadn’t discussed anything. Wasn’t impetuousness the hallmark of eloping? Before she’d said a word to her in-laws—the term felt strange—Ruth realized she was nodding.

Shirley sniffed. “You’ll love Wynnefield, dear. I just know it.”

Ruth hadn’t wanted to anger or sadden her new mother-in-law, so she forced a smile, unable to conjure up the right words. This was new—Ruth had always loved and commanded words.

She dragged her reflections back to the present as Lillian waggled her finger. “No gossiping, girls.” She stood and walked back through the living room. “Continue getting to know one another. I’ll be right back.”

Lillian gave the impression she always knew what to say. Ruth envied that.

“I think eloping is kind of romantic,” Irene whispered once Lillian had left the room.

Harriet rolled her eyes.

“Thanks, Irene. It was.”

Ruth had carried a bunch of corner-store daisies as her bouquet and wore a Dotsie-made daisy-chain crown and a pale-yellow suit. Asher and she had written their own vows, and after the short ceremony they rode through Central Park in a carriage, like romantic tourists.

Irene pushed on Ruth’s arm instead of saying “You’re welcome.” She was an effusive girl, open and unguarded—a strange contrast to her rough edges. “I might not have much romance in my life, but I know it when I hear it. Eloping is romantic—exciting even.” She blushed. “I mean, you don’t look like you had to get married.”

“Oh my God, no.” Children were not part of Ruth and Asher’s immediate plan. They would come later, when Asher rose to partner and Ruth had established her career.

“You didn’t get all the goodies like a bridal shower, or registering for china, or wedding gifts, or a—”

“Stop, Harriet,” Irene said. “Ruth looks plenty happy to me. Don’t make her feel bad. We’re all here for the same reason.”

To placate their mothers-in-law?

“To become the perfect wife,” Harriet said.

Ruth sighed.

“I don’t need perfect,” Irene said. “But I’d like to teach proper etiquette to my daughters.”

“You have children?” Carrie asked.

“Four.” Irene grinned. “Two of each.” She unlatched her pocketbook and removed a photograph of four children squashed together on a floral, plastic slip–covered sofa. They passed it around, and each one oohed and aahed louder than they had for Harriet’s ring. To these girls, the purpose of marriage was babies.

“I’d love a little girl,” Harriet said.

“I’ve heard if you lie upside down with your legs in the air, there’s a better chance you get a girl,” Irene said.

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Carrie said.

Harriet crossed her arms, defiant. “How do you know?”

“Because I am—or rather was—a nurse,” Carrie said.

“What do you mean, was?” Ruth asked.

“Eli didn’t think it looked right. Me working.”

“Even though you were helping people?” Ruth asked. “How do you think it looks?”

Carrie said nothing.

“No husband worth his salt wants his wife to work,” Harriet said.

“What if she wants to?” Ruth asked.

Carrie and Irene stared at her.

Harriet cackled and pretended to slap her knee. “Oh, Ruth. You’re so funny.”





Chapter 4


LILLIAN

Lillian walked in, heard the last comments from the girls, and held her breath. But the smoke from her inhaled cigarette escaped in a cough and a swirl of gray. She scanned the faces around her.

Harriet was charmingly romantic and traditional yet woefully out of touch. Ruth hadn’t meant to be funny; her question struck Lillian as bold and curious. Ruth, new to the community, to marriage, and to the Appelbaum family, exhibited a keen sense of self. Lillian, at least a decade older, envied her—she sometimes struggled with her own identity.