by Cindy Rizzo
Elizabeth tilted her head up, shaking it back and forth as she looked at the ceiling. She breathed out audibly.
“And all this time, I thought I was Miss Havisham with the rotting wedding cake and the stopped clock. One of the reasons I pushed myself to become involved with Gretchen was out of fear that that’s who I was becoming.”
Another silence. Elizabeth had no idea what else there was to say. Was Ruth attempting to find some kind of closure? Was she feeling any herself? There had been so many revelations in this last hour. She needed to sift through them in order to even begin to understand how she was feeling. She started to reach for her purse to offer to pay for the bottle of wine.
“Elizabeth, I’m going to ask you to think about something,” said Ruth. “You don’t have to respond here, but I’d like you to consider whether there’s any possibility…” She stopped and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Any possibility that we could reconnect.”
Reconnect? What was Ruth asking? Surely she didn’t think they could just pick up where they left off?
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth spoke each word slowly as if trying to understand a language she was just learning.
“I mean anything. Anything you want. Anything you can do. If it’s coffee once a year or an occasional dinner or something more or nothing at all. I will leave it up to you. This way, this time, you hold all the control. And I’ll abide by any decision you make.”
Ruth took out a business card and a pen from her bag and wrote something down.
“This is how you can get in touch with me. I wrote my cell down on the back. I promise I won’t bother you again if that’s what you want. But I thought I’d at least see if there’s any possibility. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t try.”
Ruth refused to take any money from her and charged the wine to her room. Their hands touched as they said goodnight. Neither one was in much of a hurry to pull away.
Elizabeth walked around the lobby, allowing Ruth to take the elevator up first. She read the card she’d been holding for the last few minutes: Honorable Ruth S. Abramson, United States District Judge, Southern District of New York. She repeated the word to herself until it lost all meaning. Honorable, honorable, honorable.
She’d told Reese and Margaret that she didn’t want company after her meeting with Ruth. She turned off her phone, a rare occurrence, and sat in the armchair in her hotel room staring straight ahead, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She still wasn’t completely sure what Ruth wanted from her. A connection, she’d said. Anything Elizabeth could give her. But what did she herself want?
She tried to picture them having dinner back in the city. Did Ruth even like the same food as she used to? Would it be too much of a painful reminder if they took in a movie?
And now instead of her father and mother, Ruth had a daughter and a son. She seemed very close to her daughter. What could Elizabeth be to her?
Ruth said she had rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times. She’d admitted that she hadn’t been able to last in a relationship more than a few months. With the exception of Gretchen, the same was true for Elizabeth. And it was likely that had September 11th never happened, she and Gretchen wouldn’t have lasted those awful five years.
With shorter hair graying a bit and a quiet confidence that Elizabeth read as strength, Ruth had greatly matured and in a sense, come into her own. She was no longer the shy young woman who worried that her lack of understanding of American culture might make her seem odd and out of touch. Even the trace of her Russian accent was gone. Elizabeth closed her eyes at the memory of Ruth sitting across from her, unfazed by pointed questions. She hadn’t changed completely. That same look of intensity, those endless dark eyes. Elizabeth had to admit Ruth was still riveting, still attractive, still able to pull her in.
But so what? They no longer knew one another, not in the same way she and Margaret did, having stayed in touch over the years, taking vacations together with other friends, exchanging confidences about their careers and their love lives. Fortunately, Margaret had never propositioned Elizabeth again. Instead they’d forged a friendship built on a solid base of shared memories that was nurtured by regular telephone and in-person contact. In many ways, Margaret and she had become family to one another. She was like a sister to Elizabeth, albeit one who never gave you a moment’s peace. She trusted Margaret and could count on her. Would she ever be able to say the same about Ruth? Was she even capable of trusting Ruth again?
Elizabeth dozed off in the chair and woke up a little after five a.m. stiff and groggy, with a pain in her shoulder. She thought about changing out of her clothes and getting into the bed, but it was only a few hours until her seven-thirty breakfast with the other trustees and President Parrish. Maybe the hotel gym was a better idea.
She’d packed workout clothes: calf-length leggings, a tank top, and a light jacket. She could do some stretching on a mat and then run the treadmill for a half hour or so. That might get her blood flowing and her muscles more relaxed. Too bad the meager hotel gym didn’t have a Jacuzzi.
She dressed quickly and prepared to leave, trying to do so quietly because of the early hour. She was standing in the open doorway of her room, double-checking that the key was in her jacket pocket, when she heard low voices in the hallway coming from her left. She looked over and saw Reese standing right outside a room in the clothes she had worn the night before. An arm reached out to her from inside and Elizabeth saw Margaret pull Reese close. They kissed. Margaret whispered something and they both laughed.
Elizabeth quickly ducked back into her room, hoping they hadn’t seen her. When she’d asked Margaret the night before at dinner not to set her sights on Reese, the response she’d received had been an eye roll and a dismissive sigh.
“Oh, Elizabeth, who knew that down deep inside, you, of all people, had a maternal instinct.”
“Margaret, if you’re gunning for a younger woman, there are plenty of attractive ones here from the other classes. Or are you going after Reese just to annoy me?”
“Here’s a newsflash, Ms. CEO, not everything is about you. I happen to find your Reese quite delightful, and the fact that she makes herself available when she travels only increases her appeal. In other words, she’s perfect for me. No involvement, no complications, no more than one steamy night.”
“Given everything that’s going on, I really don’t need another complication. So if you value my sanity, you’ll abandon your plan.”
“Well, Elizabeth, maybe you’ll get your wish if sweet little Reese doesn’t have any interest in older women. How old is that girlfriend of hers?”
“She’s the same age. They’ve been together since high school.”
Margaret drew back her head, looking appalled.
“Really? People do that sort of thing? No wonder why she wanders.”
“She doesn’t wander, she just… Oh, I don’t know. She told me they agreed to this because neither one of them ever had a chance to sow their wild oats.”
“Well, then, lucky me. So you’ve met the girlfriend?”
“Her name is Jaret and she’s very nice. You can tell that she’s deeply in love with Reese.”
Margaret waved her hand.
“That’s no concern of mine as long as they have their little arrangement.”
“Margaret, please reconsider.”
“Elizabeth, just put it out of your mind. You’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Meaning?”
“Her Honor over there.” Margaret tilted her head toward Ruth’s table. “Do you think she wears anything underneath the robe when she’s presiding in her courtroom?”
“Honestly, why I ever chose you as a close friend, I’ll never know.”
Margaret held out her pinky and smiled.
“BFFs forever,
as the kids say.”
For the remainder of the reunion, Elizabeth busied herself with the other trustees and with the director of advancement, who had wanted to meet with her to discuss plans for a new capital campaign. Fowler was setting its sights on a two-hundred-million-dollar goal to build a state-of-the-art science center and raise faculty salaries. She liked that President Parrish and her people were thinking ahead, trying to get a jump on the competition in order to stay true to the college’s mission of educating the next generation of women leaders. Like them, she was fiercely dedicated to the value of single-sex education for girls, convinced it was the best environment for cultivating independent thought and a hunger for achievement. Even many of the women in her class who’d married young and focused on their families had become influential civic leaders and writers. Elizabeth was considering whether to accept the offer that she co-chair this ambitious campaign with Constance Elliott. But as with all things in her life, Morrison Publishing came first.
She’d managed to avoid Reese almost entirely but knew that they had many hours together on the ride back to the city. Elizabeth didn’t yet feel ready to discuss Ruth with anyone and she was unsure whether to let Reese know that she’d seen her furtive exit from Margaret’s room.
She and Ruth had said a quick good-bye amidst the crowd of departing classmates, surrounded by a sea of roller board suitcases and shoulder bags. Ruth had stared into Elizabeth’s eyes with her usual intensity and repeated her plea from their meeting.
“Anything you’re able to give,” she said.
As they left Fowler, the rainstorm that had begun the night before showed no signs of letting up. Seated in her little Subaru, Reese busied herself with windshield wipers and navigating the narrow streets of the small town as the car proceeded toward the interstate. When she’d merged onto the highway, she turned to Elizabeth for the first time and lightly touched her arm.
“So?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “So, another Fowler reunion has come and gone.”
“And Ruth?”
“She’s asked me if we can reconnect.”
She saw Reese squint. “As in romantically? I mean her speech, it was all about you.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Apparently she’s willing to take whatever she can get.”
“Wow. So what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea. I’m still turning it over in my head.”
“Did you talk to Margaret about it?”
At the mention of Margaret, Elizabeth gave Reese a sharp look. Oh, so now she thinks we’re on equal footing to discuss Margaret?
“How could you, Reese? She’s my best friend.”
For a second Reese looked like a teenager who’d been caught in the act. She blinked and bit her lower lip. Then she exhaled and sat up straight, all the while looking ahead at the road.
“With all due respect, Elizabeth, this really doesn’t concern you.”
“How can you think that? Anyway, I thought you were interested in some professor.”
“I found out she’s on sabbatical in Italy.”
Elizabeth closed her mouth and gritted her teeth in anger. They were both quiet, with only the steady swishing sound of the windshield wipers intruding on their uneasy silence. What could she say? Reese was a grown woman who was able to make her own personal choices. And in spite of Elizabeth’s fantasy that she played a quasi-parental role, she was really just Reese’s boss, not her mother. But couldn’t Reese have foreseen how uncomfortable this would make her feel?
She wondered what Ruth would think. She had an adult daughter. Would Ruth have been more patient and understanding if Lauren had slept with a close friend? Would she have been just as angry as Elizabeth? She pictured the business card she’d slipped into the folds of her wallet, not yet entering the contact information into her phone. She crossed her legs, feeling restless. A small but noticeable pang lodged in her stomach as she became conscious of an intense need to talk to Ruth, a yearning that felt almost like hunger.
It was strange how quickly Ruth had shifted into her present life. Before their conversation at the reunion, Ruth had always been relegated to the past, even when Elizabeth spent an evening searching for her name on the Internet or scanning the newspaper for a reference, keeping up with her as if she were a celebrity. But now she was real again and could be easily reached—that is, if Elizabeth wanted her to be.
Reese had referenced the luncheon address Ruth had given the day before. Its personal subtext, clearly aimed at Elizabeth, had nearly brought her to tears. Ruth had begun with broad strokes before getting to the particulars.
While I’ve been remiss in not coming back here over these last three decades, it’s given me the advantage of seeing how Fowler has evolved to remain relevant to a whole new generation, and it has enabled me to reflect with the distance of time on my own experience here in the 1970s.
She’d gone on to talk about the era in which they’d come of age at Fowler: the excitement of learning about feminism and the women’s movement, which was in full ascendancy during those years, and barriers crumbling at what seemed like a blinding pace, with only their high expectations outstripping the rate of progress. Then Ruth turned to more personal matters, describing her eighteen-year-old self as a shy, newly arrived immigrant, overly concerned with betraying her ignorance of American popular culture.
I was still obsessed with the Beatles, while everyone around me had abandoned them for Joni Mitchell and James Taylor.
That had drawn a knowing laugh from their classmates. But for Elizabeth, the heart of the speech came next, as Ruth talked about what she’d held on to from her years at Fowler and what she had carelessly abandoned.
So what you see before you in me is what many would call a Fowler College success story. And in some ways that is true. I’ve had a fulfilling and winning career in litigation that earned me a nomination to the federal bench—a great honor and the realization of my parents’ dream to leave the oppression they’d endured in Russia for a country where we could flourish. I have no doubt that my education at Fowler played a critical role in preparing me, and for that I will remain forever grateful.
But while I was able to internalize and hold fast to the Fowler ideals of leadership and achievement, I did so while discarding what I really think is at the core of what I was taught here. To put it bluntly, I abandoned the greatest lesson of all—to be true to myself. Out of misplaced obligation, I put my life in the hands of others. I betrayed the people around me, this institution, and most of all myself because I willfully walked away from what was most important.
Of course, the details are personal, but the lesson is one I can share with you all. The value of our Fowler experience is not limited to the titles on our business cards or the awards and honors we amass in our lifetimes. What I believe is more important, much more important, is what we were taught about remaining true to our authentic selves. The lesson that we can, indeed we must, be whoever we want to be was not just about our careers. It was about the whole of ourselves. Fowler women do not bow to the limiting expectations of others. We instead forge paths paved with honesty and integrity. Because only by doing so can we truly achieve the kind of success that matters most, which is the love and devotion of our friends, our families, and, if we are lucky, the one person who is the most precious to us in the world.
While the applause resounded through the room, Elizabeth slipped away from her table before anyone could corner her for a reaction. Since almost everybody in their class knew at least some of the details that Ruth had alluded to, Elizabeth didn’t want to wait around for a line of people all asking her if she was okay. She walked around campus for a while, something she hadn’t had much of an opportunity to do yet during this visit. And while it was lovely to see the gardens in bloom and smell the newly mown grass on the quad, her feet took her where she’d a
lways gone when she was feeling overwhelmed. Luckily, the grove was still there, having been bought and paid for by an alumna named Susan Fallon, a conservationist who had set up a private foundation to support open space preservation. Her name was on a little plaque affixed to a wooden stand at the entrance to the dirt path. Elizabeth said a silent thank-you to the woman who had had the foresight to safeguard this place and walked slowly down the path for about fifty yards, until she detoured left toward the large red maple where she’d come so often in the past to read and just think.
Dressed in a linen skirt suit, she was unable to sit on the ground the way she always had, her back leaning against the tree bark. So she stood against the tree picturing what it would look like in early October when its leaves, now an ordinary green, turned a brilliant deep red.
As she sat in Reese’s car a day later, thoughts of her time in the grove enabled her to relax a little and, for at least that minute, she was certain that everything was going to work itself out. She smiled to herself and turned to the young woman sitting next to her, still somewhat annoyed, but determined to move past this new wrinkle in their relationship.
“Reese, you are absolutely correct. Your life is your own and I have no right to judge it.”
“No, I should be the one apologizing. I should have asked you ahead of time how you would feel if I, well, you know. As your friend, I owe you at least that.”
