The Secret of Clouds

by Alyson Richman

  I leaned over to kiss him. “Merry Christmas. May your year be merry and bright.”

  He kissed me back with dry lips. His breath was heavy. “Merry Christmas, Maggie Ann.”

  He always called me Maggie Ann when he was trying to be affectionate. As if the addition of my middle name could evoke some bygone era of early Americana or Southern Gothic or something or other that he thought I’d interpret as charm. He was right. It always made me smile.

  “Give me ten more minutes,” he muttered as he rolled over on his stomach. “A man needs all of his fortitude before he sees his mother.”

  * * *

  • • •

  BILL’S mother was indeed formidable. The kind you never would call beautiful, but rather belonging to that strange sphere of females who when you called them “handsome,” everyone knew right away what you meant. No one ever described a petite blond woman as “handsome.” It was reserved solely for tall, big-boned brunettes who didn’t take nonsense from anyone. And that, indisputably, was Bill’s mother.

  I liked Eleanor, even though she was as different from my own mother as one could be. She didn’t cook and she hated to garden, but she had been one of the first women in her neighborhood to go back to work full-time after giving birth. Even at sixty, she worked five days a week at the local bank, handling residential mortgages. Bill’s father, Jerry, a retired engineer, was proud to relinquish control to his extremely capable wife. “She runs everything like clockwork” was his favorite phrase to describe Eleanor. I could already hear him saying it as I took the hair dryer and began to blow out my hair.

  * * *

  • • •

  WE drove north to Mamaroneck, taking turns listening to each other’s favorite radio stations. I had eaten so much the night before at my parents’ house that I was almost relieved that Eleanor’s Christmas Day lunch would consist solely of a rotisserie chicken and coleslaw from the local grocery store. Bill was an only child, and Eleanor loved to say how she hated any leftovers. She prided herself on having nothing but empty containers at the end. If there was even one leftover pickle, she was visibly annoyed.

  We pulled into their driveway a little after noon. The pale yellow house with its gutters draped with sharp, long icicles seemed to sag from the weight of the snow. There were no traces of Christmas lights anywhere on the exterior. The smells of their house were also so different from my childhood home during the holidays; the most obvious reason was that their synthetic tree had no fragrance. I had grown up with a father who waxed on about the beauty of a balsam fir or Canadian spruce if he could find one. But it all went back to efficiency with Eleanor. She wanted something she could simply pack and unpack again in a box she stored in the basement. The tree achieved its purpose—it commemorated the holiday—but there was no art or beauty to be found with it. It was meant to be practical and efficient without any fuss.

  * * *

  • • •

  ELEANOR greeted us, wearing a navy knit pantsuit and pearls. Her dark brown hair was in a neat French twist.

  “You two made good time, didn’t you,” she said, kissing us both on the cheek.

  “We did,” Bill agreed, proud that his mother noticed just how punctual we were.

  “Your dad is downstairs getting some paper plates from the storeroom. I have some crackers and cheese laid out in the den. Go help yourselves.”

  She took our coats and we made our way into the next room. The fake tree glimmered with a few twinkling lights and ornaments. Bill took our shopping bag and put our gifts underneath the tree while I sat down on the sofa.

  “So how is school this year?” Eleanor asked as she sat down across from me. “Any diamonds in the bunch?”

  Something about her phrasing made me feel immediately uncomfortable.

  “Well, they’re all wonderful children. But yes—I have a few very special ones this year.”

  “Tell her about Yuri,” Bill urged as he made a cheese-and-cracker sandwich from a Ritz cracker and slice of Port Salut. From afar it looked like a psychedelic Oreo. I was surprised that Bill, who never asked me about Yuri, was now all of a sudden prodding me to tell his mother about him.

  “Yuri?” Eleanor’s voice rose slightly with interest. “Do you have a Russian in your class?”

  I laughed, slightly uncomfortable. “No, Eleanor. I’m tutoring a little boy whose parents are originally from the Ukraine. Hence, the unusual name.”

  “Tutoring?” Her voice sounded surprised. She took a moment to gather the information before her long arm reached for a slice of cheese. Her nails were polished brick red. “Have you taken that on for some extra pocket money?” She took a bite of her cheese. “Good for you, Maggie. I’m impressed. You’ve really always had a great work ethic.”

  “Oh no, he’s a student in my district who has a heart condition. I tutor him at home so he can keep up with his grade level.”

  “My Maggie’s going to be an all-star mother someday,” Bill said, squeezing my knee. “All this practice teaching is going to pay off the moment we have kids.”

  I stiffened at his words. We had never discussed having children in the way so many young couples often do as a way to peer into the future. The thought of becoming parents had seemed so far in the distance, yet now, as Bill referenced the possibility of it, I was incensed that he saw my job in teaching only as a practice run. “Teaching is not practice, Bill. It’s a real job and an incredibly important one,” I corrected him.

  “Of course it is, dear,” Eleanor said as she whisked away the light dusting of crumbs that had settled on her pantsuit. “Bill had a mother who worked, he knows that.”

  But it occurred to me that perhaps Bill didn’t want what he had had in his own childhood. He wanted the opposite. He didn’t want my energy or affections diverted.

  I felt my body pull away from him. Even my knee didn’t want to touch his. I knew I wanted to have my own children someday, but I certainly didn’t think of my job as “practice” for that.

  Eleanor was now leaning over and trying to pull more information out of Bill on his own job. “So are you getting a bonus this year, honey? How much?” In her voice I heard the pull of a magnet, its fingers searching for the confirmation of numbers and figures.

  I was just about to excuse myself to go to the bathroom when I heard the sound of Jerry’s voice entering the room.

  “Merry Christmas,” he announced brightly. Clutching a stack of paper plates and napkins, his gray hair combed back, he looked like a dead ringer for the way I imagined Bill would look in forty years’ time. The ruddy face, the water blue eyes. And the Giants jersey he had put on over his crew neck sweater.

  “Very funny, Jerry.” Eleanor’s voice was dry as dust. “Now take it off.”

  He laughed. “Nothing like upsetting the old lady for some holiday fun.” He peeled off the jersey and flopped down on one of the chairs next to us.

  “So what’s going on with my favorite young couple?” Jerry leaned over to the crystal swan dish and popped some M&M’s in his mouth. “Sorry, you know I’m not much of a cheese fan, El,” he mumbled as he scooped up another handful and brought it to his lips.

  Eleanor feigned a smile and looked toward the tree. “Perhaps we should exchange our presents now. It’s always nice to do that before we sit down to eat.”

  Bill reached over and made one final cheese-and-cracker sandwich before heading over to the tree. I felt a slight wave of nausea flooding over me. I no longer wanted to be there. Even worse, I was seized by a sudden insecurity that everyone was going to hate the gifts I had brought. For Eleanor, I had picked out a Talbots scarf and a costume gold-link necklace that I thought she could wear to work.

  Bill had suggested a flannel shirt and fleece as a gift for his father. Everything was wrapped in sparkly silver paper and tied with red satin bows.

  In my house, when gifts were exchanged
, there was a multilayered ritual for how you were to receive them. You first acknowledged the beauty of the paper, then you carefully unwrapped it and always made sure to show your gratitude for the thoughtfulness of the present. By the time you actually got to the gift, you had already complimented the person who gave it to you, maybe five times. I realized this was excessive and over the top, and Bill had actually made jokes about this when we first started dating. The first time he’d given me a birthday present, he’d become so impatient to see my reaction, he’d reached over and started tearing off the paper himself.

  This year, his family had made things easy for me. The Lord & Taylor gift box just had an elastic string over it to keep the lid closed.

  “For you, Maggie,” Eleanor said as she handed it to me. “We asked Bill, and he said you’re always saying you’re cold all the time.”

  I smiled and slid the elastic off the box. I could tell it was too light to have a space heater inside. I was right. Inside was a hot pink chenille robe.

  “That’ll sure keep you warm,” Bill chirped.

  “It certainly will,” I agreed. “Thank you so much.”

  “And it will go well with my gift, too.” Bill handed me two boxes.

  I opened the first and discovered a pair of deerskin slippers. In the second was a red cable-knit sweater.

  “You do say you’re always so cold, Mags,” Bill said meekly.

  I could feel my eyes beginning to water. I knew I was being ridiculously oversensitive. Perhaps I had made a few too many comments that I found the cottage a bit drafty, but I was just hinting then that I wanted Bill to make a romantic fire.

  “That’s my boy,” Jerry said as he held up his new flannel shirt and admired it.

  Bill opened my gift. I had splurged and gotten him a sports watch, the TAG Heuer model he’d been admiring. “We’ve both been working so much,” I said softly. “I thought it would be sweet to give you the gift of time.”

  “You’re sure original, Maggie.” He laughed. I knew he was trying to give me a compliment, but it fell flat. “Guess that’s why you were an English major, not me.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE Christmas break passed uneventfully. Quiet swept through the cottage, and the icicles on the edge of the windows made me feel as if part of me was frozen and not ready for the thaw. Still, I found warmth and comfort in my various rituals around the house. I used the time off to organize my things and finally unpack the few stray boxes that I had left stored away since June. I slept in and took long baths. We had been invited to Suzie’s place for New Year’s Eve, and I was looking forward to having the chance to get dressed up and drink a little champagne with friends.

  I had even bought a sparkly new dress for the evening. “Wear something outside your comfort zone,” Suzie had instructed me, giving a little pinch on my rear. “You have a great figure, but you’re always hiding it.”

  I gave her an affectionate smack on her arm. “Cut it out,” I teased back. “I wouldn’t want to distract my students with all the greatness I have tucked underneath these baggy chinos.”

  “I’m serious, Mags. You’re only young once; don’t waste it.” She slid her hands down the curves of her own body. “I love you. You know that. You’re the only one I’d ever share my art supplies with, that’s how deep a friend I consider you . . . so listen to me. Wear something hot on New Year’s Eve.”

  I let out a huge laugh. The art-supply comment cracked me up. Suzie guarded her materials like they were the jewels of the Vatican. All the other teachers were scared to even ask to borrow a pair of her scissors or a few sheets of construction paper. But I knew Suzie would offer me her last pot of glitter.

  “You just want me to wake Bill up, don’t you?”

  Suzie made a face. “It’s you I’m aiming to wake up, honey. I actually wasn’t thinking about Bill at all.”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT might have been wrong of me, but I decided to return the chenille robe that Eleanor had gifted me. I would use the credit at Lord & Taylor to buy something I actually liked. If everyone thought I was complaining of being too cold, what better way to warm me up than purchasing a stretchy black velvet dress with a deep plunging neckline.

  It certainly was outside my typical comfort zone, but when I looked in the department store mirror, I felt transformed. The dress hugged me in all the right places. “Now that’s a dress!” the salesgirl said with enthusiastic approval.

  I appraised myself one more time in the mirror. With the store credit, it would set me back only an additional eighty dollars. I stood on my tiptoes, imagining myself in my black patent heels.

  “I’ll take it,” I told the salesgirl. And when I emerged from the dressing room, I triumphantly handed over my credit card.

  * * *

  • • •

  BILL was sitting in the den when I came downstairs in my new black dress. Also gone were the pumped-up curls of my college days. I blew my hair smooth and then rolled it into soft, sensual waves, using an old photograph of Lauren Bacall as my inspiration. My strawberry hair looked vibrant against the dark velvet, and I made a special effort to put mascara on my blond eyelashes for a dramatic effect. I was going all out this time. Bill hated perfume, but I put some Turkish rose water in my bath so my skin would have the lightest scent of floral.

  “Are you ready yet?” he hollered just as I was descending the stairs.

  I took two steps down and saw him sitting on the big comfy chair. He was wearing jeans and a half-zip pullover.

  “You’re sure all dressed up,” he said cheerily, putting down the remote.

  “It’s New Year’s Eve, Bill,” I murmured so quietly I’m not even sure whether he could hear me. I felt like a roller coaster that was crashing down, my heart plummeting into my stomach. All afternoon I had been imagining how Bill would react to the sight of me transformed. I wanted to believe his eyes would open wide and he would leap from the comfy chair and not be able to resist me. But I was wrong. He didn’t even bother to get up.

  Don’t let yourself cry when you have mascara on. I heard my mother’s voice in my mind. I was two seconds away from looking like a melting black crayon.

  “I thought it was just a casual party at your friend’s house,” he proffered. He stood up and looked down at what he was wearing. “Should I go change, Mags?”

  It was already dark outside, and when I came into the den, I caught myself in the reflection of one of the windows. My hair, the dress, the sad look of disappointment on my face.

  “It doesn’t really matter,” I mumbled. My feet were already starting to pinch in my shoes. Bill opened the front door and reached for his car keys. “I’ll drive there and you can drive back,” he said.

  I nodded. I was glad at least one of us seemed to have a plan.

  * * *

  • • •

  BILL drove to Suzie’s blithely. He turned the radio to WFAN and smiled at me as we navigated toward her house.

  When we arrived, it was Suzie who instantly made me feel better. “Hey, pretty woman,” she said when she opened the door. “Vavavavoom!”

  She was looking pretty seductive herself. Gone were the oversize sweaters with paillettes or jingle bells. Suzie was wearing a floor-length red velvet dress with fake white fur at the breast and hem. Her ample cleavage looked as though it were peeking out from a nesting rabbit.

  Suzie took the bottle of champagne from Bill and waved a finger at him. “You better watch out for her, or she’ll be swept up by all the cuties here tonight.”

  Bill made a face. “I’ll proceed with caution, Suzie.”

  She looked over to me. “Just wanted him to consider himself forewarned. It is, after all, the last night of the millennium. Anything could happen.”

  “Don’t tell me you have a bunker stored with a year’s worth of ramen
and Poland Spring,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Do Ring Dings and Mountain Dew count?” She pinched my arm.

  “That really might be the end of the world,” I laughed over the music. “Now where’s that champagne?”

  * * *

  • • •

  SUZIE lived in a basement apartment, but she had outdone herself in making it appear festive. There were glimmers of sparkle everywhere. Tiny white Christmas lights were draped on the walls. Votive candles swamped her bookshelves, and long tapers flickered on the dining room table. The entire room glowed.

  “Do you want a drink?” Bill asked as soon as we had both shed our coats. I shook my head no and began surveying the room for a familiar face. “I’ll have something in a few minutes. I need to pace myself.”

  In the corner, I did see someone I recognized. Daniel was standing by himself drinking a glass of red wine. He was wearing a moss green velvet blazer and jeans. Suzie had just changed the CD in the stereo. “This one is for all of you out there,” she hollered over the music. R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” now blasted through the room. Everyone at the party cheered.

  Maybe Suzie was right. I needed to embrace the fact that we were stepping into a new century. I didn’t think we’d wake up tomorrow and our checking accounts would be wiped out or that the power grid would be shorted, but this was the only time in my life I’d be alive to witness a change in the millennium.

  Feeling emboldened, I walked over to Daniel and pulled at his sleeve. “Guess we both had velvet on the brain.”

  His eyes lit up, and the white of his smile was intensified by the lavender fluorescent light bulbs Suzie had put in to mark the occasion.

  “I was trying to think what they might have worn in 1899.” His lips turned up wryly. He looked at my dress. “But I gotta be honest, you wear it a lot better than I do.”