by Nancy Pearl
“That it was only sons whose fathers owned oil companies who come home to Oklahoma to run the family business, that he wasn’t interested in living in Stillwater and working in the jewelry store. He basically promised that it wouldn’t ever happen. And then he added something about orthodontists pretty much having the whole country to choose from.”
“What’d she say then?”
“That, yes, she’d marry him.”
Lizzie thought for a few minutes. “So what happened when your dad decided to come back?”
“He didn’t tell her until he’d almost finished his residency, so they’d been married a few years by then. I think they argued a lot and for a long time. Mom never talks about that part. But Dad tried to convince her that, because they weren’t moving to Stillwater, he wasn’t exactly breaking his promise to her. She hates that kind of quibbling, so that made it even worse.
“When Mom’s telling the story, she says that she just decided to be a grown-up and a good sport about it and come here because she loved him and because she saw how important it was to Dad. But Dad says that she wept and raged and told him she was pregnant and didn’t want to be a single mother and that since he made the decision about where they’d live and bring up their kids, she could decide everything else from then on until they died.”
Lizzie was becoming by the moment ever more infatuated with Elaine.
“Gosh, has she? Made all the other decisions? Or was it just an idle threat?”
“They agree about most things. I don’t think Dad has ever been thrilled about all this Christmas stuff, but he goes along with it, even if he knows it upsets his parents.”
George changed the subject. “Did either of your grandparents live near you when you were a kid?”
“Oh, George.” Lizzie sighed. “You met Mendel, and Lydia’s even worse, if that’s possible to imagine. You know they’re automatons, constructed out of coat hangers, powdered milk cartons, and a heart cut from a piece of graph paper. Nobody could possibly have given birth to them. I don’t have grandparents.”
George sighed. What could he say?
Gertie and Sam were sitting on the front porch, waiting for them. George enveloped his grandmother in his arms, loudly kissed her cheek, and told her happy birthday, then shook his grandfather’s hand and pulled him in for a hug too. Only then did he put an arm around Lizzie and introduce her to his grandparents.
“This is Lizzie,” he said proudly.
“It’s so nice to meet you both.”
The elder Goldrosens gave Lizzie identical tight smiles. They’d met several of George’s girlfriends in the past and didn’t have high hopes for this one either.
“Can we go inside?” Sam asked plaintively. “I’m freezing. And starving.”
Lizzie handed Gertie the bouquet of flowers they’d bought that morning on their way out of Tulsa. “Happy birthday,” she said.
“Whose idea was it to buy me flowers?” Gertie asked sharply. “Georgie? Why would you waste your money?”
“But they smell beautiful,” Lizzie protested. Gertie gave her a look of such scorn that it brought back vivid memories of Terrell the Terrible and that awful poetry class where she’d met Jack. Jack. What was he doing this very moment? Did he ever think about her? Why had he really left her? Where was he? Not in Stillwater, Oklahoma, for sure. But why couldn’t he be here? Lizzie decided that she needed to find a phone book to check if against all the odds he was now in the exact same (small) city that she herself was.
That progression of questions she’d directed at herself sidetracked Lizzie enough that she almost missed Gertie saying dismissively, “None of the flowers you buy from florists ever smell as good as the ones you pick yourself. These probably began the day in some New York hothouse. Ha! You know, Georgie, come spring, my wisteria perfumes the whole house.”
“It does indeed, Grandma,” George said, winking at Lizzie.
“Of course, the downside of that smell is that the wisteria is threatening to take over the whole backyard, not to mention the house, but Gertie can’t bear to cut it down,” Sam said. “If she ever decides that she wants to get rid of it, George, you and Allan will have to come dig it out. Those roots are more aggressive than telemarketers. We might have to bring Todd back from Australia to help us.”
“Well, I suppose it was sweet of you to bring me these, Lizzie, although I’d have thought that Georgie might have mentioned my feelings to you, but no matter. The damage is done.”
George was laughing as they walked into the living room. “Grandma, I had no idea you felt so strongly about florists and flowers. We’ll do better next time. Here, sit down and open the rest of your presents. Here’s a little something from Mom.”
“Is it my mandel bread?” she asked eagerly as she opened the cookie tin. It was. She bit off a corner of one. “Not bad. I do have to give Elaine some credit: for a terrible cook she makes the best mandel bread I’ve ever tasted. Even better than mine. Perfect for dunking.”
“And you’ve dunked plenty of them in your lifetime, Grandma, right?”
“She’d get a blue ribbon at the fair if they had a dunking-and-eating-mandel-bread category,” Sam said proudly. “That’s my wife.”
George gave her the last package. It was smallish and rather lumpy, wrapped in paper with “Happy Birthday” written on it in different languages.
“Oh,” Gertie said delightedly as she opened it. “What a surprise. Socks.” She turned to Lizzie. “Every year since he was six I’ve gotten a pair of socks from Georgie for my birthday.”
This particular year’s were blue, with a blotch of maize at the toes and heels and a tasteful maize M at the top.
“Thank you, Georgie. These are very nice, but a little tame for my taste, don’t you think? Not like those orange knee socks with Pistol Petes all over them that you once gave me.”
“Pistol Pete is OSU’s mascot,” George explained in an aside to Lizzie.
“I loved those socks. I wore them till they disintegrated in the wash. I wish you’d find me another pair,” Gertie said wistfully.
“What can I say, Grandma? This was pretty much all I could find in Ann Arbor, except for some plain white ones, which I knew you’d hate. And I thought you’d like the colors.”
“I do, I do. You’re such a sweet boy, Georgie.” By stepping back, George successfully deflected her attempt to pinch his cheeks.
“Come on,” Sam urged them. “Let’s eat lunch. Are you kids hungry? I feel like I might faint from hunger.”
While his grandparents were getting the food on the table, George showed Lizzie the framed class photos of him and Todd, beginning in kindergarten and ending with George’s photo from his senior year in high school. “You were a pretty cute kid,” Lizzie said. “Did you break a lot of hearts?”
George started to answer but was interrupted by Sam’s insistence that they sit down at the table now, this minute, before the food got cold. Lizzie imagined that George might have said that he was constitutionally unable to break anyone’s heart. Or he would have said something about not if you compared him to Todd. Yes, she already knew those things about him.
“Soup’s on,” Sam called again.
Literally, in fact: on their plates was a bowl of chicken soup with matzoh balls. That was followed by sweet-and-sour braised brisket. There were also latkes with a choice of applesauce or sour cream (or both), and kasha knishes. There were both meat and cheese blintzes. There was a loaf of challah still warm from the oven. Lizzie didn’t think she had ever seen a table so crowded with food.
“Good Lord, Gertie, how much of this do you think we’ll eat?”
“Stop, Sam. I wanted George to have a taste of Hanukkah. I know he doesn’t get this kind of food from his mother. And save room for dessert,” Gertie warned them. “I want to get rid of the birthday cake Sam got me from Safeway. Chocolate. Waste of money, of course. It won’t be good. Those store-bought cakes become stale the minute you get them home. It’s just like how new cars lose most
of their value as soon as you drive them off the lot. So I made some of your old favorites, Georgie, just in case it’s really inedible. And don’t anyone spill their coffee. It’s impossible to get those stains out of the tablecloth.”
Of course the cake was absolutely fine, but Gertie didn’t care for it. The chocolate frosting was too sweet. She thought they’d used inferior ingredients. To clear their palates of the bad taste, she insisted that they each take a generously sized brownie and several miniature cream puffs filled with vanilla pudding and drizzled with chocolate sauce. No one wanted ice cream, although she offered to get it from the freezer. Twice.
By the time Lizzie finished eating everything Gertie had insisted on serving her, all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. It’s possible she dozed off for a moment. Gertie and Sam were carrying platters of food back into the kitchen, and George was clearing the table. With some difficulty, Lizzie rose to her feet and made a move to help, but Gertie said, “No. Just sit. You can help another time.”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Goldrosen?”
“Absolutely sure. I’m very particular about how I load the dishwasher. Don’t you find everyone is? I’m sure your mother has her own thoughts on the subject.”
Lizzie, not being sure whose mother was being referred to, didn’t answer. As far as she could remember, Lydia hadn’t ever expressed an interest in, or opinion about, their dishwasher. She’d certainly never put a single dish in it. Come to think of it, she might not even know the Bultmann family owned one.
Later, they showed Lizzie the sights of Stillwater. George drove and his grandparents narrated the journey. They pointed out George’s freshman dorm, the fraternity where he lived for the next three years, the football stadium, the basketball arena, the first McDonald’s (“We watched it being built, early in the 1970s”), Baskin-Robbins (“Ditto”), the house where Allan’s best friend used to live when they were kids and the house where he and his family lived now (“He came home, you know, to teach at the vet school. I don’t know why your father didn’t bring your mother here. We needed an orthodontist more than Tulsa did.”), Allan’s dorm, Allan’s fraternity (the same as George’s) and his elementary, middle, and high schools (“He was president of his junior and senior classes, you know, George.”). George slowed down in front of Bling It On, but Gertie told him not to stop. “Let’s just go home, George. I’m getting tired.”
When they got back to the house, Gertie announced that it was time for a little something to nibble on before George and Lizzie left. Rather than the brownies and cream puffs (the chocolate cake had been discarded), she brought out a banana cream pie (“I made Allan’s favorite, even though he’s not here”) and an angel food cake, with strawberries and whipped cream (“Sam’s favorite; I froze the strawberries myself.”). “And it’s real whipped cream, not that stuff Elaine serves,” she announced.
While George and Lizzie were getting ready to go, Gertie disappeared into the kitchen and returned with Tupperware containers full of food to take back to Tulsa. “I kept the brisket,” she apologized, “because Sam will want more meat blintzes. But I packed up everything else. It’s a care package for Allan, like I used to send you boys when you went to camp. I know Allan misses my cooking, even though he probably never complains.
“And here’re your Hanukkah presents. Open them now,” she commanded. George waited while Lizzie unwrapped hers, trying to be as careful as Gertie had been with the gift from George. They’d given her a box of assorted Twining’s teas.
“Oh, thank you,” she said sincerely. “I can’t wait to try all the different flavors.”
Gertie nodded. “George told us you were a tea drinker. Like Elaine.” Lizzie wasn’t quite sure how to take this statement. Being like Elaine in this house was evidently a mixed blessing.
George’s package was lumpy, a much larger version of the wrapped pair of socks he’d given to his grandmother earlier. He examined the wrapping paper. “This looks familiar,” he commented, and asked her if it was same paper she’d used on his gift last year. He took the absence of any response as a somewhat guilty yes. “Well, then,” he said breezily, “there’s no need to save it for another year,” and tore it open.
“Oh my gosh. You guys shouldn’t have. Look, Lizzie.” This last was unnecessary, since where else would Lizzie be looking but at George’s gift? It was a hooded orange sweatshirt emblazoned with a large Pistol Pete outlined in black on the front and cowboys written on the back. “Wow. I’ll be especially sure not to wear this on game days in Ann Arbor; it isn’t safe to acknowledge there are any other college teams. But here I can wear it all the time.” He put it on over his flannel shirt.
Gertie and Sam looked pleased. “Wear it in good health, sweetheart,” Gertie said. “You’d better get going. We don’t like to think of you driving home in the dark.”
They all stood around the car saying their last good-byes. Lizzie went back into the house, ostensibly to use the bathroom, but really to check the phone book in the kitchen. She opened it to the M’s. She could never remember if the Mc’s came before or after the Mac’s or if they were just in their normal place in the alphabet, but after looking carefully she saw there was no Jack McConaghey. No Jack. She’d been right. He’d never live in Stillwater, Oklahoma.
Sam hugged them both, and Gertie kissed Lizzie and then threw her arms around George. “You’re always the best part of my birthday every year, Georgie,” she told him. “You and Todd.”
As George backed the car out of the driveway Lizzie turned around and saw Gertie standing on the sidewalk, waving to them. “She’s crying,” she said to George.
“I know, I know, I hate it, but she always does when we leave.” He sighed. “I should really try to come here more often.”
“What are you going to do with that hideous sweatshirt? ‘Oh my gosh. You shouldn’t have,’” she imitated him.
“Hey, I was being honest. They absolutely shouldn’t have.”
They laughed together.
“It was probably on sale,” George said.
“Oh, for sure,” Lizzie agreed. “Otherwise why would you ever buy it, even given your deep love for Pistol Pete? That’s got to be the brightest orange I ever hope to see. It’ll give most people a headache.”
“Or blind them. Maybe it’s like looking directly at an eclipse of the sun. How about if I leave it at home and only wear it when I’m visiting them in Stillwater? That’ll satisfy everyone.”
“But they’re sweet,” she continued. “At least Sam is sweet. I’m not sure how to describe Gertie. I wish I knew my grandparents. Maybe my life would have been totally different.”
“Not so totally, I hope. I’d still like us to have met.”
Why did George have to say things like that? What did he want her to say? That she felt the same way? They still hadn’t talked about what had occurred the night before. Maybe George would forget that he said he loved her.
She spoke quickly. “And all that food. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much. I can’t believe she did all that cooking.”
“Cooking for us makes Grandma happy. The thought of anyone she loves going hungry is anathema to her.”
“Your mother’s sort of the same way, isn’t she?”
“She is, but not to that extent. I think if we hadn’t eaten the cream puffs Grandma would have been really annoyed with us.”
“I wish I hadn’t eaten them,” Lizzie admitted. “I’ve probably gained ten pounds on this visit.”
George reached over and took her hand. “You don’t have to worry,” he said.
Just before they got back to Elaine and Allan’s, Lizzie said a little timidly, “Do you want to talk about last night, George?”
“No, not right now. We can wait at least until all that food’s been digested.”
“I just thought,” Lizzie began, “because I just want to say I’m sorry I was such a pill about Blake and Alicia. It was probably uncalled-for. For some reason I was really uncomfortable w
ith them.”
George nodded. “Okay, that’s fair. Though I did wonder about where you might be traveling in June, since you never mentioned it before.”
“Right,” Lizzie said, trying to pretend she hadn’t said anything of the kind. “I did say traveling, didn’t I. Maybe I meant to Marla’s, I don’t know. It’s all I could think of at the time.”
“Hold that thought, Lizzie. We’re home.”
December 25
After breakfast on Christmas day, the Goldrosens gathered around the tree to open presents. It was almost as though Lizzie had always been part of the family. There was even a stocking with her name on it, hung on the mantel next to the other three. Elaine saw her looking at it and misread her thoughts, one of the rare blunders Elaine would ever make in understanding Lizzie. Which was pretty amazing, given that she’d never learn what Lizzie considered to be the defining events of her life.
“I’m so sorry your stocking’s not like the rest of ours. By the time George told us you were coming, it was too late to order one. But we’ll have one here for you next year. And maybe Todd will be here too,” she said, a bit wistfully.
Once again Lizzie wasn’t sure what to say, although she was pretty sure she should say something. George fidgeted and didn’t look at either his mother or Lizzie. Oh God, Lizzie thought. What the fuck is going on? First George says he loves me and now this. If I were living in a horror novel, that would be the first vaguely ominous sign that I’ll never get untethered from this family. Maybe Elaine can predict the future. Or maybe she’s just insanely optimistic.
George felt, for what was perhaps the first time in his entire life, a tinge of annoyance at his mother. It was one thing for Alicia to invite Lizzie to the wedding and quite another for his mother to blithely assume—blithely assume!—that she’d be here next Christmas and forever after, even if that was exactly what George wanted.
They opened their gifts in turn, accompanied by a significant amount of oohing and aahing. Lizzie’s presents were unexpectedly many and lavish: a very pale green bathrobe made out of the softest cotton she’d ever felt, sheepskin slippers, a rather large gift certificate to Shaman Drum bookstore, several bars of French milled soap (Marla would approve of that, Lizzie thought), an alarm clock from the Museum of Modern Art, and two mismatched china teacups and saucers.
