"Still," said her mother, and Rowena took a deep breath.
"I was hoping," she began, "that we could have a little talk."
"You want to sit and talk to your parents? What a good girl you are." Rowena closed her eyes briefly and thought about tea. "You see what a good girl she is, Sammy? So thoughtful."
"Maybe we could all have some coffee," Sammy suggested. "Or tea."
"I would love to have a cup of coffee with my daughter and her young man," Rowena's mother said.
"I'll go make some." Rowena pushed herself up out of her chair and back towards the sink. When she returned with a tray bearing two cups of coffee, one cup of tea, and a beer for her father (who grunted in appreciation when she set his beverage down), she felt just a little braver than she had. She sat, took a sip of tea and replaced her cup in its saucer. "There's something I want to tell you."
"You're getting married?"
"No, Mom." She should have seen that coming. "I--"
"You got a promotion?" asked her mother, visibly disappointed.
"Not exactly." She took a breath, steeled herself. "Sammy and I are going to be moving into a new apartment. Together."
Her mother watched her. "You're moving and Sammy's going to help you? Well, that's--"
"No, Mom. Sammy and I are going to live together."
"You . . ."
"We have a new apartment and we're going to move into it and there is at present no wedding planned," Rowena said.
"No . . . wedding?"
"No wedding."
"But . . ." She shot a panicked look at Rowena, then at Sammy, and finally at Rowena's father. "Wilder! Did you hear what your daughter just said?"
"Mmmmph," he replied. She stared at him a moment longer, then gave up on him and turned back to Rowena. "How can you do this to me?"
"Mother, I'm not--"
"I had such hopes for you. I--" She broke off to round on Sammy. "Why aren't you marrying my daughter?"
"Mother!"
"I assure you, Babette; I love your daughter very much, and I will do my best to take good care of her, married or not."
"But if--"
"Babette, I understand your concern. If I had a daughter, I would be concerned too." Rowena could see her mother ponder the possibility of a future grandchild or two. "But I think you'll agree with me," Sammy went on, "that Rowena is a very sensible and responsible person. She's made a considered decision here, and maybe you should trust her judgment."
"Her decision? After the way I raised her?"
But it had been Rowena's decision; it was Sammy who had wanted to get married. And it was partly because of her mother that Rowena had balked. She tried to think of a way to rescue Sammy without making things worse.
"I wasn't blaming Rowena," Sammy said. "I only wanted you to understand that she isn't being forced. We had a talk, and this is what we decided. The two of us. Together."
"But . . . Commitment . . . Responsibility . . . Family . . . My Daughter!"
"I don't make important decisions lightly, Babette. I feel a very deep commitment to Rowena, even if I have no legal obligation. And I trust she feels the same way about me." He looked at Rowena then, and his eyes gave her a familiar warmth. Rowena's mother looked from Sammy to Rowena and back again.
"Is it . . . money?" she asked. "Are you afraid you can't support a family? Because I'm sure Wilder and I would be willing to pay for the wedding and the reception and everything, and--and give you enough to get you nicely started, maybe even--"
"Babette!" roared Rowena's father. Rowena hadn't known he was listening. There wasn't even a commercial on; the game was still going and his eyes were still on the screen. "Don't give my money away like that."
There was a slight, very slight, pause. "Well," said Rowena's mother, turning back to Sammy, "we could do the wedding and the reception, anyway." She waited, presumably for another outburst, but none came. "If that's the problem."
"Thank you, Babette," said Sammy. "We may take you up on that some day, but not just yet."
"It's very nice of you to offer," Rowena found herself saying. Her mother turned to look at her.
"Do you--" she began, but at that point the game gave way to a commercial, and Rowena's father turned around.
"Babette," he said, "don't you ever again--"
"Wild-er--"
"Ever."
"But it was only to--didn't you hear? Didn't you hear what your daughter is planning to do?"
He looked from her to Rowena, then back again. "Didn't seem to hurt the other one," he said.
"Wilder!"
"If they want to get married, they'll get married. If they don't want to you can't make 'em."
"Nobody's talking about making--"
"I don't know what it is with you and this marriage business," he said. "Never met anybody with such a one-track mind." The commercial break ended, and he returned to his game.
"Really," said Rowena's mother. But he did not respond, and she gave up on him and went back to work on Rowena.
"I'll be so mortified. How can I tell The Girls?"
"Mom--"
"And here after I went and told them my daughter was dating such a nice young man!"
"It's better than marrying a nasty young man. Mom--"
"I'll be a leper! A social leper! How can you--"
"Mother, half of your friends have kids who are or were living with somebody. Anyway, Maralynne already--"
"We'll all be lepers. We'll be a leper colony. How can you--"
"You know what?" Rowena demanded. "I don't believe you. I don't believe a word you're saying. You're just trying to manipulate me and it's not going to work. Do you hear me? It's not going to work."
"Rowena! How can you say that? I am wounded." Before Rowena could answer, her mother turned to Sammy. "Does your mother know about this?"
"Yes," replied Sammy readily. "She's pleased. She's very fond of Rowena."
Rowena's mother stared at him a while, and was silent. Very briefly silent. Then she started up again, and continued until the ballgame ended and Rowena's father hoisted himself out of his chair and announced that it was time to go. This meant, Rowena knew, that as usual he wanted to leave while the experts were still commenting on the last event, and before the next one began.
"Rowena, dear, could you come help me get my coat?" her mother asked.
"Of course," said Rowena, as casually as she could. Her mother always brought her coat, no mater how warm it might be, but she had never needed help with it.
Not until tonight.
They went into Rowena's little hallway, and Rowena's mother got her coat, then looked back to make sure the menfolk weren't listening. She took hold of Rowena's arm, a little above the elbow. "You've almost got him," she said, all but trembling with half-suppressed excitement. "All you have to do is prove to him that you'd make an excellent wife--cook only food he likes, keep everything clean, never complain about anything--do whatever he wants--let him watch all his favorite TV shows--and, after a while, tell him that you simply can't go on unless he marries you."
Rowena put her free hand against the wall to steady herself. "I'll keep that in mind," she said.
"I'll help you; I'll get you some more cookbooks, I'll--you do know how to sew on buttons, don't you?"
"Yes," said Rowena evenly, "I know how to sew on buttons."
"That's my girl." She gave Rowena a pat on the cheek. "We'll get him yet." We? Rowena wanted to say. "You just do what I tell you," her mother went on, "and do what he tells you, and he won't stand a chance."
"Mom," Rowena began.
But her mother was already moving off. "Thank you so much for helping me with my coat," she said loudly. "And thank you for the lovely dinner. Isn't she a terrific cook, Sammy?"
"You're welcome," said Rowena, before Sammy could reply.
And Rowena's parents left.
By the time Rowena phoned her friend Terese the next day, her mother had already called twice with more Helpful Sugges
tions. "You can tell him you're, you know, in the, um, family . . . you know." "You could talk to your sister's psychic about all this. It wouldn't hurt anything." She had told her mother that she wouldn't lie to Sammy; she had told her mother that a conversation with Madame Zelda would hurt something, most likely Madame Zelda herself. She had told her mother to please stop trying to help; and then she had called Terese and told her about the big dinner and the current state of affairs.
"So now," Rowena concluded, "she's giving me all these terrific strategies so I can snare Sammy after all. She's delighted, Terese. She's gleeful. All we have to do is appeal to his Sense of Decency and he'll Do the Right Thing. Especially as we'll be reminding him endlessly of the many advantages of husbandhood, and so on."
Terese laughed. "She really wants you to wait on him hand and foot? How about after the wedding?"
"After that, presumably, I take my rightful place as Queen of the Apartment, and he'd better not complain."
"You're supposed to keep him too busy to complain," Terese said. "Not only will it be his turn to wait on you hand and foot, but you gotta get him working on getting you a Real House to be queen of."
"You been talking to my mother behind my back?" Rowena switched the phone to her other ear. "She's taken to referring to him as `your fiancé' and `my future son-in-law.' When I told her the news I was my dad's daughter; now Sammy's her own personal future son-in-law. You'd think she was trying to disown me and adopt him instead."
"The son she never had."
"I really hadn't expected her to think of this as a good thing, in any way, shape, or form. But she's all excited now about how we are going to `get' him. `You just do what I tell you, and do what he tells you, and he won't stand a chance.' I wanna know why, if he's the one in trouble--why do I feel I'm under attack?"
"Because," Terese explained, "she's your mother. And she's behaving the way your mother behaves. That's why."
"Thank you," Rowena said. "You've made it all so clear."
"Any time."
"Speaking of time," Rowena said, looking at her watch, "I should go and get ready; Sammy's coming over."
"All right; say hi for me. I suppose he's taking all this with his usual aplomb?"
"If by that you mean, does he still think my mother is funny, the answer is yes. What else?" Rowena remembered her mother, sitting in shock, trying to digest what she'd just been told. She had looked so helpless. That part hadn't been entirely funny, but Rowena kept thinking about it, remembering it and wondering if her mother were a little bit afraid of her. An adult child with a mind of her own and a separate life.
"They say laughter is important in a relationship," Terese was saying. "I can hear it now: `Why did you marry your wife?' `I wanted a funny mother-in-law.'"
"'Bye, Terese."
"'Bye, Rowena. Take care."
Rowena hung up the phone, then checked her watch again. Plenty of time. She went to take her shower.
"And maybe my little bookcase over here?" Rowena pointed. "And then your desk can go there, with that bookcase you've got next to it now . . ."
"And then we'd each have our own little corner. Mini-offices, as it were." Sammy nodded. "Each with a view out the window, if we turn our heads."
They were in their new office, planning; they had saved the office for last. They were planning everything, their whole apartment, how they would live. During the week they would box up their belongings and next weekend they would move, efficiently and with a minimum of fuss because they'd be prepared. They were preparing and they were enjoying their plans, enjoying getting together in their rooms--their very own; the first month paid for already--and planning.
They went into the bedroom, and Rowena stood where they had already decided the bed would go. Sammy came to her, put his hand in her hair.
"This is it," Rowena said. "The landlords aren't going to stop us; my mom isn't going to stop us . . ."
"This is it," Sammy said. "This is for real."
"For real," Rowena said. It was her life, their life, their own together. And it was starting right now. It would start--they would start it--even if her parents had objected, had tried to forbid her. Her parents had no real power over her; she knew this, standing in the new apartment, standing where the bed would go, looking at Sammy. She and Sammy, on their own. She slipped her arms around him and kissed him.
It was a good way to begin.
Rowena Becomes A Problem Person
Fiction by S. D. Youngren
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Rowena looked up from Mr. Schmed's latest memo to see Eloise standing by her desk. "I just want you to know," Eloise said, "that your name came up in the big meeting."
"Oh," Rowena said, and waited. As Eloise did not seem angry this was probably not a bad thing, but one could never be too careful with Eloise.
"It was said," Eloise went on, "that you are a good problem-solver and can work with others."
"Ah," Rowena said. "That's nice." She had a small sinking feeling; what problem were they going to give her, and what (presumably difficult) people was she going to have to work with?
Eloise offered no clues; she only nodded so that her stiff, false-looking curls bobbed precisely twice. "Just thought you'd like to know," she said. "Keep up the good work!"
"Um, who said it? If you don't mind?"
This time Eloise shook her head so that the curls went sideways. "Can't tell you. Have a productive day." And she left.
Rowena considered this a while, then went back to her memo. "All employees are important to the company," it read. "We recognize that everyone has something to offer. W. Schmed."
Rowena suspected that both the memo and the visit from Eloise were meant to be encouraging, or even motivating, but they weren't. She picked up her report and started in on it, trying to act as though nothing were happening.
"Hi; how's it going?" Rowena put her finger down to mark her place and looked up; Carla was holding a folder in both hands and smiling down at her.
"Not too bad," Rowena said, and waited. Carla put the folder down on Rowena's desk.
"Good," she said. "Because I can't figure out Paragraph 6, and I was wondering . . ."
Rowena opened the folder and found the paragraph in question. She read it, then read it again, then checked to see who'd written it, but there was no name.
"Where'd you get this thing?" she asked.
"Eloise. Where'd you think?"
"It doesn't make a whole lot of sense."
"No kidding; why'd you think I brought it to you?"
Rowena tried reading it again, slowly. And then she took a sharp pencil and began making light, very fine lines. "Let's see," she said. "If we just take out all of the buzzwords and obvious gobbledygook . . ." Carla peered over her shoulder.
"Hey!" she said. "Hey!"
"That any help?" Rowena asked.
"Yeah; great. Thanks." Carla picked up her report. "A minute ago I had no idea what this was about. Now I know it's stupid."
Rowena watched her leave, then went back to her own project. She'd only managed a couple of paragraphs before she was interrupted again.
"Rowena!" said Jim. "You're a girl."
Rowena put her pen down and turned to face him. "What?"
"You're a girl. I mean, you know . . . girl things."
Rowena took a deep breath. "What girl things did you have in mind?" she asked.
He picked up Rowena's spindle and began to fidget with it. The spindle had papers stuck onto it; one of them slid off and away through the air. Rowena snatched the spindle from Jim's hands and he went off after the errant paper. He handed it to Rowena a bit sheepishly, and she stuck it back where it belonged.
"Jim," she said, "what is it?"
"Oh, yeah, right. Well, it's Candace. You know Candace?"
"You've mentioned her."
"Right. Well, she had a fit last night because I went to a movie with some friends instead of
going to see her."
"Had you told her you would see her?" Rowena asked.
"Well, yeah, but--I mean, my friends were going to this movie, and Candace would have hated it, so I couldn't have taken her to it, so if I hadn't gone last night with my friends, I would have had to go see it alone. Or missed it." Jim paused, staring dreamily off into the space above Rowena's head. "You wouldn'ta believed this explosion they had."
S.D. Youngren - Rowena 6 - Rowena Moves In.txt Page 11
