Alice had travelled the world and lived in England for years, and yet she’d grown up right here in Oakdale. She was also living proof of a fact of life Melina had only recently begun to understand — that the rules taught in school don’t apply to adults. Alice was a never-married single mother but she wasn’t living on welfare or unemployed, she was a university professor.
Ethnic, but not obsessed with it, a single mother, a good job, and living in the better part of Oakdale — nothing about Alice added up to how things were supposed to be. Her appliances were old but she was in no hurry to replace them. She had no family room and an old TV. And instead of displaying museum Monet posters (Melina’s mother’s choice of wall art) or boring antique illustrations of pears and apples (Mary Ann Gray’s style), there were framed black and white photographs up on the wall, photographs Alice had taken of strange and foreign places, places Melina hoped to visit one day, when she got out of Oakdale.
Melina told Alice she liked the pictures one weeknight after she’d babysat Lavinia while Alice stayed late in the city to go to a lecture.
“Thanks for noticing them,” Alice said. “They’re just some old snapshots I took or had taken years ago. Reminders of my youth. I dug them out and hung them up a few weeks ago on a night when I was feeling restless.”
Melina walked over to the first photograph, pointed at it. “Where was this one taken?”
“That’s Wroxeter, a Roman town site in England. I worked on those excavations for a couple of summers when I was in college.”
“And the middle picture?”
“That’s the temple of Apollo at Delphi in Greece. I never dug there, but I love those old Doric columns.”
“It looks so ancient and old world,” Melina said. “So unlike anything you’d find here.” She moved to the third photograph in the series. “How about this one?”
“That’s me in my youth. Nice hair style, huh? The picture was taken in France, at the site of a small Roman villa I helped excavate.”
“You’ve been everywhere,” Melina said.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve never set foot in Asia or Africa. Or Australia. But I did spend a considerable amount of time in the U.K. and Europe before Lavinia was born.”
Melina picked up her backpack. “I want to travel, too. I’m thinking I might take a grad trip next summer. Or even go to college abroad. You did that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, and loved it. I couldn’t wait to get out of Oakdale when I was in high school. Where would you go?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still at the fantasy stage. But when I get to the planning stage, can we talk?”
“Sure,” Alice said. “I could recommend a few destinations I’d go back to if I had the chance. More than a few.”
6
June 1992
The wedding invitation listed the names of five different parents who requested the pleasure of Alice’s company at the nuptials of Mary Ann and Bob, wording Alice suspected was meant to indicate how the wedding costs were being shared.
What she understood from it was that since their divorce, Mary Ann’s dad had apparently married someone named Cynthia, and Mary Ann’s mom had married no one at all. Also that Bob’s real name was Robert, same as his dad. There was no explanation about why his parents had shortened Robert to Bob. Or why Bob had continued to call himself that, when he had a choice.
There was no explanation either for why, at the tender age of twenty-four, Mary Ann was throwing her youth away, marrying an investment banker, and committing to life as one of Them.
Alice’s first stop on her arrival home for the wedding was her parents’ house on Pine, where she endured the parental greeting, discovered there was no food in the house, and borrowed her mother’s car to drive to McLean’s, the local grocery store.
She’d picked out capers, olives, anchovies, and canned tomatoes to make a puttanesca sauce, and was searching in vain for a box of imported pasta when she was nudged by an oncoming shopping cart rounding the corner.
“I’m sorry,” a woman’s voice said, and Alice looked into the face of Mary Ann’s mother.
“Hi, Mrs. MacAllister. It’s me, Alice Maeda.”
“Oh, hello, Alice. How nice to see you. Call me Sarah, please. When did you get in? Did you have a pleasant flight?”
Alice said she’d only just arrived, and asked after Mary Ann.
“Well, you know brides,” Sarah said, though Alice didn’t, not at all. “She’s overseeing every detail. And she’s brought a squad of her sorority sisters along to help. I can only take so much of them. This is my second trip to the store today.”
Alice said, “So you couldn’t talk her out of getting married?” She meant it as a joke.
Sarah’s shoulders sagged. “You wouldn’t have time for a coffee, would you?”
When they’d paid for their groceries, and sat down at Station Bakery on Main Street, Sarah said, “I think Mary Ann is too young to get married. But who knows? Maybe it’ll last. Some marriages do.”
“I was sorry to hear about your divorce. Has it been very difficult?”
“Yes and no. My real estate work helped me get through it. And I like living alone. Mary Ann doesn’t understand that. Anyway. Are you coming to the shower?”
“What shower?”
“I mailed an invitation to your parents’ house a few weeks ago. It’s tomorrow evening. At my house.”
“I’ve never been to a shower.”
“This one’s mixed — it’s a Jack and Jill.”
“And you’re hosting it.”
“It’s what a mother does.”
Alice tried to imagine her own mother hosting a wedding shower, but that meant imagining herself getting married. Both scenarios were too implausible. “Maybe I could help you with the food and drink. Make myself useful. What are you serving?”
“I’d love your help. It’s going to be typical shower fare: a layered Mexican dip, a cream-cheese sandwich loaf, spinach dip in a bread bowl, a raw vegetable tray, some spiced nuts.”
“I can’t wait. I’m always up for new food experiences, and I’ve never heard of some of those things.”
“Mary Ann wanted classic food. She’s always been drawn to the conventional.”
“What am I supposed to be showering the happy couple with?”
“Kitchen things, with a blue-and-white theme, for their new house in Oakdale. I brokered a deal for them on a big Colonial on Green Street, did you hear? It needs some work, but Bob’s doing all right for himself. And they’ll commute to the city.”
“A husband and a Colonial house? What’s happening here?”
“Mary Ann is trying to recreate her childhood. And conveniently forgetting that her father and I weren’t happy for years before we separated.” Sarah sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I won’t. But do you think that’s how it is?”
“Why else would an intelligent young woman cling to these outdated ideas?”
Because, Alice remembered, Mary Ann had always wanted to fit in, and to succeed.
Sarah said, “Why don’t you come back to the house with me now and see Mary Ann? If we’re lucky, the sorority sisters will have gone.”
“Look what I picked up at the store,” Sarah called when they entered the house, and Mary Ann said, “What?” saw Alice, said, “Oh my god!” and ran to her.
Mary Ann’s hair was blonder. That was the first thing Alice noticed. Blonder, and more done-looking. The face, too. More made up.
Mary Ann hugged her, though they had never hugged before, not that Alice could remember.
“You look just the same,” Mary Ann said, and Alice couldn’t bring herself to say, “So do you,” so she just smiled, and nodded and said, “Well, well.”
Mary Ann touched the curls at the back of her head. “You’re probably thinking what’s with the roller set, right? I’ve been trying out various hair options for the wedding. I can’t decide. Should I wear it
down, or up, with tendrils? What do you think? My friends just left, but they were definitely leaning toward up.”
Before Alice could formulate a reply other than an incredulous “Did you say tendrils?” Mary Ann had moved on, prattling about her fingertip veil, and the rhinestone tiara that would hold it on her head, and her gown, which had cost a fortune, but was worth it because it was her dream dress, the one she’d always wanted, a Cinderella kind of dress, did Alice want to see it? And Alice had been led upstairs, to Mary Ann’s old bedroom, where a huge white puffball hung on the outside of a closet door.
Alice said, “How do you sleep with it in the room? Aren’t you afraid it’ll come to life and eat you in the middle of the night?”
“Wait till you see the detail on it.”
Alice sat on the bed, lit a cigarette, and watched Mary Ann use a fingering technique that she must have learned at wedding dress school to unroll the layers of plastic wrap that encased the dress.
“I won’t take the cover all the way off, but what do you think? Can you see? It’s made with Alençon lace. Do you love it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Alice said, and sneezed violently once. Twice.
Mary Ann replaced the cover with more intricate finger movements. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Alice sneezed again, produced a tissue from a pocket, blew her nose. “It’s probably an allergy. To American pollen.”
“Don’t give me that. You think I’m nuts to be getting married, don’t you?”
Alice worked at keeping her face expressionless. “Not at all. What do you mean?”
“You and Mom both. I can tell.”
“It’s your life. What do you care what anyone else thinks?”
“That’s the problem. I do care.”
Alice looked around for an ashtray, didn’t find one, went over to the window and cranked it open, ground out the burning cigarette on the brick sill. “Your mom told me about your new job — congratulations on that. I don’t understand what software project management is, but it sounds impressive. I’m sure Miss Alexander would be proud.”
“Thanks. I worked real hard to get it, and it’s going to be tough. The company expects total commitment from their employees and long hours. But I’m looking forward to it.”
“What about Bob?” It was a strain for Alice to say the name without putting ironic quotation marks around it, but she managed. “How will he feel about your long hours?”
“He works long hours too. We’re going to be a real yuppie couple. He already has a BMW.”
“No.”
“Yes. Is that too gross for words?”
Alice smiled. “You’re allowed.”
Mary Ann hugged her again. “I’m so glad you came! How are your parents doing?”
“Same as always — lost in their music. If I know them, they’ve already forgotten I’m here.”
“Don’t you have their car?”
“Shit, I do. I should go.” She got up and they went downstairs.
“You’re coming to the party tomorrow, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Bob and I thought having a pre-wedding party for all of our friends was a far better idea than having a separate stag and bridal shower.”
“Men still have stags? I thought that went out with the eighties.”
“They call them bachelor parties now. Bob’s been to a few.”
“With scantily clad women jumping out of cakes?”
“With strippers and gambling and dirty movies.”
“Your party sounds much more grown-up.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait for you to meet Bob. I know you’ll love him.”
“And if I don’t, that’ll be okay, too.”
Alice cleared the kitchen table of newspapers, magazines, and music scores, set it with three place settings, made a puttanesca sauce, served it over some linguine, and called her parents to come for dinner.
Her father came into the kitchen from his study, his eyes clouded, his mind still on the Chopin sonata he’d been playing, and her mother came from upstairs, where she’d just finished giving a violin lesson to an unfortunate child. When they were seated and eating, Alice said, “So, Mom, it turns out there’s a wedding shower for Mary Ann and her fiancé tomorrow evening.”
“That’s nice.”
“Mary Ann’s mom says she sent me an invitation here, in the mail.”
“Oh, Kenji,” Alice’s mother said, “that documentary on Yo-Yo Ma is on PBS tonight. At eight o’clock.”
Alice’s father almost spat. “You think I want to see Yo-Yo Ma?”
Forget the invitation. “Could you lend me something to wear to the shower? I only brought one nice dress with me.”
“Sure. But all I have are my concert clothes. Would something like that be okay?”
“Black would be fine for the shower. It’s like a cocktail party.”
“Look in my closet and see what you can find. Will my clothes fit you?”
She didn’t know? “I think so.”
“Don’t get me started on Yo-Yo Ma,” her father said.
Wasn’t it great to be back home.
Alice practised a fake laugh for the shower on the way over to Mary Ann’s. To go with the phony smile she planned to use on Bob Gray, no matter how unpleasant or uptight he turned out to be.
She rang the bell, Mary Ann answered the door, and Alice handed her the gift bag containing the pair of blue-and-white hand-turned bowls she had spent the whole afternoon locating in the city.
“Come in, come in,” Mary Ann said.
Alice entered, ready with the fake manners, but she didn’t get a chance to use them, not at first, because Bob was on the phone in the front hall. A business call, Mary Ann told her, when she led Alice, on tiptoe, through the dining room — so as not to disturb Bob — and into the kitchen to say hi to Sarah. Alice was left with a first impression of a tall, dark-haired man in a suit.
Mary Ann’s hair was a mass of bouncy curls, and she was garbed in a flowered cotton poufy dress that was all pinks and oranges and yellows. In contrast to the severe black jersey number Alice had borrowed from her mother.
“Isn’t the weather glorious?” Mary Ann said. “We can have the party outside.” She pointed out the sliding glass doors to the flagstone patio, where several young women flitted about, arranging flowers, mixing punch in a big cut-glass bowl, speaking in high voices. “Come out and meet my college friends.”
Fifteen minutes later, Alice retreated to the kitchen. Sarah was there alone, sticking stuffed olives into a big white brick of something on a serving platter.
Alice closed the sliding glass door behind her. “That was exhausting.”
Sarah looked up. “You’re too elegant to fit in with that crowd.”
“Gee, thanks. But weren’t you one of them yourself, in your day?”
“I’m afraid so. Chapter president. Just like Mary Ann.”
Alice looked out the window at the scene in the garden. The girls were directing Mary Ann’s brother in arranging garden chairs into conversation corners, whatever they might be. “Why are they all blonde?”
“They’ve discovered hair dye. And their natural colour isn’t a beautiful deep shade like yours. More of a mousy brown like mine was.”
Alice’s took in Sarah’s well-coiffed blonde head, thought of her mother’s graying hair, long and always worn in a loose chignon, never noticed. “What can I do?”
“Come see this creation I’ve made.”
Alice walked over. “It looks very neat. And rectangular. What is it?”
“It’s a cream-cheese sandwich loaf.”
“Please continue.”
“Inside is a loaf of white bread, cut horizontally into four long slices. Between the slices lie three fillings: egg salad, tuna salad, and chopped pineapple in mayonnaise.”
“Chopped pineapple? You don’t say. Is that icing on it?”
“It’s softened cream cheese. All that�
��s left to do is complete the garnish. I think those olives look cute, don’t you?”
“Very.”
“Do you think I should add a heart shape, made of gherkins? In honour of the bride and groom?”
“Are you pulling my leg?”
“Maybe that’s going too far.”
“I don’t know. With something like this, I don’t think one can go far enough. Have you considered writing their initials in grated carrot?”
“The orange would be lovely against the white background.”
“Within the gherkin heart.”
Sarah smiled. “You’re teasing me now.”
“I’m not. I’m fascinated by this symbol of a foreign culture. And how often do I get an opportunity to do anthropological field work in my own backyard?”
“You’re funny, Alice. Funny haha and funny strange.”
“Tell me about it. And pass me the gherkins, please. I’d like to do the honours. Experience a cream-cheese loaf creation first-hand.”
Some people at the shower seemed to think Alice was a waitress. Due to the black dress, the fact that she was handing around things on trays, the half-Asian face. She didn’t care. She only minded people making ignorant assumptions about her when they were people she cared about. And this way, she could eavesdrop on conversations, make like a detective.
Which was how she heard two older women discussing Sarah. “Doesn’t she look brave?” one said.
“Yes, but I wonder if she’s been alone a bit too long.”
“What do you mean?”
“A few weeks ago, I offered to introduce her to my brother-in-law’s business partner. He’s recently divorced. But she refused.”
“She must not be ready.”
“It’s been four years since Jim left.”
“That’s not so long, when you haven’t dated for twenty-five.”
“Do you know what she said to me? She said, ‘The last thing I want to do is start looking after another man.’”
“She said that?”
The Oakdale Dinner Club Page 6
