My Latest Grievance (14 page)

"Yes, I did. But who else is going to sit her down and tell the truth?"

"Which is what?" asked my mother.

"That he'll wake up one morning embarrassed, and not only will he break up with her, but he'll fire her. He won't want her as a reminder, and his wife will insist they get rid of her."

"Rather sophisticated analysis," my mother said to my father. "And compassionate."

"Astute, even," he agreed.

"And then who will write her a reference? She'll be back on the dole," I pointed out. "Yours. I'll have to go to Dewing because my tuition will go to alimony."

"Gross exaggeration," said my father.

"And she accepted this invitation of yours?" my mother asked.

I said, "Yes, she did. She seemed happy to be invited."

"What are we serving?" my mother asked.

I told her that the man behind the meat counter at Star Market had told me how to roast a chicken and when to take it out of the oven. Did we own paprika?

"I could have told you how to cook a chicken," my mother said.

"She's roasted a lot of chickens in her day," my father said proudly.

"It's not that hard," I said. "I think you could have showed me when I was, like, six."

"I'm guessing your mother felt it would have been a sexist thing to do—to teach a daughter how to roast a chicken as if that were a mother's duty and a daughter's role."

My mother nodded appreciatively. "Now I'm thinking that if we had had a son, we'd want him to know how to cook and iron and sew buttons on his shirts. Whereas with a daughter, we didn't want to send the mixed message, 'Strive and learn and achieve, but you won't be a truly fulfilled woman unless you can roast the perfect chicken.'"

Blah blah blah. We, we, we.
No wonder I was raising myself.

One three-pound chicken and one pint of mint chocolate chip does not stretch five ways. Laura Lee, my parents and I, and her uninvited dinner date, Father Ralph, wearing a navy blue blazer and an ascot at the neck of his perfectly ironed oxford blue shirt, politely ate the first course of chicken and the emergency backup of pot roast and succotash imported from Curran Hall.

A stranger's presence made the discussion of anything substantive more difficult, so we talked about the downward spiral of his job. My parents adjusted happily. They debriefed Father Ralph with zeal, since his complaints were job-related. What was the Church analogue of tenure? What about seniority? Benefits? Retirement?

The problem, according to plain-clothed Ralph, was that the bishop maintained that his directives about hours, wages, and working conditions came from God.

I laughed, the only one. Father Ralph asked, "Why is that funny, child?"

"She wasn't raised with any religion," explained Laura Lee.

"I'm Jewish," said Aviva. "And David is a nonpracticing Presbyterian."

"We're agnostic human secularists," said my father.

I pointed at Laura Lee and my father, back and forth a few times for emphasis. "These two used to be married," I heard myself say.

"I know," said Father Ralph.

As my parents glared, I protested, "He's a priest! He's not allowed to repeat anything he hears in confession, right?"

"That's right," said Father Ralph.

"This is hardly confession," said my mother.

"
I've
never understood what the big secret is," said Laura Lee. "Modern people like us? It seems utterly Victorian."

"Was it unilateral?" I asked.

"Was what unilateral?"

"The decision to keep it a secret?"

"More or less," said my father.

"Your parents decided. I was the new girl in town," said Laura Lee, "and they were the experts who believed that having an ex-wife on campus was going to be hard for you."

I prodded the chicken carcass with the serving fork and was rewarded with a strand of dark meat. "Anyone want this?"

"It's yours," Laura Lee said. "I haven't had much of an appetite lately."

"It was delicious," said Father Ralph.

"Why was it going to be hard for me?" I asked.

"Gossip," said my mother. "You know this place is first and foremost a rumor mill."

"But it's not a rumor: They were married and now they're not. He married you, and you had me. Isn't that like every family in America?"

"Heaven forbid," murmured Father Ralph.

We all looked at him. He said, "I didn't mean that as a personal rebuke. I said it as a pre–Vatican II Catholic."

"It wouldn't have lasted," said Laura Lee. "And this may be as good a time as any for me to say that I've made peace with the past. Frederica should know that her father and I would
not
be together today, even if Aviva hadn't jump-started the process."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Children," she said simply. "He wanted them and I couldn't have them."

"Laura Lee—" said my father.

"Couldn't, wouldn't ... not much difference in the end if the woman doesn't feel she's equipped to be a mother," said Laura Lee.

In normal families, that declaration would have been met with a self-conscious silence, whereas in mine, even in front of a celibate dinner guest and a minor, we had to explore its nuances.

"It wasn't a question of infertility, was it?" my mother asked.

Laura Lee smiled. "Do you mean
infrequency
? Because I was starting to wonder if David was all that interested in me. Or women in general. Strictly from that point of view, it was almost a relief to know he was having an affair."

Was this my fault? Had bringing up the divorce led us to this embarrassing topic? Or had I forgotten that all discussions around the Hatch table were embarrassing? I looked at Father Ralph. His expression was so purposefully neutral and pious that I had the urge to puncture it.

"Are you and Laura Lee dating?" I asked him.

No one gasped or scolded me. "Priests don't date," he said. "I think everyone knows that."

"Ralph and I are just friends," said Laura Lee.

"What about you and President Woodbury?" I asked her.

I half expected that she would sputter, "Dr. Woodbury and I? I don't know what you're talking about." But instead she answered, head held high and eyes glistening, "You four are the only friends I have in this city. It's why I brought Ralph tonight, so we could talk. I mean, really talk. The way Frederica and I do."

I had been sliding my chair away from the table, about to excuse myself as a mere teenager at the threshold of a seriously adult powwow, until my not-quite-stepmother fingered me as her number one confidante.

"Before you speak, please know that you're putting us in a rather uncomfortable position," my father began.

"Bullshit," said Laura Lee. "You and your wife spend half your waking hours listening to other people's problems. I'd like to know what goes on at Dewing that you
don't
know about."

"That's true, Dad," I said.

"Perhaps Dr. Hatch meant the uncomfortable position of listening to personal problems rather than
personnel
problems, which generally don't involve the commission of mortal sins," added Father Ralph.

His was just the right note of religious condescension to drive Aviva and David into the ally camp. Minus a gavel, my mother rapped her knuckles on the bare pine of the table. "Let's hear from Laura Lee now," she said.

G
RACE WOODBURY,
Laura Lee repeated earnestly and pseudoscientifically, had been for the full term of the marriage—sorry, no other word—"frigid." Hence, Eric's inevitable turning to a woman who could offer him what he'd long been denied.

My mother said, "'Frigid' isn't a medical diagnosis, Laura Lee. It's a word that men use to describe their wives to their mistresses. I hope you didn't believe him."

Laura Lee asked, "Is it all right to speak in this vein in front of Frederica?"

I said, "They like it when every conversation contains a little sex education."

Father Ralph said, "What a different world we live in now. My parents wouldn't even spell the word 'sex' in front of us, let alone tolerate it coming from the mouth of one of their children."

"It's our fault," said my mother. "We treat her like an equal, which backfires on a daily basis."

"You should have had a bunch of kids," I said. "Then we'd be an old-fashioned family with no back talk."

"He grew up in a big Catholic family," said Laura Lee.

"How big?" I asked.

"Eight children."

"How many girls and how many boys?" I asked.

"She's fascinated by big families," my mother said.

Laura Lee smiled. "Only children. I was exactly the same way."

"Where were you in the lineup?" I asked Father Ralph.

"Third child, oldest son."

"And you know what that means," said Laura Lee.

My mother said, "You're Ralph Junior?"

"What I meant was he had virtually no choice except to become a priest. Nothing else would do for the oldest son of a devout family. Nothing made them prouder."

"But what did the oldest
son
want to do?" asked my father.

"Me?" asked Father Ralph.

My father nodded.

"Please his parents. Not to mention his grandparents and two aunts who were nuns."

"Didn't you have a guidance counselor?" I asked.

"They were priests," said Father Ralph. "I went to Catholic schools my whole life."

Laura Lee, in a voice that managed to convey
enough about him,
asked if we had tea bags.

My father rose to fill the kettle and to clear the dinner plates.

"He never used to be a help around the house," Laura Lee murmured.

"I was teaching, writing my thesis, and burning the midnight oil in two labs, while your days were a little freer," my father answered.

"I think you mean 'burning the midnight oil at your soon-to-be second wife's studio apartment,'" Laura Lee said pleasantly.

My father sent back a grimace of a smile that I knew was meant to say, Touché.

I said, "Can we get back to the Woodburys?"

"One minute. I need my tea," said Laura Lee.

Father Ralph immediately picked up where he'd left off, lamenting the career decision he'd made as an overage altar boy purely to please every adult in his orbit. "The presumption is that you'll stay in the Church and die in the Church so that you won't need a mortgage or a credit rating, barely even a Social Security number.
I'm turning fifty in two weeks," he said. "I have no job, no house, no wife, no children, no nest egg."

My mother said, "And is that what you're inclined toward: Women? A wife and children?"

"Ma!" I said.

"Did I say something wrong? Because you know I ask that question without any prejudice or any subtext. None."

"As your guest," said Father Ralph, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, and I won't assume that you meant that question as a slur. But it felt as if you were impugning my ... my—"

"Masculinity," Laura Lee supplied, eyes on the tea bag she was dipping.

I knew what was next: my mother's prohomosexual speech. I coughed to draw her attention, then narrowed my eyes to convey, He doesn't want you to think he's gay, so drop it.

"Just say it, Frederica," my mother chided.

I asked, "Is it out of the question for you to apologize to our guest?"

My mother said, "Case in point: My daughter thinks she's the arbiter of family etiquette."

"High self-esteem," said my father. "Nothing we'd really want to do differently, hon."

Laura Lee turned to her guest. "Ralph? Is there anything else you want to say to Aviva?"

He was frowning, his gaze lowered to his place mat. "Only to reiterate that I'm not gay. If I were, I wouldn't be leaving the Church to find warmth and companionship with a woman."

"I apologize," my mother said. "At the same time, I never understand why the question of one's sexual proclivities would ever cause offense, because I see it as benign a question as asking someone his blood type. But I can see that I offended you, and I
am
sorry."

My father asked, "Now what happens? Is there some kind of exit counseling the Church offers?"

"Or termination pay?" asked my mother.

"Unfortunately not," said Ralph.

"I've been urging him to look into dorm parenting," said Laura Lee.

"Here?" I asked.

My mother said, "We're fully staffed, and we've never had a male dorm parent."

"Isn't that your husband's job?" asked Ralph.

"I meant they don't allow single men. It would be breaking new ground at a women's college."

Laura Lee said quietly, "I could speak to Eric about it. He's not averse to breaking new ground."

Finally, after ninety minutes of conversational hopscotch, we had circled back to the very reason I'd gathered everyone at our underutilized table. "Did you mean you can speak to Dr. Woodbury because you two are dating?"

Laura Lee leaned sideways to bump shoulders with me. "Is that not the sweetest question—'Are you two dating?' Three cheers for the Frederica who on some levels is still a sophomore in high school."

"Which levels?" I asked.

"She's saying that, on occasion, you act your age, and she finds that endearing," said my father.

"As do I," said my mother.

"I was trying to be polite. I didn't want to offend anyone by saying 'sleeping with' or 'having sex with.'"

"The word you're looking for is 'euphemism,'" offered my father. "You were employing a euphemism."

Laura Lee drained her cup, blotted her mouth, then asked, "Where do I begin?"

"With whatever you need us to know," said my father.

"
Need?
" asked Laura Lee. "I find that a little patronizing. This isn't me looking for talk therapy. This is me in the middle of a crisis that affects hundreds, maybe thousands of people."

"Wow," I said.

"An entire university!"

No one corrected her; no one reviewed Dewing's standing as a barely full-fledged college.

Suddenly, as if emoting into an open mike, Laura Lee cried out, "I love him!"

"How do you know?" asked Ralph.