Grace Grows: A Novel
4/5
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About this ebook
Grace Barnum's life is precariously balanced on sensible choices and uncomfortable compromise. She dutifully edits textbooks that, she fears, may be more harmful than helpful to kids. She is engaged to a patent attorney who is steady and reliable. She has a cautious relationship with her fascinating father, a renowned New York painter, and she prefers her mom slightly drunk.
Always a planner, Grace feels prepared for most eventualities. Until the responsibility-challenged Tyler Wilkie shows up. Fresh in town from the Poconos, Tyler has warm eyes, a country drawl, and a smile that makes Grace drop things. Worst of all, he writes devastating songs. About her.
Tyler reaches something in Grace, something she needs, but can't admit to. Something she wants, but won't succumb to. Tyler Wilkie loves Grace Barnum and ruins everything. And Grace grows.
Shelle Sumners
SHELLE SUMNERS has worked as a waitress, actress, copy editor, bookseller, and wedding chapel receptionist. Sometimes she only pretended to do these things while furtively scribbling notes for screenplays and novels. Shelle lives with her husband, Lee Morgan, and daughter in Pennsylvania. She is the author of Grace Grows.
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Reviews for Grace Grows
17 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5*I won an ARC of this book through a Goodreads First Reads giveaway*
I have to say that once I started reading this book, I got a bit obsessed with it. I couldn't seem to put it down for long.
In some ways this book reminds me a lot of YA books I've read, although the characters are a bit older (27 at the beginning of the book.) I say that because it deals a lot with Grace growing up and learning what she wants out of life and facing some of her fears. I found it immensely refreshing to see these themes in a book with characters that aren't teenagers, because for a lot of us, these realizations don't come until we are older.
Overall, I really liked the characters in this book. Grace is our first person narrator and I liked her right away. She seemed to have a need to be in control of the situations she finds herself in. She likes her life neat and orderly. Then she meets Tyler and her life starts to get much messier than she had ever planned.
Tyler and all of the side characters in the book are well done and I think they all had their own unique personalities.
There were times when I wanted to smack Grace because I just felt utterly frustrated with her and some of the decisions she made. Normally that might make me take away a star in the rating, but I found myself so involved in the book, that I'm not sure that it even mattered.
Overall, I really enjoyed the book. It had flaws, but I was so glued to the story that I had no trouble overlooking them.
One another note, the music that accompanies this book is absolutely lovely!1 person found this helpful
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I won this in a First Reads Giveaway. Summary:I liked this book. It's a good solid romance and coming of age story. It's a fun, romanticized love story that feels glossy . It's a quick read, with a slow build up. It didn't really grip me to keep reading straight through, I could put it down and pick it up with ease, but at the same time I was entertained and wanted to finish it. It obvious how the story is going to go. It wasn't surprising or shocking or different. Like a Jodie Picoult novel without the suspense or tension. It's a slow running story about a couple and their love. If you like romance or contemporary fiction, I'd recommend this book. I'm glad I read it, it was enjoyable. It has it's pros and cons, though if you're a fan of this genre I don't doubt you'll like this book. -------------------------------Good Things:---Grace's voice - It comes through loud and clear. The narration really feels like Grace writing this book and you do get to know her very well through it. It's very convincing. Once you get to the end, you'll wonder about the author really being Grace or not. Lots of pop culture references from songs, books, movies, celebrities. I like how the format varied to tell the story accurately with IM and texts. I like how things are described and talked about in the book. The feel, and tone of the book was well done and fit perfectly. ---Style – Okay it's totally superficial and shallow I know but I love the cover and style of this book. I think that it is important for how the reader looks at a book initially with expectations and set up. You can't judge a book by its cover, but the cover is the first impression of a book and you know what they say about first impressions. I also really liked the separations of seasons with the shading, the chapter titles, style etc. It gives this awesome feel to the book and I think it really matches up with Grace's style and type. After all, wouldn't Grace the copy editor pay attention and care about such things? It's a beautiful book. I also really love the advanced reader's copy cover and am glad I got this copy since I'm not all that in love with the cover on the release book. (Not that it's a bad cover I just really prefer the advanced copy cover and I think that the advanced reader copy cover fits the book better.)---Setting - It's places and people feel authentic. It's set in New York and unlike other books, you do see multiculturalism. There's a varied background of character from different religions, races, and orientations. The characters weren't stereotypes or just thrown in as tokens. It was nice to see a book set in New York, which is so diverse, really show how diverse it is. Too often in books or TV, the only main characters you see are white and there's little interaction with different people. Think how white washed the show Friends was. The only poor characters you see though just moved to New York and don't remain struggling for long. Of course, Grace is very well off with a good support system so it's really unsurprising and works out fine that way. ---Songs - The lyrics for the songs are actually included instead of the common trope of “Take Our Word For It”. There's even recorded versions of the songs on the author's website. That's a nice refreshing change and it does help the story. How else am I supposed to know why everyone is going gaga over the songs Ty is writing for Grace? It does help to understand the story from Ty's blow up, Ty's character in general and Ty's love for Grace. ---Characters – Now I'm a sucker for characters, from character driven stories to character progression. The characters were in general well done, thought out and authentic. For instance, Grace's Mom really makes sense as a character, her personality of staying strictly in control and neat to stay risen above the poverty that they went through before, the way she acts towards love and marriage due to her experiences. ---From my friends in the publishing industry (specifically text books) I can verify those stories in the beginning were true. There's a huge issue with Texas being a huge buyer of textbooks and altering them to be terrible, leaving important things out and being just plain wrong. Cons ---As mentioned above I had some issues with characters, which I put in my review for Goodreads behind spoiler tags, and it being simply how I felt about them with regards to Grace's character progression and Ty's behavior in the beginning especially. Basically, Ty was creepy and Grace was...erratic, childish and spineless. ---The revel of that Grace is in love just felt a bit off, it didn't feel like there was much on Grace's side of the romance besides liking his smile. But liking someone's smile doesn't mean love. Maybe we were suppose to pick up on subtle clues like her lying about things to understand it? ( I don't think this is a spoiler since all the blurbs talk about Grace, Ty and love. I think I kept it general enough to work. )---There were some facts that didn't really add up or make sense to me. Like how does Grace's mom make enough money for the McMansion, and her expense tastes as a county prosecutor in New Jersey?---There are several things very...romanticized, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I just had different expectations due to the quote on the cover saying “ a new take on the whole opposites attract approach to love...and sex.” In reality the book, had standard romanticized idealized perfect sex, the love story had followed the common tropes, and the book in general had implausible moments. It's glossy. It's perfection. It's a happy Lifetime movie. The worst thing in Grace's world, is Grace. The worst thing to happen in Grace's world, is Grace. No financial worries. No employment worries. Just love. Again, not a bad thing when you want to watch a Lifetime movie. -----The only thing I could think of that would qualify for a new approach on sex in this book, but it was a passing mention in only a couple of pages so the quote I read on the front of the book was misleading for me. -----Want to do a new take on sex? What about the About 75 percent of all women never reach orgasm from intercourse alone -- that is without the extra help of sex toys, hands or tongue. Only a percentage of women who can have orgasms, only a percentage can have multiple orgasms. In fact, 10 to 15 percent of women never climax under any circumstances. Why not a story dealing with those kind of troubles, which is the reality for the vast majority of people though hardly ever mentioned in books like this. Can we get a love story that's cute, funny, tender and realistic? Of course, this is a generic complaint about books in this genre I have.
Book preview
Grace Grows - Shelle Sumners
the first autumn
day zero: my unravelment begins
(unravelment: is that a word?)
The first time I met Tyler Wilkie, I was dressed like a call girl.
By pure, titillating coincidence, my strategy for work that day was cleavage. The big guns. Or, in my case, the medium, B-verging-on-C ones. Because yesterday, having dressed like a Mennonite librarian for our meeting with the textbook lobbyists from Texas, I’d sat there mute and limp while imagination was besieged by the powers of ignorance.
Forbes and Delilah Webber loved my blouse with the Peter Pan collar. Delilah called me the sweetest little thing
and precious.
They promised to recommend our middle school Teen Health textbook for statewide adoption if we agreed to:
a) Remove all information regarding condoms.
and
b) Change the word imagine to suppose. Imagine being "too like the word magic—it might upset some people."
They also asked us to get them orchestra seats to The Lion King.
After the meeting, I begged my boss to refuse the Webbers. My traitorous coeditor Edward, who happens to be from Texas, capitulated and offered to do the edits, reminding me that we don’t mess with Texas
and its four-hundred-million-dollar book-buying budget.
We were meeting with the Webbers again today, to show them the changes. I didn’t know what I could do to stop the anti-imagine machine. I had tried to come up with a plan all the sleepless night, and I had nothing. This ship was going to sink, but I decided that I, their sweetest little thing,
could at least try to look taller going down. I could project confidence and strength. Defiance. Sex. A tall, cruel, European dominatrix vibe.
It was so not me.
I donned the black pin-striped suit my mother gave me for Christmas two years ago, which I have worn exactly once. To a funeral. Only I hiked the skirt up a couple inches and wore my push-up bra. Found an ancient pair of stockings in the back of my drawer. Then I squeezed into the black, four-inch-stiletto-heeled, pointy-toed shoes I bought on sale at Lord & Taylor to go with the suit. I pulled my hair into a low, severe knot, and put on mascara and lipstick. Red.
I pulled on my raincoat and grabbed an umbrella, my laptop, and the twenty-pound green leather shoulder bag that contained All I Might Conceivably Need, which might include (but was not limited to):
keys
wallet
cell
agenda
lip balm
hairbrush
hair band
big hair clip
tissues
book (Lolita, it happened)
iPod
bottle of water
bag of raw cashews
70% dark chocolate bar
apple
black pen
red pencil
black Sharpie
red cardigan sweater
tacky vinyl zipper bag with photo of fuzzy kitten on it, stocked with:
various-sized Band-Aids
small tube of antibiotic ointment
antihistamine and antidiarrheal tablets
Tylenol
Tylenol with caffeine
Tylenol with codeine
Advil
nail file
tampons
water lily oil
hand lotion
travel-size Shower Fresh Secret
and:
tea light and matches
mini-flashlight
tiny fold-up scissors with needle and black thread
ginger tea bags
earplugs
pocket copy of Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, for grammatical emergencies (memorized, but sometimes a tired mind becomes uncertain)
Oh, and one more thing: the silver pocket angel Edward gave me, wedged deep into a rip in the lining of the bag.
Thus aggressively attired and equipped for any eventuality, I headed down the three flights of stairs to the lobby.
Big dogs, barking.
I came around the last bend in the stairwell and saw them—our across-the-hall-neighbor Sylvia’s prize-winning giant schnauzers—tugging at a guy who sat at the bottom of the steps with their sparkly leashes wrapped around his hand. He heard me coming and moved to one side, murmuring sorry,
as I stepped carefully around him.
When I reached the door, God help me, I looked back. Might as well have gone ahead and turned to salt.
He was rubbing his face.
Everything okay?
I chirped, willing him to say yes so I could go. The dogs shifted their Batman-like ears toward me.
Uh, not really. She left me a note.
He spoke with a slightly countryish kind of drawl that reminded me, unpleasantly, of the Webbers. Blitzen and uh … Bismarck here have just been groomed for a show and I’m not supposed to get their feet wet.
Clearly Sylvia was even more insane than I had suspected. And the guy looked pathetically bleak.
Hold on,
I said, and went back upstairs. I grabbed a cheap umbrella from the pile of extras in our hall closet and a box of zipper bags from the kitchen, and rooted around in our junk drawer until I came up with an assortment of rubber bands and a roll of masking tape.
I tiptoed back downstairs (the shoes), sat next to the guy, and bagged one of Blitzen’s meticulously pedicured paws while she tickled my neck with her beard.
Once I had just about successfully finished the first foot, I looked to see if the guy was watching and learning.
He lifted his eyes from my chest and said, Oh hey, thanks!
He grabbed a bag and got busy on Bismarck.
It took the two of us about six minutes to double-bag all eight paws. Then I lurched back up en pointe, belted my raincoat firmly across my waist, and picked up my laptop bag. The guy stood too, handed me Big Green, and startled me with a smile that was blindingly sweet. I blinked and lost my grip on the strap, but he caught it and resettled the purse firmly on my shoulder.
Thanks, you really saved me,
he said.
I held out the umbrella. Here, take this. I think the rain’s just about stopped for now, but you might need it later.
He smiled the smile again and tucked the umbrella in the pocket of his army/navy outerwear.
I’ll bring it back to you,
he said. What’s your apartment number?
I waved a hand. Don’t worry about it.
He took up the dogs’ leashes and pushed the door open for me. Blitzen and Bismarck pulled him toward the park and I tippy-toed double time in the other direction, toward the subway.
Hey!
I heard him call out.
I turned around. He was at the other end of the block. He mouthed the words thank you.
I smiled and shrugged. No big deal.
day zero continues
and I encounter my doom, again
Damn. The Webbers canceled the meeting so they could go on a Hudson River breakfast cruise. They promised their approval over the phone, and I had dressed like one of Robert Palmer’s Addicted to Love
video girls for absolutely no reason.
Ed came out of his office and saw me limping down the hallway. The shoes were killing me. Oh, the fashion fuck-you!
he said. Too bad they canceled, it almost works.
What’s wrong with it?
I asked.
You’re about a foot too short. Not even a little intimidating.
And?
Your blacks don’t match. The suit is blue-black and the stockings are green-black.
Hm.
And I can see the lines of your granny panties.
They’re bikinis.
"And they shouldn’t be there. He patted my shoulder.
Grace, stick to your strengths."
I was still mad several hours later when Edward and I went out for dinner at Herman’s Piano Bar. It was our Tuesday thing. My friend Peg would join us when she wasn’t working on a show, but now she was assistant stage manager of the new Broadway musical Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!, with Antonio Banderas reprising his movie role. It was a big hit, so Peg wouldn’t be with us at Herman’s for a while.
I dragged a large fragment of greasy onion ring through the puddle of ranch dressing and ketchup on my plate. So what is wrong with you Texas people, anyway?
He looked at me darkly. Are you associating me with those yahoos?
You’re from Houston. So are they.
And am I like them?
No. He wasn’t, at all. It gave me hope that there were other sane Texans. Okay, I’ll shut up,
I said.
Yes, I believe you will!
he pretty much shouted. The sour was kicking in.
I slid his glass away. Eat more, drink less.
Edward barked his distinctive, walruslike bellow of a laugh, and the woman sitting on the other side of him turned around and shushed us. We’re trying to hear the singer!
she hissed.
Ed and I looked at each other. Who listens to the singer?
Apparently everyone. The room had actually gotten quiet; hardly anyone was talking.
The voice … how to describe it? Piercingly soulful might be a start. He was singing a ballad I’d never heard before, and the words—something about trying to find home—combined with the quality of his voice, put a knot in my stomach. But not necessarily in a bad way. More in a Jesus Christ, who is that making me feel this way? way.
I stood on the rungs of my barstool and balanced against Ed’s shoulder so I could get a look at the singer. He was hunched over the keyboard, mouth on the microphone, eyes closed, moving his body the same sinuous way his voice was moving—all over the place, but never out of control.
He finished the song and people clapped. A lot. And said woo-hoo! And whistled. He looked out at us all, a little surprised, it seemed. People quieted down and he launched into another song.
Ed looked at me. He’s amazing.
I know that guy!
I said, not quite believing it myself.
He wasn’t wearing the knit cap, and he had a terrible haircut—too short and choppy—but it was definitely him.
The dog walker.
He finished his allotted second song and I watched him squeeze through the crowd. He stopped a few times to shake an offered hand or listen attentively to a comment, but finally made it to the end of the bar, several people down from me. The next performer was up and talking into the mic, so the bartender had to speak loudly while he was pulling the guy a beer.
Bartender: You wrote those songs, man?
Dog Walker: Yeah.
Bartender: Awesome. You have more?
Dog Walker: Lots more.
The bartender leaned in closer to say something else and I lost the thread. I waited till they finished talking and told Edward I’d be back in a minute.
On approach, I studied him more closely than I had this morning. He was pale, rather gawky, all Adam’s apple and bad haircut. A kid, really.
I reached up and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned.
Hi,
I said.
Hey!
he said. It’s you!
He gave me that radiant smile and the gawk factor inexplicably transferred from him to me. Suddenly he was grace, and I wasn’t.
You’re shorter than this morning,
he said.
Oh, yes.
My face was getting warm. Annoying! I had on those tall shoes.
Yeah, they were pointy.
Yes, I was trying to—well, I don’t usually dress like that.
He nodded. It looked hot, but painful.
What’s your name?
I asked.
Tyler Wilkie.
He definitely had a drawl. What’s yours?
Grace. Barnum.
He lit up. Like the circus?
Exactly.
Cool.
We looked at each other and it occurred to me that he was autumn-colored. Auburn hair. Hazel eyes. He tilted his head and the corner of his mouth turned up, and I became aware that it was time to go. Edward had a late date and would want to leave. And Steven, my boyfriend, was probably home from work by now.
Nice to meet you again, Tyler. I liked your singing.
Thank you, Grace,
he said courteously.
I turned to leave, but he tugged on my sleeve. Your eyes are this color.
I glanced down at my sweater. Yes, pretty close. Bluish gray.
And your face is shaped like a heart,
he added.
How charmingly random! Oh, is it?
Yeah. I noticed it this morning.
His finger traced the air, following the curve of my cheek.
Well, I really have to go now.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. Okay, Grace Barnum. See ya.
* * *
I huddled under Ed’s arm as we headed down Columbus. The temperature must have dropped ten degrees since the morning.
I don’t feel good about the health book, Ed. What if we were teenagers in Texas?
I was.
And how did you learn about condoms?
Ed shrugged. Word of mouth?
It just doesn’t make any sense. They don’t want people to have abortions, but they don’t want them to learn how to prevent pregnancy!
Baby girl, it drives me right up the wall too.
"And imagine! I mean … imagine? How can we participate in this travesty?"
I hear you.
"And Bill. What is it with him? He’s so deadpan. Doesn’t he feel?"
He’s just doing his job.
It’s disgusting.
If you’re not careful with Bill he’ll transfer you to the New Jersey office. And I would miss you.
I sighed. It doesn’t feel good, Ed.
Listen. It would be nice to try to save the children, but first we have to put the oxygen mask on ourselves.
Huh?
You know, when you’re on a plane and they give you those instructions—
Boy, you are really bugging me.
It’s just a fact, Grace. We can’t fix everything.
His complacency was driving me crazy. But Edward grew up a gay black kid in Texas in the late seventies, and probably had a lifetime of sublimating injustices and sad things he couldn’t change. You’d think I’d be that way, too, from some of the hard stuff in my childhood. But I grew up watching my mother forge platinum out of rust. It was going to take me a while to accept this imagine thing.
We said good-bye at the corner of Seventy-ninth and Columbus.
Grace!
I turned around. It was Tyler Wilkie, half a block behind me. I waited till he caught up.
Hey,
I said.
Hey.
He was wearing his fatigue jacket and knit cap, and had a canvas guitar case strapped to his back. Are you headed home?
I nodded.
You shouldn’t go alone,
he said. I’ll walk you.
Thank you, but that’s really not necessary,
I said.
I’m going this way anyway.
I shrugged and started walking.
He caught up. I looked at him sideways. You play the guitar, too?
Yeah. Mostly guitar. I play piano if they have one.
I could see our breath. I wound my wool scarf around my neck an extra rotation and pulled it up over my ears. Are you from Texas?
He laughed. No!
Then where?
The Poconos. Monroe County. Why?
You just sound kind of … Southern, or countryish, or something.
Maybe you’re mixing up small-town Pennsylvania with Southern.
Yeah, I guess so. And now you live in the city?
Yes, ma’am, for six whole days.
I looked up at him, probably kind of sharply, and he smiled. You’re by far the nicest person I’ve met.
I laughed. Six days? Are you serious?
Dead serious.
Why’d you come?
To see if I can get people to listen to my music. Maybe get some paying gigs.
He looked at me. How long do you think I should give it?
Gosh, I have no idea.…
How old could he be? Nineteen? Maybe you should go to college first.
I tried that already.
Oh? Where’d you go?
Community college. For a year. I didn’t like it.
Well … maybe it just wasn’t the right school?
He shook his head. School’s not for me. Not now, anyway.
The light changed as we came to the corner of Amsterdam and we crossed the street. I couldn’t imagine taking such a gamble, moving to Manhattan with no education.
Well, I hope it all works out,
I said. You’re certainly very talented.
Thank you.
You’ll probably need to give it some time.
I been thinking five years, and then I’ll know.
Oh, yes.
I felt somewhat more cheerful for him. And you’ll still be young, you can go back to school.
I won’t be that young,
he laughed. I’m twenty-eight.
Twenty-eight? He couldn’t be my age, with that boy face. I’m the same age,
I said. For some reason, I thought you were a lot younger.
Really?
he said. I figured we were about the same, or maybe I was older. When’s your birthday?
Turned out he was older. By two months.
We came to Broadway and before the walk signal came on he took my hand and pulled me into the crosswalk. Halfway across we had to dash to the corner to miss being tagged by a homicidal taxi driver. It didn’t bode well for Tyler Wilkie surviving five more days, let alone five years.
My building was just a couple of blocks up. I’ll be fine from here. Thank you.
Okay,
he said, blowing into his cupped hands and pulling his collar up around his ears.
Where do you live?
I asked.
Forty-seventh, between Ninth and Tenth.
You can get the train right there.
I pointed to the subway entrance across the street.
Oh yeah, thanks. Well, ’bye, Grace.
He leaned down. To my embarrassment I reflexively leaned away, and the kiss he must have been aiming at my cheek landed on the tip of my nose. We both laughed.
’Bye. Thank you.
I headed across Seventy-ninth.
Halfway up the block I peeked back over my shoulder. He had bypassed the subway and was walking briskly down Broadway, head down, hands tucked under his arms.
* * *
Steven was on the couch, watching The Matrix. He probably had a rough day. He rewatched The Matrix the way I rewatched Chocolat. And how about that Carrie Ann Moss!
How long have you been home?
I asked, shedding my coat.
A couple hours.
Steven is a big, bearlike guy, six-four. Solid. Gentle, with kind blue eyes. I sometimes jokingly called him Even Steven.
I kissed him lightly on the cheek and went to bed. I didn’t want to disturb him in the middle of the I know kung fu!
scene; it was probably recalibrating his entire outlook on life.
On Friday morning I stepped out the door directly onto something bulky lying on the doormat. My umbrella, it turned out, with a single pink gerbera daisy rubber-banded to it and a folded piece of notebook paper tucked underneath. The spelling was appalling, but the words were nice.
Grace!
Here is your umbrela. You rock for letting me use it! It is great to be treated like a human being by someone in this city. I got another job besides dogwalking. Come on over to the cafe Sofiya sometime and I’ll slip you a cappechino!
Love,
Tyler Graham Wilkie
Cell #5702439134
I folded the letter back up, dug Lolita out of Big Green, and tucked it between the pages.
lunch with Julia
and my subsequent urge for cloistration
Once a month on a Friday my mother comes to town to buy me lunch and direct my life. She hasn’t lived in the city for twenty years, so she also uses our lunch meetings as an excuse to check out new restaurants. Yesterday I received e-mail instructions to meet her at a Malaysian place in midtown, close to my work.
I am a punctual person; I always arrive on time, if not a little early. But I will never arrive earlier than Julia Barnum.
When I joined her at the table there was already a milky Thai iced tea sweating at my place setting. She stood and enveloped me in the smell of freesia and expensive hair product. She works out daily and her embrace is wiry; she has beaten me at arm wrestling twice. We sat and unfolded our napkins.
Has something bad happened?
She anxiously pushed coppery bangs out of her face.
No!
I said. Why do you always ask me that?
You always look a little tragic when I see you. I’m starting to think I should take it personally.
Best not to overdeny. I smiled and sipped my tea. Everything’s fine.
She perused the menu. You need to cut your hair, don’t you think?
Yes,
I agreed.
What looks good?
she asked.
The ginger chicken?
Don’t you want to try something spicy? Maybe the beef in chili sauce?
Okay, sounds good.
Or how about something with tofu?
That will be fine.
She slapped down her menu. Stop agreeing with me!
My mom is a county prosecutor in Trenton, New Jersey. She is crafty and convincing and inexhaustibly determined to win, and no matter what I choose from the menu, she’ll try to talk me into something else just for kicks.
Sorry,
I shrugged.
She rolled her eyes and ordered for us when the waiter came.
So, how is Steven?
She pushed her hair back again, and her silver bracelets jingled. My mother is beautiful, fifty going on thirty, always flawlessly turned out, whether dressed to prosecute, or as today, to persecute (kidding!), in jeans and sweater and boots.
He’s good. Still going to Munich and D.C. a lot.
Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Actually, kind of perfect, don’t you think?
For my mom, men were a troubling necessity. She resented her attraction to them but was practical about it. We needed their sperm and their willingness to wet-vac a flooded basement, and they wanted things from us that we could trade for those commodities.
She radiated approval, however, when we talked about Steven. She didn’t care that he was divorced and almost ten years older than me, she just loved that he was a patent attorney for a major pharmaceutical corporation. I know I’m making her sound mercenary, but this is one of the ways I know my mother loves me, her excitement over my potentially secure future.
I told her something next that I thought would really thrill her.
How are you putting that much of your paycheck into your 401K? What about your rent?
Steven pays the mortgage.
But you pay half, yes?
I tried at first, but he tore up my checks. He says it’s not fair because it’s his place, and we’re not married yet, and he doesn’t need my help. So I pay the utilities and buy the groceries and bank the rest.
But you are getting married, aren’t you?
Maybe. We’re going to evaluate when we’ve been living together for a year.
When will that be? Spring?
April.
My mom shook her head.
What’s the problem?
I asked.
I’m trying to decide.
The food came, and she picked bits of green chili out of her beef curry with the tines of her fork and piled them on the edge of the dish. On one hand, I think it’s great you have the opportunity to save, in case things don’t work out with him. But decent, secure housing is the foundation of a lasting relationship. If you help pay the mortgage, he will subconsciously value you more when it comes time to consider getting married.
As usual at our monthly luncheon I was developing heartburn, and I had yet to take a bite of my chili shrimp. Does everything have to be so calculated?
My mom set her fork down and leaned over her plate toward me. Grace. Do you remember your childhood?
Yes.
I don’t know if you actually do. We struggled.
I know.
I’m just saying you should keep your eyes open and think ahead. If I had done that, things might not have been so bad for us.
They weren’t so bad, Mom.
She picked up her knife and fork and diced up a chunk of curried beef. You’re sweet.
Mom, what’s the big deal about marriage? You did it once and it sucked, right?
Not until the surprise ending. And you’re going to be smarter about it than I was. Look at it as a business arrangement, Grace. Strategize.
She was loving me, in her way. And I felt sorry for the painful things that had hardened her. Still, I took a moment to do that thing I’ve done a million times since I was thirteen. I smiled and nodded at what she was saying. And silently, effusively thanked God or The Heavens or Whomever that I was not like her.
* * *
Saturday, and I was headed for the Cloisters. The gardens would be barren now, but I could be alone for a while and soak up the quiet. Gaze at the reliquaries and tapestries and recharge my tranquility battery.
Steven had been to the Cloisters with me once and considered that to have filled his medieval monastery quota for life. He liked a bit of mindlessness on the weekend and wanted to stay home and play with his Wii. I kissed him, bundled up, and walked out the door just as Tyler Wilkie was letting Blitzen and Bismarck into Sylvia’s apartment.
Hey, Grace!
Hi.
I smiled back.
He stood in the doorway, unleashing the hounds. Where you going?
The Cloisters.
He tossed the leashes inside and pulled the door closed behind him. What’s that?
A museum. Medieval art.
We started down the stairs together.
That sounds cool. Can I come?
I faltered on the first landing. Could I politely say no? Well, sure … if you want. It’s kind of a ways on the train, you might have other things you need to do this afternoon—
I’m free all day!
He waved his hands expansively. Not counting the dogs.
He opened the door for me downstairs and when we got out on the sidewalk he pointed at Big Green. Do you want me to carry that for you?
I shifted the bag to my other shoulder. Oh, no, I’m fine, thanks.
It looks kinda heavy.
It’s just my wallet, cell phone, keys, a book.
Looks like you got a lot more than that in there.
Well, also emergency snacks, things like that.
We headed down into the subway. Emergency snacks? You can buy something to eat just about everywhere in this city.
I like to be prepared.
I knew I might sound huffy and decided to explain. "One time I was on a train that was stuck between stations for three hours. I was glad to have a protein bar with