I were talking about it a couple of weeks ago. We were all having lunch in Atlantic City when Helen told us her granddaughter is expecting. She’s only seventeen and still in high school. We all tried to tell her that these things happen in this day and age, and that grandparents can’t be responsible for their grandchildren, and Mavis made a comment along the lines that none of her grandkids had better get pregnant before they were married. I’m sure all of us privately had the same thought about our own grandkids, but Mavis actually said it. First of all, we grandmothers can talk all we want, but we have no control over what our grandchildren do. Second, her sounding so snooty didn’t make poor Helen feel any better, that’s for sure.”
“Ah, so Mrs. Brown’s going to be a great-grandmother, huh?”
“She already is. Her granddaughter had the baby last week. The pregnancy was pretty far along when Helen told us.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“I understand. Did Winnie say anything about Valerie’s daughter being pregnant?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. She probably feels that since Valerie lives on City Island no one will find out. The only reason any of us go down there is to eat, and those restaurants are expensive. The only reason Bea was there was because her son took her for her birthday. Besides, Winnie and Mavis are cut from the same sneaky cloth. They’re sisters, you know.”
I remembered. Tanis made a big deal of both Wendy and Valerie being her cousins from the time we were in grade school, probably because they were both so cute while she’d been saddled with her father’s large nose.
I always thought it odd that both Winifred and Mavis Vincent married men whose last names started with the same letter as their own first names. That was a heck of a coincidence. I wondered if they’d planned it that way. That would explain why they both married relatively late, at least for that time, both of them in their late twenties. Mom always said that if Mavis had married younger she might have had more children. She’d suffered three miscarriages before finally giving birth to Tanis, her only child. I tried to tell her that was nonsense, that Mavis had been young enough for her fertility problems not to be age-related, but like I said, Mom gave the same credence to those old wives’ tales as she would to something she’d read in the World Book encyclopedia.
But I had my own love life to worry about. “Mom, will you be home tonight?”
“Well…I was thinking about going to bingo. But I can stay home with you, dear.”
I wolfed down the last of my English muffin, most of which I’d consumed while still on the phone. “No, no,” I said too quickly. I hadn’t even swallowed yet. Part of me expected Mom to admonish me fot talking with my mouth full.
She smiled. “You must have plans.”
“I’ve got a date.”
“With the doctor you met last night?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said casually.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is he white?”
I knew she asked this because she knew he was a friend of John Hunter. “No, Mom.”
She sipped her coffee. “You know, I always liked that Rosalind. I knew she was the one to introduce you to some nice people.”
Naturally, she didn’t compliment Rosalind until she’d determined that her husband’s doctor friend was black.
“Tell me about your new friend. What’s his name? And how old is he?”
“Aaron Merritt. He’s an oncologist at the Presbyterian Medical Center in the city. He’s about my age, maybe a few years older.”
“Has he ever been married?”
I picked up on a definite suspicious edge to her words, and I knew she was thinking that any man over forty who’d never been married had to have at least one foot in the closet.
“He’s a widower, Mom. His wife died last year.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Her tone held about as much sympathy as a pet rock. No doubt about it, my usually compassionate
“Ah, so Mrs. Brown’s going to be a great-grandmother, huh?”
“She already is. Her granddaughter had the baby last week. The pregnancy was pretty far along when Helen told us.” She shrugged. “You know how it is.”
“I understand. Did Winnie say anything about Valerie’s daughter being pregnant?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. She probably feels that since Valerie lives on City Island no one will find out. The only reason any of us go down there is to eat, and those restaurants are expensive. The only reason Bea was there was because her son took her for her birthday. Besides, Winnie and Mavis are cut from the same sneaky cloth. They’re sisters, you know.”
I remembered. Tanis made a big deal of both Wendy and Valerie being her cousins from the time we were in grade school, probably because they were both so cute while she’d been saddled with her father’s large nose.
I always thought it odd that both Winifred and Mavis Vincent married men whose last names started with the same letter as their own first names. That was a heck of a coincidence. I wondered if they’d planned it that way. That would explain why they both married relatively late, at least for that time, both of them in their late twenties. Mom always said that if Mavis had married younger she might have had more children. She’d suffered three miscarriages before finally giving birth to Tanis, her only child. I tried to tell her that was nonsense, that Mavis had been young enough for her fertility problems not to be age-related, but like I said, Mom gave the same credence to those old wives’ tales as she would to something she’d read in the World Book encyclopedia.
But I had my own love life to worry about. “Mom, will you be home tonight?”
“Well…I was thinking about going to bingo. But I can stay home with you, dear.”
I wolfed down the last of my English muffin, most of which I’d consumed while still on the phone. “No, no,” I said too quickly. I hadn’t even swallowed yet. Part of me expected Mom to admonish me fot talking with my mouth full.
She smiled. “You must have plans.”
“I’ve got a date.”
“With the doctor you met last night?”
“Yes, Mom,” I said casually.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Is he white?”
I knew she asked this because she knew he was a friend of John Hunter. “No, Mom.”
She sipped her coffee. “You know, I always liked that Rosalind. I knew she was the one to introduce you to some nice people.”
Naturally, she didn’t compliment Rosalind until she’d determined that her husband’s doctor friend was black.
“Tell me about your new friend. What’s his name? And how old is he?”
“Aaron Merritt. He’s an oncologist at the Presbyterian Medical Center in the city. He’s about my age, maybe a few years older.”
“Has he ever been married?”
I picked up on a definite suspicious edge to her words, and I knew she was thinking that any man over forty who’d never been married had to have at least one foot in the closet.
“He’s a widower, Mom. His wife died last year.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” Her tone held about as much sympathy as a pet rock. No doubt about it, my usually compassionate
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