seldom saw her son and had yet to set foot in the cottage where he lived with the woman Alice shunned. Faye could never be like that. She’d welcome anyone her daughter loved.
Marilyn was different, too, so engrossed with her teaching and lab work at MIT that everything else, including her lover, Faraday, and her own granddaughter, came second. Imagine, Faye thought, as she finished off the chocolate bar, wanting to spend more time with prehistoric bugs than with a living baby!
But to be fair, Alice and Marilyn had
sons,
not daughters. What was that saying: “A son is a son until he takes a wife, but a daughter’s a daughter all of her life”? Whoever said that would understand her reaction to the news she’d received earlier today.
Her Hot Flash Club friends would probably just tell her to buck up and deal with it. She couldn’t share this news yet. Fortified by chocolate, she’d pretend all was well with her life. She could do it. She had to. One good thing, they always ate chocolate desserts at their meetings; that would sustain her.
——————————
Faye arrived at the restaurant to find the other three already seated.
“Hi, honey!” Shirley rose to kiss Faye. “You’re late. We were worried!”
In spite of her executive-chic, forest green suit, Shirley was still a romantic. Life had given her a lot of hard knocks, but it had also given her the good friends who had helped her start The Haven. She’d never been so happy in her life.
Now, Faye thought wryly, all Shirley wanted was for everyone else in the whole wide world to be as happy as she was.
“Sorry. I had to get gas.”
Faye kept her face hidden as she took off her jacket. The others had already arranged their belongings around them and were nestled in for a good long talk. The waiter arrived, handed them their menus, took their drink orders, and went off.
“There, that’s done!” Shirley beamed at her friends. “How is everyone?”
Alice, a regal African-American woman in loose silk trousers and a gorgeous tunic top embroidered thickly in brilliant crimsons and greens, narrowed her eyes as she stared across the table, scrutinizing Marilyn. Alice’s executive past made it impossible for her to mince words or waste time when she spotted a problem. “I’m fine, but may I just say that I think Marilyn’s slipping.”
At fifty-three, Marilyn was ten years younger than Alice, but Alice’s commanding presence often made Marilyn feel much younger. About thirteen. A gawky thirteen. A zit-riddled, limp-haired thirteen with bad posture. Looking confused, Marilyn rested her arms on the table and straightened her back. But because she knew Alice meant well, she defended herself. “I don’t think so. I feel comfortable.”
Alice shook her head impatiently. “No, no, I don’t mean you’re sliding out of your seat. I mean you’re letting yourself go.”
Marilyn blinked. “No, I’m not! Hey, I’m wearing the clothes
you all
chose for me back when you worked at TransWorld, Alice!”
“Exactly,”
Alice pounced. “And that was over a year ago.”
“Marilyn.” Shirley leaned forward with a conciliating smile, resting her hand on Marilyn’s. “Alice means that your hair needs a touch-up and reshaping. Remember,” she added, “what
I
looked like before I met you all?” Actually, Shirley kind of missed her old hippie/gypsy/country-western-singer look, but she couldn’t deny that the new, improved executive Shirley, with her chin-length auburn bob and tailored suits, gave her the image she needed to impress her board of directors and staff.
Faye waited while the waiter brought their drinks and took their orders. Then, gently, she told Marilyn, “Your blouse and jacket
are
looking a bit old.”
Marilyn glanced down. It was true her clothes were spotted from chemicals she used during the classes she taught at MIT, and true, too, that she needed to see the hairdresser. “Maybe I’ve been a little preoccupied
Marilyn was different, too, so engrossed with her teaching and lab work at MIT that everything else, including her lover, Faraday, and her own granddaughter, came second. Imagine, Faye thought, as she finished off the chocolate bar, wanting to spend more time with prehistoric bugs than with a living baby!
But to be fair, Alice and Marilyn had
sons,
not daughters. What was that saying: “A son is a son until he takes a wife, but a daughter’s a daughter all of her life”? Whoever said that would understand her reaction to the news she’d received earlier today.
Her Hot Flash Club friends would probably just tell her to buck up and deal with it. She couldn’t share this news yet. Fortified by chocolate, she’d pretend all was well with her life. She could do it. She had to. One good thing, they always ate chocolate desserts at their meetings; that would sustain her.
——————————
Faye arrived at the restaurant to find the other three already seated.
“Hi, honey!” Shirley rose to kiss Faye. “You’re late. We were worried!”
In spite of her executive-chic, forest green suit, Shirley was still a romantic. Life had given her a lot of hard knocks, but it had also given her the good friends who had helped her start The Haven. She’d never been so happy in her life.
Now, Faye thought wryly, all Shirley wanted was for everyone else in the whole wide world to be as happy as she was.
“Sorry. I had to get gas.”
Faye kept her face hidden as she took off her jacket. The others had already arranged their belongings around them and were nestled in for a good long talk. The waiter arrived, handed them their menus, took their drink orders, and went off.
“There, that’s done!” Shirley beamed at her friends. “How is everyone?”
Alice, a regal African-American woman in loose silk trousers and a gorgeous tunic top embroidered thickly in brilliant crimsons and greens, narrowed her eyes as she stared across the table, scrutinizing Marilyn. Alice’s executive past made it impossible for her to mince words or waste time when she spotted a problem. “I’m fine, but may I just say that I think Marilyn’s slipping.”
At fifty-three, Marilyn was ten years younger than Alice, but Alice’s commanding presence often made Marilyn feel much younger. About thirteen. A gawky thirteen. A zit-riddled, limp-haired thirteen with bad posture. Looking confused, Marilyn rested her arms on the table and straightened her back. But because she knew Alice meant well, she defended herself. “I don’t think so. I feel comfortable.”
Alice shook her head impatiently. “No, no, I don’t mean you’re sliding out of your seat. I mean you’re letting yourself go.”
Marilyn blinked. “No, I’m not! Hey, I’m wearing the clothes
you all
chose for me back when you worked at TransWorld, Alice!”
“Exactly,”
Alice pounced. “And that was over a year ago.”
“Marilyn.” Shirley leaned forward with a conciliating smile, resting her hand on Marilyn’s. “Alice means that your hair needs a touch-up and reshaping. Remember,” she added, “what
I
looked like before I met you all?” Actually, Shirley kind of missed her old hippie/gypsy/country-western-singer look, but she couldn’t deny that the new, improved executive Shirley, with her chin-length auburn bob and tailored suits, gave her the image she needed to impress her board of directors and staff.
Faye waited while the waiter brought their drinks and took their orders. Then, gently, she told Marilyn, “Your blouse and jacket
are
looking a bit old.”
Marilyn glanced down. It was true her clothes were spotted from chemicals she used during the classes she taught at MIT, and true, too, that she needed to see the hairdresser. “Maybe I’ve been a little preoccupied
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