[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]The four moved silently under an arch into one of the two living
rooms, the one filled with chintz-covered, oversized sofas and
chairs, the ottomans massive. Off-white side tables with faux
nicks held antiques, all white. Stone birds. A filigree candela-
bra. A stack of books. Sydney wondered if anyone had ever read
them.
No tea or drinks were offered. Jeff and Sydney sat together on
one of the sofas, Sydney with her legs together, feet flat on the
floor, her hands folded into her lap, a guest who d never met
Jeff s parents and wanted to make a good impression. It was the
posture she had settled into, and to dismantle it would only call
attention to herself.
Jeff sat with elbows on his thighs, fingers linked.
Sydney and I are getting married, he said at once, getting it
out of the way.
Mr. Edwards stood. Again, Sydney noticed the slight hitch in
his back. He walked directly to Jeff, who stood as well.
Congratulations, Mr. Edwards said, beaming. Jeff, suddenly
moved, embraced his father as men do, patting each other hard
on the back.
Mrs. Edwards crossed her arms over her stomach, warding off
yet another blow.
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Anita Shreve
* * *
Mr. Edwards leaned toward Sydney, who stood and welcomed
his kiss on her cheek. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.
My dear, he said, but he was unable to continue.
Sydney quickly hugged the man, noting over her shoulder how
small Mrs. Edwards looked in the oversized chair. As Sydney was
released, she endured Mrs. Edwards s stare. Sydney imagined the
woman calculating the percentage of Jewish blood in grandchildren.
We re so pleased, Mrs. Edwards said.
She did not get up.
Sydney clinked glasses of champagne with Mr. Edwards, who
kissed her again on the cheek. For a few hours, she reveled in his
happiness and in Jeff s happiness at his father s happiness. But
she noted as well a kind of falseness in the celebration, as if those
who would be happy, even Jeff, were listening to a low vibrating
note, such as one from a tuning fork, a note that at any minute
might turn harsh and screeching.
Over dinner, a date was set. The beach house was decided upon.
Julie, reached in Montreal, crowed into the phone, I ve never had
a sister! Julie mentioned wistfully a double wedding, a fact Syd-
ney kept to herself, though she could see the moment when Julie
proposed the same to her mother. Mrs. Edwards visibly shud-
dered and said, Don t be silly. Her voice rang with finality.
The woman might well look windblown, Sydney thought.
One child would marry a Jew. A second was a lesbian. A third,
by all accounts heterosexual, had absented himself from the fam-
ily indefinitely.
All this she blamed on Sydney.
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Body Surfing
* * *
Less fraught was the trip first to western Massachusetts to intro-
duce Jeff to Sydney s mother and then to Troy to tell her father
the happy news. Both parents had heard such bulletins from their
daughter twice before, which took the edge off any sense of cele-
bration. But if their own views of marriage were jaundiced, each
wanted Sydney settled and happy after the trauma of Daniel.
Sydney s mother was much impressed with the fact of MIT.
You must be very smart, she said to Jeff. He looks smart,
doesn t he? she added to Sydney.
Very, Sydney said, smiling in Jeff s direction.
The man for whom Sydney s mother had left her father was
long gone a salesman transferred to Minneapolis but her
mother s circumstances had improved considerably following an
unexpected inheritance from her own mother. Sydney s mother
now worked part-time as an administrative assistant in the
admissions office at a community college.
I can always spot them, she said knowingly.
Sydney s father, in New York, served them a spaghetti dinner
he d made himself. He seemed impressed by very little.
My daughter is resilient, he said to Jeff after the meal.
Because it was late, Sydney and Jeff slept in her old attic room,
the pink curtains and lavender shelves still intact, a fact that
might have broken Sydney s heart had she not been so happy.
She and Jeff spooned chastely in the narrow bed.
I like your father, Jeff said into Sydney s ear, the two of them
sharing a single pillow that promised a miserable night s sleep.
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Anita Shreve
I think we ve been lucky in our fathers.
Your mother seemed nice, he added.
I m not sure I ve forgiven her yet for taking me away.
Jeff kissed her ear. His body was long and chilly behind her. In
another bed, in other circumstances, she d have felt him harden
and press against her, but that night he was as soft as a boy.
Shortly after having delivered the news to all of the parents, Jeff
and Sydney sat at a café near MIT, waiting for Ivers. The food
was Indian and cheap, and the takeout lines were long. The
Formica tables and pedestal chairs seemed mere receptacles for
mountains of coats and scarves and backpacks. The glass win-
dow beside Sydney, lit by neon on the outside, steamed on the
inside, producing a chartreuse fog.
We ll have to tell Ben, Sydney said.
Jeff, sitting sideways to the table, rhythmically tapped the
blunt end of a knife against the Formica as they waited for their
food. He wore a navy sweater over an unironed dress shirt. He
had let his hair grow out some, and it curled over his collar in the
back, a look she liked. She wanted, right now in fact, to touch
his hair at the nape of his neck.
She shifted her legs under the table, trying to cross them.
She had on jeans and a black sweater, a kind of February uni-
form. Her hair, which had been pulled back into a ponytail,
was filled with static from the cold. Her nose was running in
the sudden warmth of the café. It was twenty degrees outside at
best.
I m sure Dad s already told him, Jeff said.
We should invite him, then, Sydney suggested, reaching
into her backpack for a tissue.
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Body Surfing
Should we? Jeff asked, mocking her. Should we?
Sydney blew her nose and waited. She hated this habit of Jeff s
when they were arguing.
He wouldn t come anyway, Jeff said in a gentler tone.
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