Death and Other Interruptions

Chapter Thirteen

Susan lived her whole life as if prepared, at any moment, to meet and entertain some foreign dignitary to whom she would be representing the upper echelons of American society. She took this responsibility very seriously and never went a moment anything less than perfectly dressed, coiffed, and accessorized, tailored clothing for her tailored body. Al used to tell me how, at night, she would change into the type of sheer nightgown Hollywood actresses of the 50's would wear, her hair still done and her jewelry on, because God forbid she should be seen or caught unawares in plebian pajamas. I had immediately pictured her showering in her diamonds and pearls, unable to bear the simplicity of nudity without embellishment, and shared the mental image with him. I caught him in a moment where he wasn't feeling protective of his mother—as much as Al found her ridiculous, he was usually of the mindset that he could make fun of her but no one else could—and we had laughed about it for hours. One time I surprised him in the shower wearing a pearl necklace I had gotten for my bat mitzvah and never worn since, and it became a running joke.

When I first met Sue, I was intimidated by her austere glamour, but I soon realized that it was just a shell of vapid insecurity. She loved her son dreadfully, which I appreciated, at least in theory, as it was the only positive trait I could find in her. It made for some exasperating competitiveness, though, which was really only one-sided, and I could only respect that she loved her son so much, while trying to stay out of her way as much as possible.

Only now I was carrying her grandchild—what would be her only grandchild, barring some miraculous post-menopausal conception on her part—and as much as I would rather be anywhere in the world but on her doorstep, I knew I had to tell her. I had put aside an afternoon for this, taken time out from my busy schedule of eating ice cream—my new right—and buying baby books. After this I would head over to Rashad's for what I assumed would be a much less stressful telling of this surprising news.

Incidentally, I had also planned to come on a workday. I had small interest in telling Sue this news, but even less interest in doing so with her new husband in the room. I knew very little of Ira, and was fine keeping it that way; the small amount I knew told me we wouldn't get along any more than I did with Susan. I did know that he would be at work, though, since he spent every hour of every workday there. Al had always told me he worked in finance, a bland title that slid over my uncomprehending mind the way anything related to money did. He wasn't trying to be obscure on purpose; he himself understood nothing more than that of his stepfather's profession. "Neither do I," Ira would joke heartily. It was his favorite joke, and indeed the only one I had ever heard him tell.

I hadn't seen either of them since the funeral and knew I'd have to go through some painfully forced conversation before I could drop the bomb and, hopefully, walk out before watching the explosion and its aftermath. No pun intended.

Sue answered the door in a velour tracksuit, her usual weekday attire. As far as I knew she never actually worked out, maintaining her elfin figure through a strict regiment of celery and yogurt, but she liked the appearance of physical health.

"Jennifer!" she exclaimed, her hand to her mouth. "What an unusual surprise."

Without inviting me in, she gazed at me, silently waiting for an explanation. Her penciled eyebrows were raised expectantly, though I'd never been sure whether she was raising them or had simply drawn them on higher some days than others. It's also entirely possible that they were an unfortunate side effect of too many face treatments, though Al adamantly denied any of them. She drew one hand to her hip, thus perfecting the cinematic image of dramatic astonishment.

Well, two can play at that game.

"Sue!" I returned, mimicking her tone, stopping just short of a 'darling.' "It's been too long."