felt protective of her father, there was something innate, not chosen, about the way in which she recoiled from the reminder that he was in real estate; he was precisely the sort of person George considered responsible for the downfall of America.
No, she would say none of this to Sam.
Elisabeth tried to think up some other story to tell about her in-laws.
“Faye, my mother-in-law, wanted Gilbert to be named for her father. Norman. She just went ahead and called him Normy for a month after he was born. When I told Andrew to tell her to quit it, she said, ‘What? It’s a nickname.’ So. That’s what we’re dealing with there.”
“Clive’s sister-in-law wanted to name her daughter Trinket,” Sam said.
Elisabeth wrinkled her nose. “No. Did she do it?”
“They went with Sophie in the end.”
Elisabeth circled back around then to something Sam’s roommate had said at the bar.
“Wait a second. You and Clive are engaged?”
“Sort of,” Sam said. “I mean, yes. But technically, no.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“I agreed to marry him, but sometimes I have my doubts. Not about Clive, just…” She trailed off. “I can’t believe I said that. But it’s normal, isn’t it? Everyone gets cold feet.”
Elisabeth nodded. She could tell already, without knowing the details, that Sam would never marry the guy. But she would wrestle with the decision as if it was a decision that required wrestling for some untold amount of time. The only question was how long Sam would torture herself trying to make up her mind.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “I don’t mean to bore you with this.”
“It’s not boring,” Elisabeth said. “What’s he like? Does he make you happy?”
“Yes. I’ve never been so happy as when we’re together. He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”
That word, man. It made Elisabeth wonder.
“How old is Clive?” she said.
“Thirty-three.”
“And you’re what? Twenty-one?”
“I know it sounds like a big age difference. But our relationship is the furthest thing from the typical slimy-older-guy, dumb-younger-girl scenario. I pursued him, for one thing. When we met, I thought he was much younger than he is; he thought I was older. It’s not like either of us was seeking out—”
Elisabeth put up her hands. “Not judging. I’ve dated older guys. Just don’t rush yourself. You’ll know what’s right when you know.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. She looked grateful, even though Elisabeth hadn’t said anything profound. It felt good to ignore her own problems and focus on someone else’s. Especially someone this young, for whom bromides could pass as wisdom.
“What does he do for a living?” Elisabeth said.
“He gives walking tours,” Sam said. “Well, actually, he runs the business. He has this idea for an app he’s working on.”
“Sounds great.”
“I do love him,” Sam said, but she sounded defeated. “I think things will be better when we’re settled. Like you.”
Elisabeth both envied and felt sorry for her that she was naïve enough to see marriage as an ending, an achievement, instead of the start of something so much harder and more complicated than what came before.
“The big secret of adulthood is that you never feel settled,” Elisabeth said. “Just unsettled in new ways. Your twenties are about getting the things you want—the career, the man. Your thirties are about figuring out what to do with that stuff once you’ve got it.”
Ten years ago, all the women she knew dreamed of meeting someone and getting married. Now Elisabeth didn’t have a friend who hadn’t fantasized about divorce. One spoke of moving uptown, living alone, getting a small dog. Another clung to the idea of marrying someone better looking the second time around, a man who earned more and never farted in bed. They agreed that shared custody would be hard, but it would also mean entire days and nights without children to care for. These notions got them through the reality of being partnered, just as thoughts of being partnered had once buoyed them through singlehood.
A young girl who looked sixteen, but had to be older, ran past them in tears. Another girl followed, yelling, “Lily! Please! He’s an asshole. His tattoo isn’t even spelled right.”
Elisabeth and Sam locked eyes and laughed.
“I don’t belong here anymore,” Sam said.
“I know the feeling,” Elisabeth replied before she had time to think better of it.
“I used to,” Sam said. “But this past summer, I lived with Clive, I worked in London. Not to be the clichéd girl who went abroad and feels like she came back a different person, but—that’s basically what happened. It’s so juvenile here. I’ve outgrown it.