Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,57

you Stella Maris Hotels for making every journey unforgettable. Isabella said, “Do you think she’s breathless because that bathing suit is so tight?”)

Elisabeth mentioned one night that she was semi-estranged from her parents, but she didn’t provide details. This surprised Sam. She could usually sense when someone came from an unstable family. The college was full of such girls. Elisabeth didn’t give off their sort of energy.

Being semi-estranged sounded impossible, like being semi-pregnant. Sam wondered, but did not ask, what exactly this meant. She never forgot that Elisabeth was her employer. She liked the casual nature of their relationship, but she was careful to let Elisabeth set the boundaries.

She thought about it a lot, though. What it would be like to have a baby and not speak to your parents. Or semi–not speak to them, anyway.

When she eventually gave birth, Sam imagined her family would be there every second. Her mother and sisters in the delivery room, her brother and dad pacing outside the door. Afterward, her cousins and aunts and uncles would crowd around in the hospital room, as it had always been in their family. Set against that, Elisabeth and Andrew seemed so alone in the world.

Every so often, Elisabeth would share some telling detail. She told Sam that her mother was obsessed with being thin, that she prided herself on weighing not an ounce more than she had on her wedding day.

“When my sister and I were in middle school, high school, she’d have all three of us go on a diet and compete to see who could lose the most weight.”

“But you’re so thin to begin with,” Sam said.

“I know. So is my sister. The whole thing really messed her up.”

Elisabeth remembered everything Sam told her. She never failed to follow up on even the most trivial matters.

“What did Hailey say when Isabella confronted her about stealing the shampoo?” she once asked, with genuine interest.

Sam asked how long she and Andrew were together before they got married.

“Six years,” Elisabeth said. “I was in no rush. We probably never would have done it if Andrew hadn’t forced the issue.”

“Really?”

“I’m sure we’d be together. But—marriage. I never thought it was for me. We eloped. My mother-in-law hated that, but she was relieved that we’d no longer be living in sin.”

“I sometimes picture a big wedding, with all my younger cousins as flower girls, in pink poufy dresses, and me with this long veil,” Sam said. “But then when I think about the people involved—Clive waiting at the end of the aisle, our mothers sitting on either side—it all seems highly embarrassing.”

“I tend to break out in hives at weddings,” Elisabeth said. “True story.”

* * *

—

Wherever a conversation led them, they stopped speaking at exactly 8:59. From 9:00 to 10:00 they watched The Dividers in silence. Had Elisabeth talked during the show, Sam would have done the same, but she liked that they didn’t. If a particularly shocking plot twist occurred, they might turn to each other with wide eyes for a second before looking back at the screen, but that was all. When the closing credits rolled, Elisabeth stretched, stood up, and said, “It’s late. I should let you get back,” and Sam went home.

“What makes them think you want to hang out with your bosses at the weekend?” Clive said on the phone one Monday morning. “It’s like they think they own you because they pay you.”

“It’s not like that,” Sam said. “We’re more like friends.”

“Hmm,” he said.

“Last night we were watching TV and Elisabeth’s cell phone rang, and she answered it and said she couldn’t talk because her friend Sam was over.”

In the moment, it made Sam feel kind of proud, though she felt dumb recounting it, holding it up as evidence of something.

“But it’s all on her terms,” Clive said.

“Of course it is. What am I going to do, invite them to dinner in the dining hall? ‘Hey, guys! Come on over. It’s tuna-noodle casserole night.’ ”

Sam knew what he was afraid of, but she also knew that he had no reason to be.

“Once you meet her, you’ll understand,” she said.

Her first year away at college, Sam missed suburban living rooms, the stuffed cupboards of middle-aged people. She missed kids. She started babysitting for the Walkers. They lived on a farm ten miles outside of town and had two moms, Jessica and Ann, who played more stereotypical gender roles than any straight couple Sam knew. Jessica had given birth to their three children, ages