Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,86

something with Isabella,” Sam said. “Sorry. We’re like ships passing in the night lately.”

“It’s fine,” Gaby said. “I won’t bother to ask again. Since you’re the one with the crazy schedule, why don’t you tell me when you have some free time.”

Sam tried to push away the guilt this brought on in her.

“I will,” she said. “Soon.”

* * *

—

At dinner on Sunday night, Elisabeth didn’t ask about the demonstration.

They talked about other things. The death of Mike Nichols; how much they had all loved The Graduate.

Andrew had made an apple tart for dessert. As he sliced it, Sam started talking about Gaby.

“My friend I met working my old campus job,” she said. “She has a two-year-old daughter.”

“She’s a student at the college and she has a two-year-old?” Elisabeth said.

“No, no, she just works there.”

Sam told them all the things she’d told George about the women in the dining hall, and how she was trying to think up ways to help them.

“You have a heart of gold, Sam,” Elisabeth said.

“You know what their situation makes me think of, right?” Sam said.

“What?”

“The Hollow Tree! It’s a perfect example.”

“Oh my God,” Elisabeth said. “George has really gotten to you.”

“My dad says it was thanks to you that they had such a crowd at City Hall,” Andrew said. “He thinks we should clone you.”

“Yes, because she humors his rantings about the end of the world as we know it,” Elisabeth said. “Please know that you don’t have to do that for our sake, Sam. Babysitting George isn’t part of your job description.”

Sam wasn’t sure how to respond. She thought they were far beyond job descriptions by now.

11

Elisabeth

ON HER LAST DAY OF WORK before the semester ended, Sam arrived with a Christmas present for Gil in a silver gift bag. Only then did Elisabeth realize she should have gotten something for Sam. She spent half the day looking for the perfect thing, even though she had sworn to herself that she would write no matter what.

She wondered if any male writer was ever waylaid by such a task. Perhaps more of them ought to be. She often thought that equality between the sexes should be achieved by men growing more thoughtful and attentive, rather than women becoming less so.

Elisabeth went into several shops downtown. She decided against scented candles, earrings, and a gift card for a massage. With each additional stop, the truth about what lay ahead grew clearer—five weeks without childcare, five weeks without Sam.

She settled on a soft, blue cashmere sweater from a boutique on Plum Street. Sam had complained about how cold it was in the dorm; they had no control over the heat. Elisabeth could picture her in this sweater, reading in the lamplight.

She ate a salad for lunch at the new café next to the movie theater and then went to the stationery store for a card. She filled it out, looked at the clock. It was time to go home.

A certain amount of procrastination had always been baked into her writing process. Until Gil was born, she could work whenever she wanted. Often, it had happened late at night, after everything else on her to-do list. Now, if she didn’t do it when Sam was there, she didn’t do it at all. Elisabeth told herself that when Sam came back in January, she would somehow become more disciplined.

At the door as Sam was leaving, Elisabeth pressed the gift into her hands and wished her luck with finals.

“Are you stressed?” she asked.

“I’m most nervous about this senior art showcase I’m in at the campus museum,” Sam said. “It counts for half my grade in Studio.”

“At the museum? That’s a big deal,” Elisabeth said.

“Not really. It’s in the basement.”

“When is it? Is it open to the public?”

“Yes. Next Sunday from five to eight,” Sam said. “I’d love it if you came, but I wasn’t going to mention it. Please don’t feel like you have to. I know you guys are busy.”

Elisabeth told her they’d be there.

When she closed the door, she felt a strange degree of relief that it was not goodbye.

* * *

—

Elisabeth, Andrew, and Gil arrived at the museum the following Sunday at five-thirty, the baby in a sling on Andrew’s chest. The room was full of college girls in groups of three or four or five, drinking red wine from clear plastic cups. Elisabeth didn’t know what it was about them that she found intimidating, but as soon as she saw the crowd, she said, “I