Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,98

Christmas. It was ridiculous that they felt obliged to spend any amount of money, given the state of their finances.

Her father kept saying, “Let Gloria hold the baby. Gloria hasn’t had a turn.”

Charlotte rarely looked up from her phone.

They brought Gil gifts meant for a three-year-old—plastic dinosaur figurines, a tricycle. The saving grace was how much he adored their adoration, giving his biggest, flirtiest smile to them all, and laughing when Charlotte reached into one of the Saks bags, pulled out a red bow, and stuck it to his shirt.

When all the packages had been opened, Elisabeth’s father said to her mother, “Janey, how’s California? I miss it sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’d ask how Arizona is, but, well, it’s Arizona.”

“You used to beg me to send you to Canyon Ranch.”

“For a weekend. But long term? Arizona is where sad old men go to die.”

Elisabeth tensed, wondering if this was banter or the start of something. Over the years, watching them, anticipating their moods and moves, had become her addiction. It didn’t go away because they were divorced.

But her father chuckled.

“Come visit,” he said.

“Oh, Michael,” her mother said.

Elisabeth thought there was a hint of warmth behind the words.

She looked from one parent to the other, and for a moment they were a family again. Not that they’d ever been a very good one, but still, it was something.

She had to squeeze her eyes shut to rid herself of this notion.

Her whole life, she had viewed their marriage as somehow above all others, even though it was worse than most. Her parents had cultivated this, acting as if suffering was the proof of a superior union.

It had been one of the great lessons of her life, learning that this was not so. She wondered now if she had learned it at all, or if it was something she knew, but could not fully believe.

“You may have a point about Arizona,” he said. “But I suppose I am an old man, after all. We love it, don’t we, Gloria?”

“I’ve been in Tucson since ’83,” Gloria said. “There hasn’t been a morning since that I haven’t hiked Sabino Canyon.”

“How nice,” said Elisabeth’s mother, a woman who would no sooner hike than shave her head.

“We eat dinner under the stars almost every night,” Gloria went on. “Which reminds me. Andrew, when will we get one of your famous grills? I can’t think of a better place for one than Arizona. We have three hundred sunny days a year.”

“Are you on the tourism board?” Elisabeth’s mother asked. “Are you a paid spokesperson?”

Elisabeth and Charlotte locked eyes.

“We’re still working on a prototype,” Andrew said. “It will be ready soon, I hope. We’ve hit a few snags, but we’re getting there.”

“I read once that two-thirds of all inventors never see any profits,” Elisabeth’s father said, like it was merely an interesting factoid, nothing to do with them.

Andrew got up to check on the food, which he said would be ready soon.

Elisabeth took Gil into the den upstairs to nurse.

So far, the day had had its strained moments, but it was going better than she’d imagined. She attributed this to Gil. His presence was a balm. One thing everyone could agree on.

Once they had established a peaceful rhythm, Elisabeth closed her eyes.

She had almost drifted off to sleep when a voice said, “You’re still doing that?”

Her mother.

Elisabeth kept her eyes shut.

“Yup.”

“I’m having bad flashbacks just looking at you.”

“Then don’t look.” Elisabeth opened her eyes. “What flashbacks? I didn’t think you breastfed.”

“Charlotte, no. But I breastfed you forever.”

She found that she was happy to be wrong.

“You did?”

“Yes. For like, a month.” Her mother paused. “You look wonderful, by the way. Your body just bounced right back.”

Elisabeth bristled at this. She didn’t respond, but her mother went on talking anyway.

“Of course, that’s what usually happens the first time. It’s like your body is willing to put up with all that once, but after the second time—forget it. You’re a saggy balloon for life.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tell me the truth—do you think your father looks bad? I think he does. That Gloria is positively fat. She must eat a dozen doughnuts while she’s hiking every morning.”

Elisabeth laughed in spite of herself. She noticed now that her mother had moved on from coffee to a glass of red wine.

It was true that Gloria was larger than she’d imagined. Not fat, really. But not toned and tightened. Not her father’s usual type. Her face was weathered, tan