Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,99

and wrinkled from living in the desert for so long. Elisabeth didn’t think she had any makeup on. Gloria’s gray hair hung down past her shoulders in messy waves that looked like they had never encountered a blow-dryer. Maybe not even a brush.

Elisabeth figured all this probably bothered her mother more than if he had arrived with some gorgeous twenty-five-year-old. His interest in Gloria ran counter to her belief that beauty was all that mattered, that it could keep a woman safe.

“It must be hard for you, seeing Dad with her,” Elisabeth said.

Her mother shrugged. “Exclusivity was never a privilege I enjoyed, even when we were married. Though it’s true, I never had to spend Christmas with one of his mistresses before.”

Elisabeth resisted the urge to say that Gloria wasn’t his mistress. She was his partner. They had been together for two years.

“We’d better get back downstairs,” she said.

“I’ll take my friend, please,” her mother said, once again reaching for Gil.

Elisabeth handed him over.

“Why didn’t you come sooner to see him?” she said.

“I wasn’t invited,” her mother said.

“That’s not true. You don’t need an invitation. You never even expressed an interest.”

“Well, I’m here now. Isn’t that enough?”

It wasn’t, but Elisabeth supposed it had to be.

When they descended the staircase, Charlotte stood in front of the open front door, hugging a guy with long blond dreadlocks. He wore shorts and a short-sleeved polo shirt, as if weather traveled with a person, rather than changing from place to place.

Elisabeth wanted to tell them to stop letting the heat out, or the cold air in, whichever it was.

She said, “You must be Davey. Welcome.”

He smiled back.

“Mom, Davey is the mastermind behind all the gorgeous photos of me online,” Charlotte said. “He has the patience of a saint.”

Davey shrugged. “It’s not hard, when your subject is as exquisite as this.”

Elisabeth had never considered that there was someone else there, snapping the photo, in those seemingly solitary moments when Charlotte contemplated the meaning of life while standing on a deserted beach in revealing swimwear.

“You’re right in time for lunch,” Elisabeth said. “Hope you’re hungry.”

* * *

—

Andrew had made a ham and au gratin potatoes and string beans and rolls. He baked three pies for dessert. Everyone gathered in the dining room, where he had set the table the previous day, as his mother always did at Christmas.

“This looks so pretty,” Faye said. “You two have outdone yourselves.”

Elisabeth’s own mother was staring down at her manicure.

In front of Faye, Elisabeth had often been embarrassed by their relative extravagance. Faye knew how much they’d spent on the bathroom renovation, because she came right out and asked Andrew, and then declared it a fortune. Every time they got a new piece of furniture, Faye asked where it was from, and no matter what the response, she said, “Oof. Pricey.” They joked that they could tell her something came from a dumpster and her answer would remain the same.

Now Elisabeth sensed her mother assessing the house and finding it shabby, small. It could fit into a corner of the one she’d grown up in. In a way, she felt proud of this. Her mother had always wanted more than everyone else. Elisabeth was content with less.

“It feels funny, having Christmas somewhere other than our house for the first time since Andrew was born,” Faye said. “Come to think of it, we’ll never spend a holiday there again.”

Her eyes watered.

Elisabeth wanted to say that this probably wasn’t the case, but she figured Faye would rather not be reminded that the house had been on the market for three weeks, without a single offer.

“But,” Faye said, sitting up straight, “old traditions must give way if new ones are to blossom.”

It sounded like something from a fortune cookie.

“We thought it would be nice for the baby to spend his first Christmas at home,” Andrew said, like this was news, when they had discussed it ten times already.

“Did you get a Christmas card from your aunt Betsy?” Faye said. “She asked me if you got it when we talked this morning.”

“I think so?” Andrew said.

“Our Christmas card this year was a picture of us in front of a cactus, with a Santa hat on top,” Gloria said. When no one reacted, she added, “Of the cactus.”

Elisabeth had somehow missed that. She wondered if her father was supposed to have sent it, or if they’d been left off the list on purpose.

“Sam sent us a Christmas card,” George said. “Wasn’t that