Page 54 of The Summer Club

Morty was not familiar with the traditional jigs her family was so fond of, but that did not stop him; as her brothers grabbed his arm and pulled him into the center, everyone clapped. “He’s god-awful!” one of her uncles clamored, throwing his arm around Tish’s waist. Tish laughed. Morty was not a convincing dancer, but it pleased her so to see him out there with her brothers and family. For the moment, it all felt right.

Tish was standing in a cluster of cousins talking to Nora, who looked full-bellied and tired, when another cousin, Fran, tapped her roughly on the shoulder.

“And when will it be your turn, missy?” she asked with a mischievous wink. “You better get to cracking.”

Tish smiled. It was the polite thing to do for an impolite question, but it was how things went in her family. “I’m working first,” she told her cousin. “Remember, I got my nursing degree this past year?”

Fran scoffed. “Working? With all the gobs of money you just married? Now, why would you wanna do that?”

There was a collective pause, but then Fran’s vulgar laugh pierced the silence and the rest joined. All except for Nora. “Ignore them,” she whispered. But Tish could not. Here was Nora, the same age as she, never having gone to school or worked outside the home and already strapped with two toddlers and another on the way. The embodiment of success in her O’Malley family’s eyes. “You look so pretty,” Nora added. “I love your pearl earrings.” Tish put a hand to her ears. She’d thought them so beautiful when Morty gave them to her for her birthday. “South Seas pearls,” he’d told her and she didn’t know what he meant until she later asked the jeweler. Looking now at her cousins’ unadorned ears and simple dresses, Tish felt utterly ridiculous. Like a circus horse with one of those pink plumes on its head.

Luckily, an aunt rescued her. “Honey, I think your mom could use some help in the kitchen.”

Grateful, Tish veered away from her cousins’ inquisitive stares and to the rear of the community center. There, she found her mother, aunt, and sisters crowded in the kitchen spooning ice cream into silver bowls and filling carafes of coffee for the dessert hour. The women were laughing and talking, and barely noticed her peeking in the door.

“Well, at least she looks happy,” her aunt Mary was saying to her mother. “Maybe she’ll bless you with a grandchild soon.”

Tish’s mother was bent over a carton of chocolate ice cream, her back to her. “Happy. What a fleeting, foolish thing.” Tish froze in the doorway.

Tish’s sister Imogen saw her first and cleared her throat loudly. The chatter ceased.

Her mother straightened and turned, cheeks flushed. “What do ya need, Tish?”

Tish wondered how long she’d been working in the kitchen that night. A world away from her own white glove affair at the Carlyle for her wedding.

Abashed, she reached for a stray apron. “I came to help.”

Her mother’s eyes traveled up and down her green velvet dress. “You’ll ruin your frock, dear. Go enjoy yourself.”

She was being dismissed. “Mother, let me give you a hand. You deserve a break.”

“Deserve?” There was an exchange of looks among the women.

“Oh, honey. You look so pretty tonight!” her aunt Mary chimed in finally. “Go dance with that handsome new husband of yours.” Her warm smile was tinged with pity.

“Thank you, but I want to help,” Tish insisted. She tied her apron tightly about her waist.

“Have it your way.” Her mother passed her the ice cream scoop and wiped her hands matter-of-factly on her own. The chocolate ice cream was melting, running down the sides of the tub. “I’ll go have myself a drink.”

“That’s a girl!” Mary said. “Yes. Have yourself a drink.”

In her mother’s wake the kitchen fell silent. Tish rolled up her sleeves as best she could and began scooping ice cream. She made quick work of it in her frustration, filling the trays of silver dessert bowls faster than Imogen could carry them out.

“Slow down,” her sister complained.

“Keep up,” Tish snipped.

Aunt Mary came over and lay a hand on her arm. “Honey, we’re all very proud of you. She is too.”

Tish knew who Mary meant. She swiped at a stray tear. “Then why doesn’t it ever feel like it?” She was sure her cousin Nora didn’t feel that way. All the aunts and cousins coming up to her, touching her pregnant belly, gushing about her glowing cheeks. They kept a polite distance from Tish, in her fancy attire and patent heels, suddenly unsure how to talk to her. It was nonsense.

Aunt Mary shrugged. “Dunno, darling. Different generations, I guess. She’ll come around.”

By then Tish had filled another tray of dishes with ice cream. Impatient for Imogen’s return, Tish grabbed the tray from the counter.

“What’re you doin’?” Mary asked. “You’ll ruin your dress!”

“I wish everyone would stop worrying about the dress.” She whisked the tray from the counter and carried it to the doors. “I’m married. Not frivolous.”

---