Page 50 of Old Money
“I know,” I say evenly. “But what’s the point, right? I’d rather we just talk about it honestly.”
Susannah looks panicked—a wholly unfamiliar expression on her face. When did she get sofragile?
“I’m not saying, you know—‘show me the dress!’ ” I continue. “But if he comes up? We can’t avoid the subject all summer. Susannah, I’m working at your wedding venue.”
She coughs out a laugh.
“Fine,” she nods at the table. “Fair. No tiptoeing.”
“I know that’s how we’re supposed to behave, here in ‘the Briar.’ ”
I roll my eyes and mime a snooty laugh.
“What?” Susannah tilts her head, confused.
Shit. Shit, what is wrong with me?
“Nothing, just this—” I think fast. “It’s this stupid thing Jamie says. It’s a joke.”
She raises her eyebrows, but, like a gift from God, the lava cakes arrive before she can respond.
“Wow,” she declares, eyes fluttering.
“Seriously,” I say, lifting my spoon. “So, we’ve covered work on my end. Jamie Hotdog is my boss, et cetera. Your turn.”
Susannah nudges her cake, feigning relaxation.
“Um, good. Great, in fact,” she says to the plate. “All those years I spent trying to climb the ladder—I never realized how satisfying a job could be.”
I try to say something nice, but I can’t even dredge up a platitude.
“I love it, is the truth,” Susannah says. “I mean, it’s not forever. But it’s great for now.”
She glances over with a bashful smile. The old Susannah was ambitious and proud, and now she’s all apology. Anger flashes through me as I think about how small and flat andmeekhe’s made her. And she allowed him to.
“Are you thinking of moving on?”
“No, I mean after kids,” she says. “We’d like to start soon.”
The words come out in a startling rush as though she’s been holding them in.
“Oh,” I mumble, numb and horrified. “Uh-huh.”
“Yes, that’s the plan,” she continues, still in that odd, propulsive way. “I’m going to step back.”
“Stop working, you mean.”
Now I hear the pressure in my own voice. We’re not yelling at each other, just speaking very firmly.
“People do it, Alice,” Susannah says, her voice twanging with restrained defensiveness as she loses her grip on it. “People raise their children.”
“Excuseme?”
I scoff—a loud, disgusted scoff—and both of us glance around the restaurant, checking to see if anyone’s noticed the fight breaking out in the middle of the room.
“Alice, please don’t do this.”
“Do what, Susannah?” I hiss. “What amIdoing?”
