The Spinster Sisters

by Ballis, Stacey

  Cleve laughs. “That’s my boy! Something always cooking. You’ll have to excuse him, ladies. He means no disrespect; he’s just an important fellow with pressing business obligations is all.”

  Aunt Ruth snorts softly, and Aunt Shirley shoots her a look that expresses her extreme displeasure. A waiter arrives with a tray of champagne flutes and hands them around. Worth reenters the room.

  “So sorry, everyone. I have a deal on the line that is sort of tenuous at the moment. But I’ve informed my assistant not to forward any more calls until after dinner, so hopefully we won’t be disturbed again.” He walks around the room, kissing first Aunt Ruth, then Shirley, then me. The waiter hands him a glass of champagne.

  “I’d like to propose a toast,” he says. “To my little brother and soon-to-be sister. There is nothing nobler or more admirable than when two people who see eye to eye keep house as man and wife, confounding their enemies and delighting their friends. Homer.”

  “Hear, hear!” says Cleve.

  “In life you are sometimes the chicken in the henhouse, and sometimes the chicken in the soup. May you never both be in the soup on the same day. Bubbe Spingold,” Shirley says. Cleve and Grace raise their glasses, puzzled looks on their faces, and sip quietly.

  The waiter comes back to let us know that we can repair to the dining room, and we file out of the sitting room quietly and take our seats at the large, round table. The waiter tops off our champagne glasses. Hunter and his family are on one side of the table and the four of us on the other. I’m not the only one who notices this.

  “Well, this is no way to get to know one another,” Ruth says. “Everyone stand up again.”

  Grace and Cleve peer sidelong at one another.

  “Come on, up!” Ruth insists. We all rise obediently.

  “Now, Hunter, you move to the other side of Jill.”

  He walks around to where Aunt Shirley is sitting.

  “Shirley, you there, next to Worth.”

  She heads over.

  “Cleve, you here, next to me, then Jodi, then Grace. Now, sit!”

  We all look around. She has alternated Spingold/Charles all the way around the table. Doesn’t matter which way one turns, there are in-laws everywhere.

  “How smart, Ruthie, so much better for us all to get to know one another.” Aunt Shirley beams.

  Two new servers enter the room with our original waiter and begin to pass out small plates.

  “An amuse-bouche from the chef, chilled artichoke soup with tuna tartare crouton,” the headwaiter announces, and the three of them disappear. We all pick up our spoons and begin to eat.

  “So, we’d love to talk a little about the wedding, if that’s all right with you kids,” Cleve says, as the desserts begin to arrive.

  “Of course, Dad,” Hunter says.

  “Well, first off, we’d like to pay for half.”

  Aunt Shirley purses her lips together. Aunt Ruth pats the corner of her mouth with her napkin and clears her throat.

  “That is a very generous offer, Cleve,” Aunt Ruth says. “However, Shirley and I are very committed to covering the costs of this wedding. It is something we were thrilled to do for Jodi when she married, and something we are thrilled to be in a position to do for Jill. Thank you very much for the thought; however, we will have to decline.”

  “Well, I’m sure you ladies have things under control, but from all accounts, Jodi’s wedding was a small affair, and you all have no additional family to speak of. What with the size of our family and personal obligations, it just wouldn’t feel right for you to shoulder that burden,” Cleve presses on. He clearly didn’t anticipate that his money wouldn’t be wanted.

  “Um, Dad . . .” Hunter is spurred into action by Jill’s elbow. And from experience, it is quite an elbow. Pointed almost to the brink of being sharpened and with a homing device for the sensitive area between ribs.

  “Now, son, no need to thank us; your mother and I are very happy to do this for you both.”

  “No, Dad, I mean, Jill and I aren’t looking to do a really big wedding. We’re keeping the guest list really tight. Probably under a hundred people.”

  Cleve looks at Hunter. Then he looks at Grace. He clears his throat.

  “Son, I’m saying there’s no need for that now. We’re happy to cover the costs. You don’t need to limit yourselves anymore. Under a hundred people, nonsense! Our list alone is nearly two hundred.” Cleve says this as if he is making a proclamation. I can’t stand it any longer.

  “Cleve, I think what Hunter is trying to say is that he and Jill don’t want a big wedding. It isn’t a function of cost; it is a function of personal taste and desire. They prefer the idea of a small, intimate gathering of their closest friends and relatives.” I’ve adopted the same tone of voice I have heard my friends with kids use when explaining to their toddler that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich doesn’t belong in the DVD player.

  “But, darling, think of all of our friends and your father’s business associates. All of them have invited your father and me to the weddings of their children. How will it look?” Grace says. It is the longest sentence she has uttered all evening.

  “It will look like you are honoring the wishes of your son and his bride,” Aunt Shirley says. “I’m sure everyone will understand that.”

  Cleve places his large hands on the table. “Weddings are a big deal where we come from. They make a statement. Who is invited is important. Now, you gals may not have any sense of what the protocol is on such matters, what with your little home projects and such. But in the world of real business, there are obligations.” He turns to Jill. “Now, surely you had some dreams of being a bride at a big, fancy wedding once upon a time. We are going to make that dream come true.”

  Uh-oh. Here it comes. I see Jill’s spine straighten, making her instantly look six inches taller. Her jaw works subtly, which means that she is literally chewing on the words she wants to use. Mr. Cleveland Charles has no idea that what he just said is going to be his undoing.

  Jill meets Cleve’s eyes. “My dreams, to be clear, were to find a wonderful, kind, loving man with whom to spend my life. To be a wife, not a bride. And now that I’ve found him, my dream is to gather the people around us who know us well and love us deeply, and to solemnize our union in the center of that love. I find it insulting that you assume that every woman wants some huge, luxurious affair for her wedding. Jodi and I often find in our business that the women who dream of lavish weddings are the ones who want to get married, not the ones who want to be married. I’m sorry you feel that it will be a slight to your colleagues to not invite them to the wedding; however, Hunter and I have agreed between us what the day will be, and that isn’t up for debate. Hunter has created a list that includes the immediate family, selected extended family members, and family friends with whom he feels close. I have done the same. Neither of us is inviting any of our business associates, save the ones with whom we socialize separate from work-related occasions. You may notice we have not solicited a list from you of any size, since we have created the entire invitation list on our own. My aunts can confirm that we didn’t ask for their input either where that was concerned.”

  “That’s true, they haven’t,” Ruth says in a clipped, low voice.

  “Well, why would they? It isn’t our wedding,” Shirley adds.

  “But we’ve already told everyone!” Cleve sputters.

  “I announced it at the last meeting of the DAR!” Grace is practically whimpering.

  “The what?” Aunt Shirley asks.

  “Daughters of the American Revolution,” says Worth, clearly amused at the dramatic proceedings. “I was thinking of sending out a memo to everyone at the New York Stock Exchange.” I kind of like him for that. But Jill is seething, and the aunts are building a case to hate these people, and Hunter has been cowed speechless. Time to step in.

  “Okay, let’s all take a deep breath for just a moment,” I start. “Now, obviously we have a con
flict, but we’re all rational adults, and I am sure there is a compromise to be made here.”

  “Well, honestly, Jill here seems very inflexible . . .” Cleve starts. “Not that I’m surprised, your whole little enterprise seems to be about undermining marriage in general. No wonder you want to downplay the wedding.”

  “Dad . . .” Hunter says in the defeated tone of a child who has long given up trying to get a parent to not embarrass him.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way about me and about my business,” Jill says through clenched teeth. “But I know who I am and what I believe, and I’m afraid I won’t be bullied on this.”

  “Cleve, Jill, please. Bear with me.” I turn to Jill and place my right finger on my right temple. This is our secret sign to just follow the other person’s lead. We have used it since high school for everything from getting out of a boring party to negotiating a major business contract. “Jill, have you and Hunter made final plans about your honeymoon as of yet?”

  “No, we thought we would wait until after the wedding to plan the trip. We are just going to get a suite somewhere in town for a couple of nights after the wedding, and then probably go somewhere later in the summer or early fall.”

  “Good. Good idea. Now, the weekend after the wedding is Memorial Day weekend. I seem to remember that last year, Jill attended a wonderful barbecue at your home on that holiday.” It was her first meeting with Hunter’s family, and there were so many other guests and party preparations that she barely got to speak with them at all over the weekend.

  “Yes,” Cleve says through gritted teeth. “We’ve been hosting that party annually for over thirty-five years.”

  “I assume this year will be no different.”

  “Of course. It’s a tradition,” Grace says, as if not having the party would be the end of democracy.

  “Hunter, Jill, would the two of you be available to attend that event again this year?” I nod at Jill, who immediately sees where I’m headed.

  “Of course,” she says. Then she turns to Cleve and says demurely, “It was a wonderful weekend and a fantastic party.”

  His nostrils flare, but he stays silent.

  I continue on my way. “Weddings are hard. They are at once very personal and very public. Everyone has different expectations and needs. But I think we can use the geography of the situation and the timing of the wedding to our advantage. Jill and Hunter will have their wedding as they want it here, and the rest of us will attend with our hearts full of joy and send them into their life together with all the love we can bring into that room.” I see both Cleve and Grace tense, so I speed into the next part of my plan. “But the following weekend the five of us will come out to attend your annual Memorial Day party, which can serve as a sort of East Coast wedding reception for Jill and Hunter. All of the people who might be slighted by not being invited here will be invited there. They will get to meet Jill and her small family. You can say that the decision was made to save everyone the trip to Chicago, and even claim that we were too proud to accept financial assistance but couldn’t afford a larger event, whatever you need to do to save face on your end.”

  There is a huge silence. And to my great shock, Grace speaks first.

  “Would I get to plan the party as a real reception?” she asks me.

  Jill speaks up. “Of course, Grace. It can be anything you want it to be.”

  “Would you help me make the decisions, food and such?” Grace turns to Jill.

  “I’d love that,” Jill says, smiling.

  “Well, um, I . . .” Cleve seems somehow deflated.

  “Oh relax, Cleve. Your lovely wife is going to put together a bash that will make you look like the grand fucking Poo-Bah of Pennsylvania. All your cronies will be thrilled,” Ruth says.

  There is a brief pause, and then Cleve bursts into a large, deep-throated laugh.

  “Grand fucking Poo-Bah,” he repeats.

  Aunt Shirley waves over a waiter who is passing by the glass doors. He enters the room and walks around to her chair. “Dear, please bring over a bottle of single malt whiskey and eight glasses, would you?” The waiter nods and leaves again.

  “Son, I’ve got to hand it to you,” Cleve says, turning to Hunter. “You’ve got yourself a smart, strong woman there. No hard feelings, right, Jill?”

  Jill smiles her winningest smile. “None here if you have none.”

  Cleve shrugs. “I’m beginning to see why this business of yours is so successful. The two of you are some team. Grace, we never had a chance!”

  The whiskey arrives, glasses are distributed, raised, and drunk. Hunter leaves to take his family back to their hotel, with kisses all around except for Worth, who got back on the phone the moment the bill was paid and waves to us while doing whatever business one can do at ten P.M. on a Saturday night. Aunt Ruth’s midnight blue Mercedes arrives from the valet, and we all pile in.

  “Jodi, you saved the day,” Aunt Shirley says, buckling her seat belt.

  “You sure did. I thought I was going to have to kill my future in-laws,” Jill says. “Thank God they live so far away. Can you imagine having to put up with that all the time?”

  “I’m sure they feel the same about us,” Ruth says, deftly guiding the car through traffic. “Us little ladies with our home projects.” Her voice oozes contempt. “What an ass.”

  “Well, don’t forget how disappointed the women of the DAR are going to be!” Aunt Shirley says.

  We all start to laugh.

  “Oh, God, they are going to be the grandparents of my children!” Jill says in mock horror.

  “Wait till they want to throw your first daughter a coming-out cotillion!” I say.

  “Lord help me.” Jill is laughing again, and I’m relieved that she isn’t retaining too much anger. “How on earth did Hunter end up so normal?”

  “I’m assuming intelligence and fortitude,” Aunt Ruth says. “That poor boy.”

  “Well, at least the ice is broken!” I say.

  “Yep. Almost an iceberg’s worth!” Aunt Shirley says.

  Ruth pulls up in front of the house. “All right, I have a late appointment, so I’m heading right out.” Trust Aunt Ruth to line up an eleven P.M. date.

  “Have a good time, Ruthie,” Aunt Shirley says, getting out of the car.

  “Thanks for all your support tonight, and for the wedding in general.” Jill kisses her on the cheek.

  “You’re welcome, honey.”

  I lean over the seat and kiss her as well. “Have fun!”

  “I will. Good night.” Aunt Ruth pulls back out and heads off to her rendezvous. The three of us climb the stairs to the front door, drained and very glad to be home.

  “Wanna come down and keep me company till Hunter gets back?” Jill asks me on our way upstairs.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I get in my pajamas.”

  I head upstairs and mull over the evening as I undress and take my makeup off. We have, for our family pleasure, one pompous blowhard of a father, a shrinking violet socialite of a mother, and a supercilious ass of a brother. What a hat trick.

  I jump into a set of gray flannel pajamas, slip into some cushy socks, and head downstairs. Jill is in her bedroom, hanging up her outfit from the evening. She is so good about stuff like that, often getting three wears out of a piece of clothing before it needs dry cleaning. I can’t seem to prevent myself from leaving everything in a pile on the floor next to the hamper. Every time I have a beau coming over, I’m frantically shoving clothes and towels under the bed and stacks of accumulated crap into the guest room for hiding. I’m a secret slob and always envious of Jill’s natural organization and neatness.

  “So, that was some dinner . . .” I start.

  Jill closes the closet door and flops on the bed next to me. “Why do I feel like this is just the first of many such negotiations?” she says, pouting.

  I reach over and pat her hair. “Because you know people, and people are what they are. And these people are used to th
ings being done in a certain way, and you are very unlikely to want to do things in that way. But I don’t think they’re malicious, just a little thick. You’ll be fine.”

  Jill lays her arm across my lap for me to tickle, like she used to do when she was little. I run the very tips of my fingers and my fingernails all over her forearm, and she smiles. “Thank God they didn’t bring it up last night. I don’t know what I would have done without you there to moderate!”

  “You would have been fine. You will be fine. Hunter is an amazing guy, and he loves you just the way you are. He doesn’t want you to be the person his parents would have dreamed of or he would have chosen a girl like that. Just remember that.”

  “Gosh,” she says in mock deference. “You should write a book or something.”

  I pinch her arm. “Bitch. See if I pull your ass out of the fire next time.”

  “You know I love you oodles and squinches.”

  “And I love you, too. Even if you are foisting the world’s most irritating in-laws upon me.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she says, sitting up. “Not after all those visits with Brant’s crazy family.”

  Brant’s family had an aversion to hotels and would descend upon us for a week at a time from California. If it was just his folks, it was okay, since we had a guest room. And if only one of his siblings came, then we had a pull-out couch. But if his sister and his brother and his sister-in-law all decided to meet in Chicago for a vacation, Jill had to take the overflow.

  “At least they don’t expect to stay with you,” I say.

  “Or with you, for that matter.” Jill laughs. “And I win in the husband category for sure.”

  “That you do. Poor Brant.”

  “Poor Jill! All those mind-numbing evenings of technical discussions about computers.”

  “Brant couldn’t help his own strangeness. He was still the most normal person in that family.”

  “This is not the most rousing recommendation I ever heard,” she says.

  “Hey, if it weren’t for Brant, we wouldn’t be where we are, so let’s at least give him some credit.”