The Spinster Sisters

by Ballis, Stacey

  Shirley places her hand on her heart and smiles as her eyes start to shimmer. “I’d be so honored, darling, so honored.”

  “And of course, you know we’d like to host a shower,” Ruth says.

  “And I’m in charge of the bachlorette party, of course,” I say as brightly as I can. “As long as Hunter knows it’s for you and not him! His best man is going to have to plan the bachelor party.”

  “We’re not remotely there yet. Frankly, I wish there were a service where someone could download all your natural preferences out of your head and plan the wedding without you, so you could just show up and get married!”

  “Well, honey,” Shirley offers, “as much as we want to celebrate with you, you know that we would support an elopement, if the two of you want to avoid a big to-do. We can always have a party afterward.”

  “Absolutely, kitten,” Ruth agrees. “If you don’t want the stress or the hassle, no one would fault you for it.”

  “We know. And truth be told, it is a very tempting thought.

  But when we talked about it, Hunter said he really thought it was something he wanted us to do. And I know that when all is said and done, it will be so much more meaningful if we have our friends and family around us.”

  “Well, then, that’s settled. A wedding it will be!” Shirley claps her hands gleefully.

  Jill looks at her watch. She drains the last of her wine and gets up. “Speaking of weddings, my esteemed fiancé is arriving at O’Hare in thirty minutes, and I have to go fetch him.” She walks over to kiss both aunts on the cheek. “We’ll call up when we get home if you want to come down for a bit,” she says to me, a white flag.

  I smile and nod. “Perfect. Bring home dessert.”

  “Will do.” And she heads out.

  “And what is your plan for the evening?” Shirley asks me.

  “I have a hot date with the new chapter and some leftover pasta.” When Jill and I are working on a book, we will have a big brainstorming meeting, talk through all the key points of the chapter at hand, and then I write the first draft. Then I turn it over to her for what she calls editing, and what I call smoothing over the prose. Then we give it to Ruth and Shirley for approval and proofreading. The new book is due to our editor in the middle of March.

  “None of your boys on the docket this evening?” Ruth asks.

  “Nope. Abbot is taking me to the opera tomorrow night, and Ben is taking me to the movies on Saturday.”

  “And the new fellow?” Shirley inquires.

  “The new fellow is out of town for a cousin’s wedding but has booked me for one week from tonight.”

  “You and all your boys,” Ruth clucks.

  “What can I say? I learned from the master,” I reply, getting up to help Aunt Shirley clear the plates and glasses.

  “She’s got you there, Ruthie!” Aunt Shirley giggles.

  Aunt Ruth smiles a secret smile, the contented air of a woman who has unapologetically lived her life and enjoyed most every minute of it. “And what about all this wedding business? How does that sit with you?” she asks.

  “You have been awfully quiet, dear. Don’t you approve?” Shirley is boxing up leftovers in Tupperware.

  I think for a moment. “I’m really happy for them, you know? I love Hunter, and I think he’s the perfect guy for Jill, and I think he’ll be a great husband and father and brother and nephew. And they both seem really clear about what they want in life, and those seem to be all the same things, so I don’t worry for them at all.”

  “But . . .” Ruth prods.

  “But I’m trying not to be worried for me and Jill and the business.” There, I said it out loud. Now lightning can strike me.

  “Oh, honey, do you think your relationship with Jill will suffer once she is married?” Shirley stops loading the dishwasher, wipes her hands on a towel, and comes over to clasp my hands in hers. “You and Jill have the most special relationship. Nothing will change that.”

  Her sincerity, the comfort, the emotion involved in just being honest about my fears, the wine, my fight with Jill, it’s all a little much, and I start to cry. Aunt Shirley pulls me to her in a big hug, and I can feel Ruth’s strong hands kneading my shoulders.

  “Poor baby, you’re really concerned about this, hmmm?” Ruth says.

  I hiccup a little and blow my nose on the handkerchief that Shirley hands me. “I just know that when I married Brant, Jill and I didn’t spend time together the way we had, and I know we weren’t living in the same building then or working together, and this time we will be, but obviously he is going to have to get the lion’s share of her time.”

  “Darling, if I may?” Ruth sits me down at the kitchen table, an antique oak round that belonged to my grandparents. Its worn surface had seen Spingold meals for over a hundred years and seemed ready for a hundred more. I had done homework on it, learned to cut out cookies on it, wept over heartbreaks on it. I knew every line of the wood, and traced the pronounced grain with my fingertip as Aunt Ruth spoke.

  “Now, you know that we don’t think ill of Brant.” She looks to Aunt Shirley for confirmation, who nods vigorously. “Brant is a good man, he has intelligence and a kind heart, and he was always very sweet to you in a lot of ways. However, you also know that he just never fit in with this family. He just wasn’t the right match for you, and it was difficult for us to watch that. It was clear from his behavior that he wasn’t comfortable with us or with Jill, and we all sensed that and did what we could to not be obtrusive in your relationship with him, because you seemed to be happy, and your happiness is our first hope.”

  “I know. He can’t help it. I tried to fix him, but I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, honey,” Aunt Shirley says, “you can’t fix someone. You have to take them as they come. Warts and all.”

  “Brant was pretty warty.” I laugh a little, thinking about his weird obsession with Star Trek and his strange conspiracy theories.

  “Oh, my, yes. Remember the cappuccino?” Ruth says, shaking her head.

  The first time we all went to dinner after the engagement, Brant had a small run-in with a cup of cappuccino. He fancied himself something of a coffee connoisseur, and as he was wont to do, had waxed poetic for a mind-numbing ten minutes about the espresso/cappuccino maker we had received as an engagement gift and the attributes of different coffees from around the globe. So, at the end of the meal, in spite of the fact that none of the rest of us drinks coffee and we were all ready to go home, Brant orders a cappuccino. It arrived, a dash of cinnamon on the top of the foam. Brant puts three sugars in it and stirs noisily while continuing to talk about the joys of a Kenyan blend he had recently purchased. He took a sip. He sighed dramatically. He announced it a perfect cup, as good as his own. He downed it in about three swigs, whereupon the waitress returned to the table with a small espresso cup and said “I’m so sorry, sir, the kitchen forgot to put the coffee in your cappuccino.” Poor Brant was mortified; his perfect cup was sugared steamed milk with a little cinnamon. Some expert. The fact that we all stifled laughter didn’t help.

  “He couldn’t help it,” I say.

  “Of course not, dear. That isn’t the point,” Shirley says. “The point is that Hunter isn’t Brant. Hunter fits in with us perfectly; you said it yourself. And he is moving in here with the rest of the inmates, so while I am sure some things will change, the important things will not. Plus you’ll still see each other at work every day!”

  This makes me sniffle more.

  “What? You’re still worried about the business?” Ruth asks.

  “How can we be the Spinster Sisters if one of us isn’t a spinster anymore?” My vehemence is somewhat surprising, even to me. “I mean, it was one thing that one of us is divorced, right? But still single. Still living the single life. And moreover, able to reflect on what she would have done differently, given a chance. But the minute Jill gets married, what is our audience going to think? Now it’s one divorcée and one married woman. Some spinsters we
are. How is Jill going to spout the single sisterhood stuff if she’s all wedded-blissed out? They’ll think we’re frauds. And the fucking Family First people, who already think we’re the spawn of Satan, what a field day they’re going to have with it! The whole thing will collapse around our ears. And now the television thing is heating up, but if it goes, we open ourselves up to all kinds of ridicule, because—”

  “Hold it right there,” Ruth says, covering my hand with hers.

  “Drink this.” Aunt Shirley hands me a small glass of sherry, which I begin to sip slowly.

  “Now, for one thing, your business hasn’t become what it has become because you are both single. It has become what it has become because you are smart, kind, thoughtful women with an ability to look at life as a gift, and with a sense of independence that never left you when you were married and won’t leave Jill when she is married. The idea that your company will flounder is utter nonsense.” Ruth is very stern.

  “Not all of your readers and listeners are single, honey,” Shirley says. “Some of them are married or in serious relationships and just want to be reminded that they have power on their own merit. Everyone can take what they need from your work, and Jill getting married doesn’t negate that.”

  I sip my sherry. The sweet heat sparks on my tongue and warms me all the way down.

  “Have you spoken any more with your sister about your concerns?” Ruth asks, playing with her necklace, a string of red Moroccan amber beads the size of small eggs.

  “Some of it.” I don’t want to hear a lecture on the big brouhaha of last week. “You know Jill, she’ll spend the majority of the next five months proving to me that everything is going to be okay, and not enjoying the planning and wedding stuff. I’m going to try to manage my own psychoses for a while, and if I’m still feeling like this after the wedding, I’ll talk to her about it then.”

  “Will you be able to do that, sweetie? Without it ruining the next five months for you?” Shirley asks.

  “And do you think Jill would be happy knowing you felt this way and didn’t talk to her about it?” Ruth offers.

  You have no idea, I think. “I just want her to be joyous and to revel in this special time, and not have to worry about her crazy sister dumping a bucket of water on her happiness.”

  “You do what you think is best, honey, and it will all work out.” Shirley kisses the top of my head.

  “And come vent to us anytime.” Ruth pats my hand.

  “Thanks. I love you guys.”

  I get up from the table and give them each a big hug. Then I head upstairs to hunker down over the new chapter and try to pretend I feel better.

  The Gambler

  Don’t be reluctant to try new things that are of interest to your partner.

  So what if you’ve always thought that golf was a white-elitist waste

  of land? If your new guy loves it, let him take you to the driving range.

  So what if the idea of a knitting circle reminds you of your smelly Aunt

  Melba with the hairy mole? If your new sister-in-law invites you to

  hers, go with an open mind. Sometimes experiencing something that

  someone else loves through their eyes can offer a new perspective.

  Think about how much more fun it is to watch your favorite movie

  while sitting next to someone who has never seen it. It’s about the

  sharing, and you just might find something you both can enjoy.

  —From The Thirty Commandments by Jill and Jodi Spingold

  “No more, Aunt Shirley. I’m stuffed, and I’m meeting Hunter for dinner!” Jill waves off the platter of Turkish manti dumplings and stands up. Aunt Shirley proffers it in my direction.

  I get up as well. “And I have to finish getting ready for my date.”

  “Which one is it tonight, dear?” Ruth asks.

  “First official date with Connor,” I say, as a little frisson of excitement shivers up my spine. I’m praying it goes well. We’ve had a great week of e-mail and phone calls, and I continue to be intrigued by him on many levels.

  “The great marshmallow bandit of the North Side, hmmm?” Ruth asks. “Very interesting. Good thing we’ve got a bundle of DVDs to watch, don’t you think, Shirley?”

  Oy. The dreaded first date oh-dear-we-just-happen-to-still-be-up-how-did-it-go? ambush. “Now, girls, don’t keep yourselves awake on my account.” I know it won’t do any good. And to be honest, I’d be a little disappointed if I didn’t see that parlor light burning when I got home. A little tea and sympathy at the end of a bad date, or a nightcap and a giggle at the end of a good one never hurt anyone.

  “Call me, too, when you get back, so I can come down!” Jill says on her way out the door.

  “Fine, fine, fine. But I have to actually go on the date if I’m going to have anything to report back later.” I kiss the aunts and follow Jill out the door.

  “Have a good time. I can’t wait to hear about it!”

  “You, too. Love to Hunter.”

  Jill heads out the front door, and I head upstairs to get ready. I’m surprised at how quickly this week went. Jill has started planning in earnest, so the wedding discussion is slowly infiltrating the rest of our lives. I’m still equally split between being over-the-moon happy for her and bone-chilling terrified at the possible fallout. Our publicist has recommended that we put out a release on the same day as Mike’s article will run in the Sun-Times ; that way he gets an exclusive, and anyone who starts their research will come across his article. We have to treat this marriage as the most natural thing in the world, which, of course, it is, and play up all the relationship advice we give that is focused on maintaining a commitment.

  Abbot thinks that I’m jealous, that Hunter is supplanting me as the most important person in Jill’s life. This took me right out of the lovely mood the delicious dinner at Trattoria 10 and beautiful opera at the Lyric Friday night had put me in, and while I am rarely disinterested in his physical affection, I claimed exhaustion and left him chastely at the car. This prompted a particularly large floral arrangement to be delivered the next day, which made me feel worse, since I had asked him for his thoughts and hadn’t been fishing for him to tell me my opinions, and hated that perhaps he thought I was punishing him with no sex.

  Then Ben tried to take me to the movies but got the time wrong, and everything else at the theater one or both of us had already seen. This irritated me, and we got into a sniping match about being attentive to details, which Ben took as my scolding him about his age, and even though we made up over ice cream at Cold Stone, the date left me more annoyed than not, and questioning how much longer I’d be interested in hanging out with him.

  Jill, of course, thinks that I’m so excited about Connor that it is making me pick fights with the Father and the Son, so that I’ll feel mentally free to focus on the Holy Ghost. Jill never lets go of a metaphor if she can help it. And she is right about one thing; I am really sort of excited about this date. He’s coming in about a half hour, and I just need to perk up my makeup and change clothes. He wouldn’t tell me where we’re going, so I’m trying to be strategic about the wardrobe. Skirt, in case it’s a little fancier, but flats in case it’s more casual. Light shimmer on the eyes, and a simple gloss on the lips, but a serious red lipstick in the purse just in case.

  I’m just finishing the last coat of mascara when the doorbell rings. I skitter down the long hall to the buzzer and press it. “Hey, hang out in the foyer. I’ll be right down.” I grab my coat and purse, take a deep breath, and head out the door. By the time I get down to the second landing, I can hear the hum of voices. Oh crap. I pick up the pace. But turning the last curve of the stairs, I realize it’s no use. Ruth and Shirley have cornered Connor in the foyer. Sneaky bitches.

  “Really? Five brothers?” Shirley is saying.

  “That must have been exciting,” Ruth flirts.

  “Yes, ma’am. Never dull at the Duncan house.” Connor looks up to see me co
ming down the stairs and catches me off guard with his bemused air. “Well, there she is.”

  “Well, dears, you run off and have fun, now,” Shirley says, pulling on Ruth’s elbow.

  “Stop tugging at me, Shirley, I know we can’t keep them.” She snatches her arm back. “Have a lovely evening, chickens.” She leans over and kisses me. “Dishy,” she whispers in my ear. I feel my cheeks flush.

  “Good night, you old biddies.” I shoo them into their apartment. I turn to Connor. “Shall we?” He still has his little smirk on.

  “I don’t know, I have half a mind to ask them to join us.” We head out the door and down the front steps.

  “Oh no, you don’t have dinner with the aunts until you have proven yourself worthy.”

  “And what, pray tell, would make me worthy?”

  “Not that easy. Trust me, when you get there, I’ll let you know.”

  “So coy.” He walks up to an old Chevy pickup truck and unlocks the door. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I hoist myself into the cab of the truck and settle in as Connor closes the door. I like the car. It’s a nice contrast to Abbot’s sort of stuffy Mercedes and Ben’s more and more irritating lack of one. Unpretentious, but clean and obviously well-loved. The sort of car Jill and I refer to as noncompensatory, as in, the opposite of sports car.

  “So, you up for an adventure?” he asks.

  “Always.”

  “Glad to hear it. Settle in, we have a little drive ahead of us.”

  The conversation is as easy as it has been all week. He admits to listening to the show earlier today and praises our style. He also admits to having ordered the books on Amazon.

  “I’m very flattered.” Usually guys don’t feel obligated to read the books, figuring they’re just fluffy girlie things anyway. Or they run out and read them right away and start to quote them back at me. But this is nice. He appears to be genuinely interested but not feel the need to put any pressure on it.

  “I believe in research,” he says simply.