Sam had yet to tell her mother.
“My family loves shrimp,” she said.
Sam wondered about Elisabeth’s family. She had said they were estranged, she had told Sam that terrible story about her father, but then they came and visited at Christmas. She hadn’t mentioned them since.
There was no hint of them coming for Gil’s birthday as far as Sam could tell.
Sam’s cell phone rang. She looked down at the screen.
“It’s a 718!” she said, immediately regretting her enthusiasm, in case the news was bad. How awful would it be for Elisabeth to have to console her, to feel compelled to say something reassuring, like the gallery didn’t deserve her anyway.
“Answer it!” Elisabeth said.
Sam did.
“Sam?” said the voice at the other end of the line. “It’s Natasha from Matilda Grey. Do you have a minute?”
Sam tried to steady her voice. “Sure,” she said, thinking this could go either way. She thought the interview had gone well—the gallery was gorgeous. It looked just like the one in London. Mostly, Sam had talked to Natasha, but at the very end, Matilda herself came in to meet her and Sam gushed about her many visits to the Mayfair space, her favorite exhibitions. Matilda didn’t say much, but after she shook Sam’s hand and left the room, Natasha whispered, “She liked you.”
Now Natasha said, “I’m calling to officially offer you the job as Matilda’s assistant.”
Sam rose from her chair and started jumping up and down. Elisabeth stood too, and danced in place. A hilarious, shocking sight.
Sam composed herself long enough to say thank you, and that she was thrilled to accept. They talked through logistics—when she might start, how much she’d get paid.
When she hung up, she said, “I got the job.”
Elisabeth said, “I gathered that. Sam! Congratulations! Should we open a bottle of champagne to celebrate?”
It was one o’clock on a Monday, but before she could respond, Elisabeth had gone to fetch the champagne.
Left alone for a minute, she thought of Clive. The sweetness of this strange turn of events was cut through with the question of what would become of them now.
Sam twisted the ring on her finger. He had proposed in Leicester Square, in the exact spot where they met, down on one knee in front of hordes of onlookers. Half of them took out their phones and snapped photographs. Sam felt mortified, even as she tried to stay in the moment.
“It’s only a cheap thing,” Clive said as he showed her the ring. “I know you don’t care, and that’s one of a million reasons why I’m mad about you.”
Elisabeth returned, clutching the champagne bottle by its neck.
“What’s wrong?” she said. “You look sad.”
“Thinking about Clive.”
“People do long distance all the time.”
“They are based in London,” Sam said. “Maybe there would be a chance for me to transfer there eventually.”
“Right,” Elisabeth said. “Bottom line: Your dream job just fell into your lap. You’ve got to do it. Doesn’t it feel meant to be?”
Sam tried not to express it for fear of seeming boastful, but she felt the fiercest sense of pride. Of all the applicants they must have seen in London, they remembered her. Elisabeth was right. It felt meant to be, like a gift from the universe she could not refuse.
* * *
—
She called her parents after dinner to tell them the news.
Her mother said, “Thank God. You’re staying in America.”
They hadn’t talked much about her plans for next year. Whenever her parents brought this up, Sam said she was sending résumés out every week and left it at that. She hadn’t yet told them about Clive’s proposal.
Her mother’s reaction annoyed her.
“They’re based in London,” Sam said. “So maybe I’ll have to go back and forth sometimes. But, yes, I’d be mostly in New York.”
Her father’s first question was about the money. When Sam told him the starting salary, he whistled and said, “I think that’s about what our paperboy makes.”
In the background, her mother yelled, “Don’t listen to him!”
Sam knew he was kidding, but also not.
Her mother got back on the line. “Sweetheart, in all seriousness, we are so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“While I have you, can I ask about tickets for graduation?”
“Sure.”
“The five of us are coming, of course. I know you want Elisabeth there. Nana and Pop-Pop would die if they couldn’t come. So, that’s eight. How many more tickets do we have? Enough to invite Aunt Mary-Ellen and Uncle Paul and Aunt Cathy and Lou?”
“Let me check,” Sam said. “I get ten, and they’re all spoken for, except one. But Isabella said she might have extras.”
“Who’s the ninth person in our group?” her mother said.
“Clive.”
“Really? I thought he’d have to work.”
“He’s taking the Friday off.”
“Is it worth doing that? You’ll be so busy. You probably won’t have time to see him.”
“You guys are taking that day off,” Sam said.
“We don’t live in another country,” her mother said. “And we’re your family.”
“So is he.”
Her mother sighed.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe Clive could sit this one out. Your grandmother has no idea how old he is. Is that how you want her to find out? You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and it’s been a stressful few months around here, as you know. Maybe it’s selfish, but I just want this moment for us. Your dad and I are worried about it being less than perfect.”
“Perfect for who?” Sam said.
She hated that she was engaged to someone her parents didn’t approve of. She hated her need for their approval. Part of Sam wanted to beg her mother to try to like him, for her sake. She wanted to list all the sweet things Clive had done for her.
But none of this came through in what she said next. “Clive will be there. You’ll have to deal. If you can’t deal, don’t come.”
“Sam—”
“I need to go, because he’ll be calling me any minute. We talk every night at this time. Not that you’d know that, since you never ask about him.”
Sam hung up.
In truth, Clive wasn’t calling her for another hour.
She grabbed hold of a pillow and screamed straight into it.
“You okay over there?” Lexi shouted from across the hall.
“I’m fine,” Sam yelled back.
She needed to talk to Elisabeth.
Sam texted, asked if she was busy.
Just put Gil down for the night. Andrew’s out with George. Come over! Elisabeth replied. Let yourself in. I’m in the den upstairs. Hope everything’s okay…
When Sam found her, Elisabeth was sitting cross-legged on the couch, computer in her lap, some dumb real estate show on TV.
“What’s up?” she said, patting the couch beside her. “Clive again?”
“Not exactly. I’m furious at my mother,” Sam said.
“I didn’t think you ever got mad at her,” Elisabeth said.
Sam paused to think. “I don’t very often.”
When she was finished telling the story, Elisabeth said, “That sucks. But try to see it from her point of view. You’re her little girl. I’m guessing you’ve never done anything wrong before in your life.”
“You mean, before being with Clive? That’s wrong?”
“Not wrong, just—cause for concern. From her point of view! I’m not saying it’s rational. But I know your mother loves you and wants the best for you. Not all of us have that.”
&nbs
p; Sam nodded, not entirely convinced.
“It’s been a hard time lately because my dad’s business isn’t doing well and my parents are stressed about money, but I feel like I’m being asked to fix everything. I’m not, really. But. It’s annoying. They want their perfect day.”
“Sam, I had no idea!” Elisabeth said. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Before she could respond, the baby started to cry.
Elisabeth groaned as she stood up. “Be right back. His new thing is throwing his pacifier out of the crib so I have to go in there and get it. Why couldn’t I have a thumb-sucker? You can’t lose your thumb.”
Sam sat on the sofa and watched TV. When Elisabeth still hadn’t returned several minutes later, Sam turned her laptop around to see what she’d been looking at.
The browser was open to Facebook. The page was one Elisabeth had made fun of in the past, full of overly analytical Brooklyn mothers, the type who started thinking about their kids’ Harvard applications while they were in utero.
Elisabeth must have been in the middle of writing a comment on a post when Sam came in. The cursor hovered there, blinking, right after the words So grateful to you, Mimi! You saved the
Sam scrolled to the top to see who Mimi was and what exactly she had saved.
The original post was Elisabeth’s. Sam’s eyes rushed through the words: My son’s incredible babysitter…one of the brightest young women I’ve ever known…It is her DREAM…Matilda Grey…Please help me stop her from making a colossal mistake and marrying her creepy British boyfriend and wasting all her talents!!
Someone had asked if Clive had bad teeth. Elisabeth answered in the affirmative.
Sam was shaking as she took it in. The job hadn’t just come to her. Someone was taking pity, at Elisabeth’s request.
Elisabeth had never let on for a second.
Sam got up, and stormed past Gil’s room. Elisabeth, in shadow, stood over the crib.
Sam ran down the stairs.
Elisabeth called after her in a whisper, “Where are you going?”
She didn’t reply. She reached the front hallway.
Elisabeth followed.
“Sam!” she said. “Wait! What’s going on?”
Sam spun around and faced her.
“Thank you so much for trying to stop me from marrying my—how did you put it?—‘creepy British boyfriend’?”
Elisabeth seemed to deflate right there in front of her. “Shit,” she said.
“You must think I’m a complete idiot,” Sam said. “Crying to you, getting so excited, and, all the time, you were the one pulling the strings.”
“I believe in you, Sam,” Elisabeth said. “I wanted to help.”
“By forcing someone to hire me?”
“Come on. I don’t have that kind of power. They hired you because you’re great. I only made the meeting happen.”
“I’m so sick of everyone thinking they know what’s best for me. What did Clive ever do to you, or to anyone, to deserve those things you said? He’s the kindest person I know.”
“Maybe so.”
Elisabeth’s voice was soothing, as if she were trying to calm a child mid-tantrum. “But I know you, Sam. You have this great family, you love kids, you’re super mature. You want to skip the big steps and be there. But everyone has to take those steps. It’s all the mistakes you make in the middle that determine how strong you are at the end. You can’t hide behind this thing with Clive forever.”
“Who made you the authority on my life?” Sam demanded.
“I’ve lived longer than you, that’s all. Clive is a sweet guy, but, Sam, do you really see a future with him?”
“What does that mean?”
“For one thing, he doesn’t have two pennies to rub together. A man that age should be able to put you up in a hotel.”
That she would take the details of Sam’s life and turn them into an accusation. It was humiliating.
“Maybe money doesn’t matter to me the way it does to you,” Sam said.
“That’s only because you don’t know anything yet,” Elisabeth said. “The people who know you best think he’s wrong for you. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“Who?” Sam said.
“Your mother. Isabella. Me.”
“You’re not one of the people who know me best. You barely know me at all,” Sam said. “And I’m not sure where you got that about Isabella.”
“She told me.”
“What did she say?”
“That she’s worried. That nobody thought you and Clive would last this long. That she doesn’t understand why you’re marrying him. If I were you, I’d want to know why he’s so hell-bent on marriage. Something tells me he hasn’t told you everything about his past. I think Isabella feels the same way.”
“Have there ever been two greater experts on marriage than you and Isabella?” Sam said. “Don’t you have enough problems of your own to think about? Why are you so preoccupied with mine? You need me to go to Brooklyn because you regret leaving. I’m not you. I’m nothing like you. Do you know how oblivious you are? Your stories about struggling to make it in the big city. I know they’re all bullshit. I don’t even think you realize.”
“Sam, you’re angry. I get that. But I only want what’s best for you. I wanted to be there for you the way you were there for me. You did me the biggest favor when you helped me decide not to go through with—”
“I had to do that,” Sam said. “It’s what you wanted and you’re the boss.”
She thought of Gaby’s words, which had hurt so much—My aunt gets paid to be nice to girls like you.
Elisabeth shook her head. “I never saw it that way. I hope you didn’t either.”
“I stood by and watched you tell a huge lie to Andrew. I could have told him. At the time, I never would have thought it was my place. But you went right ahead and meddled in my life. Maybe I should do the same to you. See how you like it.”
“Sam—”
“You may be older than I am, but you have no clue about relationships. You’d rather lie to your husband until you die than tell him what you want. You’ve just done to me what you stopped speaking to your own father for doing to you. Do you not see that?”
“You’re right,” Elisabeth said. “I mean—it’s not the same at all, but I’m sorry.”
“You look down on the rest of us. Me, George, probably even poor Andrew.”
“George?” Elisabeth said. “I do not.”
“You won’t give his book idea the time of day, even though it’s a good one.”
“Really? This? Seriously?”
“You never once expressed any interest in what George and I were doing at that discussion group. You acted like you didn’t want me to go.”
Elisabeth sighed. “That’s only because—” she began, but Sam didn’t stay to hear the rest.
She went to the end of the hall, opened the front door, and walked out.
* * *
—
Clive called a few minutes after she got home.
Sam felt nauseated.
She said nothing about Elisabeth. She told him about the job offer, but not that she had accepted.
She wanted him to be the one to suggest it.
“I’m so confused about what to do,” she said.
“The timing’s rubbish,” he said. “But soon we’ll be married and you’ll have a visa and then you can get a fabulous job just like it in London.”
“I’m not sure it’s that easy,” she said.
“You didn’t even have to apply to this one,” he said. “That’s unheard of. You’re brilliant, babe. You’ll get snapped up fast no matter where we are.”
She envisioned herself at gallery openings, introducing him to her boss and coworkers. M
y husband can’t stay long, he’s giving his Jack the Ripper tour tonight. Then she felt bad. But when you were twenty-two and somebody’s assistant, you were supposed to be dating some other twenty-two-year-old assistant, who lived with his college buddies and wasn’t remotely interested in settling down yet.
“I thought we talked about maybe living in New York,” she said.
“Someday. But not now. I couldn’t just up and leave. We’ll be married soon, that’s all I care about.”
“Why do you want to be married so badly?” she said.
Sam could tell from the silence that she had injured him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did. It’s just—I’m committed to you as it is.”
“You’re saying you don’t want to marry me?” he said.
He sounded like a child. She thought back to the night they met, how assured he’d been, how drawn she was to him then.
“No,” she said. “I guess—Clive. Have you ever been married before?”
Later, she would wonder why she asked the question then. Elisabeth had planted the seed much earlier, but somehow Sam’s curiosity had not been piqued until tonight.
The pause was long enough that it served as an answer. Her heart sped up. Blood pumped in her ears.
“It was so brief, I honestly don’t even think of it as a marriage,” he said. “I thought things were fine. Then one day, I came home and Laura was gone.”
Laura. The name on the empty folder in his email account. Sam was eager now to know what those deleted messages would have revealed.
“It was nothing like the kind of wedding we’ll have,” Clive said. “Laura had to be in control. I did whatever she said. She wasn’t agreeable, like you.”
“Agreeable?”
“We went to City Hall and then out for a curry with friends. That was it. That was our wedding.”
Something he’d said on their first date came back to her now: Here’s City Hall, where the young brides get showered in rice each afternoon at two.
At the time, she thought it sounded like poetry.
“Which friends?” Sam asked.
Friends and Strangers Page 40