Recipe for a Perfect Wife (ARC)
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Elsie in the garden, singing church hymns to the roses, lilies, even the tiny forget‑ me‑ nots, encouraging Nellie to sing aloud with
her. “God gave you the voice of an angel, Nell‑ baby. Never be shy to use it, my girl.” Her body went numb as her mind wandered,
one of the hymns coming back to her as she softly hummed its
tune in time to Richard’s cruel thrusting.
He moved quickly, and soon his eyes rolled back and he went
limp, releasing his weight fully onto her chest as he shuddered in
waves. Nellie couldn’t take a proper breath but didn’t dare say a
word, knowing it would only delay things. Richard was spiteful
that way. She understood she was still being punished, and so
she took it like the dutiful wife she was supposed to be.
Soon enough he rolled off her, zipping up his trousers though
he didn’t bother tucking his shirt in. “Stay like that for now,
Nellie.” He leaned down and kissed her on the lips— gently, the
way a good husband would. Tugging the edge of her skirt, he
pulled the hem over her bare thighs, using such care in covering
her back up, unlike the way he had exposed her only minutes ago.
He smiled and the hatred inside her grew to a rolling boil. “We
want to make sure there’s a baby, don’t we?”
Nellie nodded and smiled, though she remained still and
otherwise detached so Richard would leave her be.
“Would you like a cigarette?” he asked. “Apparently you were
right about that. The doc did say it helps relax women.”
“Yes, please,” Nellie said, her voice steady.
“Coming right up.” Richard patted her hip before he went
to the kitchen. She heard him fixing a drink, and knowing it
was a risk to do so— but perhaps riskier not to— Nellie got up,
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taking her weight on her good leg. She hopped one‑ legged, her
eyes never leaving the doorway, hoping to dispel what Richard
had left inside of her before he returned. Because even though
Nellie’s longing for motherhood endured, burned in her like a
fever that wouldn’t break, she couldn’t be sure how deeply rooted
the evil was in her husband. And as a result, Nellie would not be
responsible for bringing a son, another man like Richard Murdoch,
into this world. Or worse, a baby girl, for Richard would see it as his absolute right to control her the way he did Nellie. Ensuring
he raised an obedient daughter who would grow into a submissive
wife, without a moment’s concern for her own wishes.
After some one‑ legged bouncing, there was a wetness be‑
tween her thighs, and knowing she had done all she could, Nellie
settled back on the green sofa and waited for her cigarette.
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q
From the wedding day, the young matron should shape her life
to the probable and desired contingency of conception and ma-
ternity. Otherwise she has no right or title to wifehood.
— Emma Frances Angell Drake,
What a Young Wife Ought to Know (1902)
Alice
July 19, 2018
D id you take the ibuprofen?”
Alice nodded, the paper crinkling under her head as she did.
She stared at the ceiling, at the track of fluorescent lighting
running over the procedure table she lay on. The light hurt her
eyes but it was better than focusing on what was happening
down below.
“What do you do for work, Alice?”
“I used to be in PR, but now I’m a writer.” At least I’m
trying to be. Alice stared at the lights, then blinked and dots ap‑
peared in her vision. Can you call yourself a writer if you don’t actually write?
“Oh yeah? What sort of writing do you do?”
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“This and that. I’m working on a novel right now.” She
thought of her book. Every morning she woke up eager to work,
but within a couple of hours her hopes were dashed and she
closed her laptop with a promise the next day would be better. It
had become a predictable yet concerning cycle, and she wasn’t
sure what to do about it. “That’s, uh, why I’m here. I need to get
my book finished before I get pregnant.” Why had she said that?
“Birthing a book and a baby? Yeah, that would be a lot of
work.” The doctor sounded sympathetic. “I used to be a vora‑
cious reader but don’t have much time these days. But I have a
stack of books on my nightstand waiting for my next vacation!”
Alice smiled, but it was closemouthed and quick.
“Okay, I’m placing the speculum . . . there we go. Try to
relax, let your knees fall a bit more to the side. There, perfect.”
Dr. Yasmine Sterling, the Scarsdale gynecologist Alice had found
through a quick Google search, was hunched between Alice’s
legs. She looked up and smiled. “All good, Alice?”
“I’m great.” Alice tucked her chin to her chest so she could
see the doctor. She returned her smile before looking back to the
ceiling. Though she was confident this was the right decision
( one year and then I’ll have it taken out)— especially after Nate’s joking but thoughtless “barefoot and pregnant” comment— a
wiggle of guilt moved through her abdomen and her muscles
tensed. The speculum slipped slightly and the doctor told her
again to try to relax. “Sorry. I’m just . . . I’m fine.”
“I know how uncomfortable this is, but it won’t take me
long. Hang tight,” Dr. Sterling said, then laughed. “Actually,
don’t hang ‘tight’— loose would be better. Hang loose. ” Dr.
Sterling repositioned the light and grabbed something off the
table beside her.
“Now I’m going to clean your cervix with an antiseptic and
we’ll be on our way.” The doctor had blond hair in need of a
root touch‑ up, but her part was pin straight— not a hair out of
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place, all pulled back into a low, tight ponytail. Somehow this
made Alice feel better about the gynecologist’s ability to place
the IUD. If she was that precise with her part, she would defi‑
nitely get the device in exactly the right spot in Alice’s uterus.
“I love your purse, by the way. My grandmother used to
have a similar Chanel bag.”
Alice glanced over at the small, rectangular black quilted hand‑
bag sitting on top of her clothes. She had promised Bronwyn she
would use it and she had to admit she liked the simplicity of it.
The purse wasn’t large, so she wasn’t endlessly losing her keys or
lip gloss in its depths. “We recently moved into this old house,
and the previous owner left it be
hind. It’s from the fifties, I
think.”
“Lucky you,” Dr. Sterling said. “It’s in great condition, too.”
Alice jerked at the sharp clang of metal on metal as Dr. Sterling
set something on the tray beside her, where a variety of items
were lined up, including the IUD, its arms looking like a little
white anchor at the top of the tube. “We’re almost ready here.
Now, you may feel some cramping when I insert the tube and
release the IUD. Perfectly normal and it will pass.”
Alice nodded, trying not to tense up again with anticipation.
“Take a deep breath. Let it out. Good, good. And one
more . . .”
There was pressure, a flutter of sharp pain in her lower
abdomen— which deepened quickly and made her suck in her
breath, her heels pressing hard into the foot beds of the stirrups.
She felt dizzy, but it might have been because her breathing had
gone shallow. It hurt a lot more than she expected.
The gynecologist didn’t look up. “Keep breathing, Alice.
Almost done. I’ve put the tube through your cervix and am
about to release the IUD. A few seconds more. Okay . . . there
we go. You okay?”
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The cramping continued, and Alice took a deep breath. “A
bit of cramping, but I’m okay.”
“Good. Last step. Going to remove the tube . . . there we
go . . . and now I’m trimming the strings, a couple centimeters
below the cervix.” A few seconds later it was over, and Dr.
Sterling put the empty tube on the tray. “You’ll need to check
the strings once a month, just to make sure the IUD is still in
position. If you don’t feel them, come back right away. It’s not
common, but an IUD can fall out, which means you won’t be
protected against pregnancy.”
Dr. Sterling set the scissors back on the tray and turned off
the spotlight pointed between Alice’s legs before helping her get
her feet out of the stirrups. She snapped off her gloves and pushed her rolling stool back against the wall.
“I’m going to leave this pamphlet here for you.” Dr. Sterling
set the folded paper on top of Alice’s Chanel purse. “It gives you
the ins and outs about possible side effects and anything else you
need to look out for, like infections or pain. If you get any un‑
bearable pain, or excessive bleeding or a fever”— she put her fist
to her ear, mimicking making a phone call— “you call my service
right away, okay?”
Alice nodded, a small flutter of cramps continuing to roam
through her pelvis. “Now, we can leave this in for five years, and
you may not actually have periods. But it won’t protect you from
sexually transmitted infections, so you’ll still need to use
condoms.”
Dr. Sterling washed her hands in the sink. She lathered
twice, rinsed, and ripped some paper towel from the dispenser.
“Any other questions?”
“I think I’m good. Can I sit up now?”
“You can.” Dr. Sterling nodded. “Nice to meet you, Alice.
And like I said, any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to give
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us a call. My nurse’s name and number are on the back of the
pamphlet. But I don’t expect you to have any problems. You’re
young and healthy.” She started to close the door behind her,
then popped her head back in. “Oh, and good luck with that
novel. I’ll keep my eye out for it!”
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q
Eat proper food for health and vitality. Every morning before
breakfast, comb hair, apply make- up, a dash of cologne, and perhaps some simple earrings. Does wonders for your morale.
— Betty Crocker’s Picture Cook Book, revised and enlarged (1956) Alice
August 7, 2018
W hat’s all this?” Nate worked the knot into his tie as he sur‑
veyed the food spread across the table. Freshly squeezed orange
juice. Sunny‑ side‑up eggs. Toast. Bacon and sausage. All of it
displayed on the vintage platters that had come with the house.
Alice wore a sundress and sheer stockings, her hair in a loose
bun, a dab of lipstick and some mascara to complete the look.
“This is breakfast, obviously.” Alice pulled out a chair for
him. “Sit. Eat. While it’s still hot.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Nate carefully tucked his
tie into the space between two of his shirt buttons, tidy and
precise. Alice thought if she were the one keeping a tie out of
her eggs she’d merely toss it over one shoulder and dig in. Nate
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dusted his eggs with the paprika she’d recently purchased— it
seemed a frequently used spice in the cookbook’s recipes, and so
good to have on hand— while Alice poured the juice, sitting
across from him.
“Thanks, babe.” Nate buttered a piece of toast and Alice cut
into her egg, the sunny yolk pooling onto her plate. “But I have
to ask— and don’t take this the wrong way— what’s the oc‑
casion?” Alice typically wasn’t up for breakfast, Nate flying out
the door before seven with a flask of green smoothie or a coffee
and a quickly grabbed banana.
Alice shrugged, cut another triangle of egg with the edge of
her fork. I got an IUD and sorry I didn’t tell you about it first?
She had planned to confess over breakfast, but the words wouldn’t
come. He will forgive you, she assured herself. But maybe she’d wait until after they’d eaten so breakfast wasn’t ruined. “You’re
working really hard and I’m . . . not. I mean, I know I’m writing
the book.” Even though she wasn’t. “But I want to do more.
‘Earn my keep’ so you don’t toss me to the curb on garbage
day.”
Even though her tone carried the lilt of humor, Nate stopped
cutting the sausage link and lay his silverware down. “Ali, I
hope I’m not doing something to— ”
“No. Sorry. That was a bad joke,” she replied. “All I meant
was we’re a team and I can do more. Especially with your exam
coming up. Besides, I’m kind of getting into this whole housewife
thing.” Not the whole truth, but there were aspects of it Alice
minded less these days. Like cooking and baking, which helped
pass the time and produced something tangible. She dipped a
toast finger into her egg yolk, and the fridge emitted its soft hum into the kitchen. It hadn’t rattled in weeks.
“Well, if you’re happy, I’m happy.” Nate took a sip of the
juice and smiled again, though it was quick and soon gone.
Are you really, Nate? Can it actually be that
simple? Alice 188
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thought to ask, but instead she crunched on her yolk‑ sodden
toast.
“So, what do you have going on for the rest of the day?” Nate
asked, silverware back in hand.
“Mostly writing, I hope. I’ve been reading those magazines
and Sally gave me a bunch of letters that belonged to the woman
who used to live here, Nellie, to help me with my book. And I’m
sort of inspired. I think she’d make a great protagonist.”
“How so?” Nate asked, genuinely curious.
“I don’t know if I can explain it,” Alice replied, which was
true. Nellie had revealed little more than the day‑ to‑ day details of a 1950s housewife schedule, which involved gardening, meal
preparation, and Tupperware parties ad nauseam. There was fre‑
quent concern over Richard’s stomach ulcer, news of babies born
to the couple’s friends. But despite the predictability of Nellie’s life, Alice sensed an untold story between the lines in those
letters, penned in the housewife’s pristine cursive. “Just a hunch, at this point.”
Nate seemed interested, so Alice pressed on.
“Related, and you probably aren’t going to believe me when
I say this, but I’m not sure I want to change things.”
“What do you mean by ‘things’?”
“Well, maybe we can leave the kitchen as is? I know we’ll
need a new fridge and stove eventually, and I’m not sure how
long this baby blue will feel charming, but for right now I like
it. It’s good for me. For my writing, I mean, because I’ve sort of
switched gears, with the book idea. I’m going to set it in 1955,
and we’re basically living that decade with this decor. I can be
immersed in it, you know? Especially with all this vintage stuff.
It just fits. With my vision. If that makes sense.”
Alice spoke too fast, her body humming with nervous energy.
Worried she’d blurt out the truth about the IUD between talk
of Formica tabletops and floral wallpaper. No, she needed to tell
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Nate properly— the way she had planned. Calmly, the expla‑
nation rational so her logical husband could see the benefits of