New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [429]
“If you want to have it all, Maggie,” he’d cheerfully remind her, “just remember that having it all includes me.”
The marriage was at her parents’ Catholic church in Norwalk, Connecticut. Her parents thought Gorham was perfect. They didn’t even mind that he wasn’t Catholic. As for Maggie, she didn’t tell the priest, but she’d already assured Gorham that their children could attend any church he liked, or none.
Juan was best man—he’d married Janet by then—and Maggie’s brother Martin was one of the ushers. Martin was a pleasant, rather intellectual fellow, and he and Gorham got along fine. At the end of the wedding, Maggie’s father had quietly suggested to Martin that if he had no plans for ever marrying, perhaps he’d like to tell him about it some time.
The pattern of their lives changed only a little as they entered the 1980s. If Gorham needed Maggie to attend a business dinner with him in the city, she’d make great efforts to do so. Once, when Branch & Cabell hosted a weekend at a resort for all the partners, associates and their spouses, Gorham was amused, during the lawyers’ business sessions, to be taken around and entertained with all the spouses. “I like being a spouse,” he told Maggie with a grin. “I had twenty wives all to myself.”
The only other necessary defining of their positions in the early eighties had been the newly popular social acronyms.
“I have always been a WASP,” Gorham rightly declared. “And I guess I may be called a preppy. But Maggie is definitely a yuppie.”
Even this changed in 1986, however, when Maggie was made a partner. “And a partner of Branch & Cabell,” she insisted, “can no longer be called a yuppie.”
“Not even a pretty young red-headed partner?”
“Nope. But I’ll tell you something else about a partner in Branch & Cabell.”
“What’s that?”
“A partner in Branch & Cabell,” she informed him with a smile, “might get pregnant.”
Her pregnancy the next year had raised another issue.
They were happy in the apartment on Park. When they married, Maggie had done a little redecoration, and they’d had fun buying some new furniture together. The third year of their marriage, after he’d been awarded a handsome bonus, his Christmas present to her had been the money to install a new kitchen. That had been a big deal.
Maggie had made one other small improvement to the apartment. She’d opened a closet one day and found in there a carefully wrapped parcel that looked like a picture of some kind. Asked what it was, Gorham had confessed to his shame that it was the only gift he’d failed to deliver for Charlie, after his father’s death. “And so much time has passed now that I’m embarrassed to give it to the rightful owner,” he said.
“Can I see what it is?” she’d asked.
“I suppose so.”
“My God, Gorham,” Maggie exclaimed when she’d unwrapped the parcel, “it’s a Robert Motherwell drawing. This thing is really valuable.”
“I hardly know what to do about it,” he admitted.
“Well, I’m putting it on the wall until you make up your mind.” And there, adding a special elegance to their living room, it had remained ever since.
Now they were starting a family, however, they’d have to consider moving to a larger place. They could manage in the six-room with one child, who would have the second bedroom, but if another child came along, then they’d really need more space. They liked the building, so they decided to wait for a while to see if a larger apartment became available. With their two salaries, they could certainly finance a mortgage and the higher maintenance.
Taken all together, therefore, Gorham and Maggie had a very happy marriage. Only one thing had suffered, and they both felt it. Their friends. How long was it now since they’d had Maggie’s brother come to supper? Three months at least. It was nobody’s fault, there just never seemed to be any time. And what about Juan? They hadn’t seen him for more than