Where the God of Love Hangs Out - Amy Bloom [76]
Macy’s mother stood up.
“Aren’t you a kidder. It’s okay, you lie dormy, and so will I. Good luck,” her mother said, and Macy watched her drive off in a dusty blue station wagon.
* * *
A handsome black woman walked past The Cup’s big front window.
“Looks like Nellie,” Ray said.
“Nellie of the coconut cake,” Macy said.
Ray shook his head. “My wife can be a bitch.”
Macy said, “I can’t argue with you.”
Macy and Neil had met at his parents’ house. It felt like a houseful of people to Macy, who had lived with one person or none, most of her life. Neil’s sister, Jennifer, had brought Macy home with her after they ran into each other their senior year, at the Philadelphia Flower Show. (Just come home with me for the weekend, Jennifer had said. My parents will love you.) Neil was older than Jennifer and Macy by a couple of years and finishing law school; their cousin Howard, who lived in the maid’s room because he couldn’t face the real world after his time in Afghanistan, was making drinks for everyone.
Jennifer said, “This is Macy. You’ll love her.”
Neil squeezed Macy’s hand and looked her right in the eye and she could feel herself blushing. Eleanor Watrous served chicken fricassee with dumplings and glazed carrots and a separate plate of bitter green salad with a disk of goat cheese in the middle. For dessert, Jennifer carried in a gigantic and snowy and objectively beautiful coconut cake.
Macy said, “My goodness, that’s gorgeous.”
Mrs. Watrous waved her hand toward the kitchen and said that Nellie was gifted. (That’s the housekeeper, Neil said quietly. She cooks when my mother wants to impress people.) “I’ll have Nellie wrap some up for you,” Mrs. Watrous said, so that everyone could just picture Macy in her windowless room, sitting on her twin bed, unwrapping the slice of cake for a snack or for breakfast. Macy let her napkin slide to the floor so she could get a grip on herself. Neil’s hand came crab-walking across the rug, toward Macy’s napkin. He stroked her ankle and then he picked up the napkin and put it in her lap.
After coffee, Mr. Watrous had said, Let’s adjourn and Neil and Cousin Howard followed him into the study. The door to the study was not closed, and Macy sat in the chair nearest the door.
“Cute girl, Jennifer’s little friend,” Neil’s father said.
“She’s hot,” Cousin Howard said, and then he picked up a magazine and started fanning himself.
“Christ, Howard,” Mr. Watrous said. “How’s law school, Neil?”
“Okay,” Neil said.
“Getting any offers?”
“A few.”
“Stay out of the pigpen,” Mr. Watrous said.
Cousin Howard said, “Soo-eee. Here, piggy, piggy, piggy,” and Mr. Watrous said, “For the love of Jesus,” and the men came back into the living room. Neil sat down on the arm of Macy’s chair and patted her hair.
Sunday afternoon, he drove Macy and Jennifer to the train station. He told his sister to go get the tickets and behind her, he kissed Macy, his narrow lips opening like a flower. He smelled of cinnamon and smoke.
The next time Macy and Neil visited the Watrouses, they were a couple.
Mrs. Watrous asked Macy to help set the table, just to see if she knew where the glasses went and in what order. Macy laid glasses down over knives, water, white, and red, exactly as Emily Post recommended, and Neil’s mother glanced over and said, as if it wasn’t a test at all, Oh, who cares, really? These days, you could put a jug and four bowls on the table, couldn’t you? Let’s move to the patio. Macy drank three glasses of water, she was so nervous, and after Neil’s father had asked about her parents and Macy had said that they were dead and that her only relatives were an aunt and uncle in Des Moines, they moved on to Macy’s favorite classes. Everything went pretty well until Macy took a green olive out of the bowl next to her. It stuck to the roof of her mouth, its tip digging into the soft part at the back. She choked until she spat out the jalapeño pepper the olive was stuffed with, crying and swearing, Goddammit, oh, motherfucker, and Neil jumped up