Young Wives. Olivia Goldsmith
first edition of Clarence Darrow’s autobiography. Reid—a newly minted lawyer working for Andover Putnam, the most old-line of Boston’s old-line law firms—worshipped Darrow. He’d plotz. Angie patted the package and grinned.
She didn’t allow herself to get too excited by the prospect of his gift to her, though. Men weren’t that good with gifts or romance. Especially WASP men from old money. She’d learned that already: for their first married Christmas, Reid had given her a pair of ski gloves—even though she didn’t ski. When she’d suggested they spend their first romantic weekend away, he’d opted for Springfield, to visit the Basketball Hall of Fame. As if. Worst, for her birthday he’d given her a coffee grinder. She shook her head now, remembering the scene when she’d opened the elaborately wrapped box. “But don’t you like fresh ground?” Reid had asked, shocked when in answer she’d thrown the thing at him. They’d had a huge fight. Later she’d called her mother. “A coffee grinder?” she’d asked. “Is it a Braun? Hey, he’s trainable. Your father once gave me an ironing board.”
Angela had neglected to point out to her mother that she and Angela’s father had divorced, and that she didn’t want that to happen to her and Reid. Instead, “What did you do,” Angie had wept, “when you got the ironing board?”
“I made him swallow it,” her mom admitted. Angie had begun laughing. “Look. Mixed marriages never work,” Natalie Goldfarb-Romazzano said in a comforting voice.
“Don’t tell me that now, after I married a Protestant,” Angela had replied.
“I don’t mean mixed religions. I mean mixed genders. Men and women. Mars and Venus. We’re not from other planets. We’re from other solar systems.”
Now Angie shook her head again at the memory. Her mother was, as her father put it, a real piece of work.
“What’s that about?” a voice asked. “We allow no ‘nos’ here. ‘Yeses’ exclusively. This is a very exclusive club.”
Angie looked up at Reid—her tall golden boy, a water skier, a rock climber, a Princeton grad. In the last reflected light of the sunset, she could swear he glowed. Reid, who had already taken his seat across from her, got up, came over to her chair and bent down and kissed her—a long, lingering one. A public display of affection! She could hardly believe it. And at the club, where no one ever had any feelings, much less showed them! His lips pressed hers. God! He’d been so sweet lately. Angie found his tongue with her own. She felt herself blushing. He took her breath away. Big deal about the coffee grinder. She was so lucky!
Eventually Reid moved back to his chair, untousled, unflushed. The waiter stood behind him. “So, what will you have, Angie?” Reid asked. Then he hesitated, moved her purse, and took the chair beside her. “Too far away from my girl,” he explained, his voice low. Then unexpectedly he put his right hand—the one closest to her under the tablecloth—high on the inside of her thigh. A wave of longing washed over her, so intense that she had to look away, out at the lapping tide. “I want you,” Reid whispered. Then he raised his voice to give their drink order to the hovering waiter. But that interruption didn’t stop him from stroking her thigh. She blushed again while the waiter nodded and left to fetch for the scion of the Wakefield family. Angie always apologized to “the help,” while Reid made them wait, yet they served him better.
“So, what’s this?” Reid asked, placing his other hand on the little package. “Who could it be for?” His voice was full of assurance and teasing.
“Oh, nothing,” Angie said innocently. “For no one. A little anniversary present, maybe, if anyone you know is having an anniversary.”
“Oddly enough, I am. And so is my wife. Could it be for her? Or for me?” He didn’t reach for his gift, though. Instead, to her delight, he pulled a little box from his inside jacket pocket. “Does this look like a Braun?” he asked.
Angela’s heart began to beat even faster. Jewelry? Real jewelry? Aside from her engagement ring and wedding band, he’d never given her jewelry. She tried to be calm as she reached out for the box. It was navy blue leather, unwrapped, and had SHREVE, CRUMP & LOWE stamped in silver letters across the top. Only the best jewelry store in Boston! And the most overpriced, but hey, this was a present. Angela still couldn’t get over the fact that Reid paid retail for things. But on this occasion she was glad. Maybe her mom was right. He was trainable.
Angie stared at the enchanting box and told herself to be calm. It was probably only a sterling key chain or thimble or something, but she’d treasure it forever. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” she asked, vamping for time.
“Well, I’m the animal, you’re the vegetable, and the gift is certainly from the mineral world,” he told her.
Yes! She took the little case in her hand. Mineral world. As in gems? Ready to faint, she flipped open the lid; a small but exquisite sapphire surrounded by seed pearls winked at her from the satin interior.
A ring! “Oh, God. It’s beautiful.” She stared at it. “Oh, God,” she repeated.
“It’s a funny thing,” Reid said dryly. “Is this a religious difference? I can’t tell if it’s a Jewish or a Catholic one. But only sex and jewelry get you to mention the Lord’s name.” He squeezed her thigh again and laughed. Angie vowed she’d get to the gym tomorrow after work for sure. She was so grateful to him that she’d keep those thighs thin and toned forever. She reminded herself that her father had started cheating on her mother after her mom had gotten a little—well, zaftig. I’ll eat nothing but fruit salad tomorrow, she thought. The kind packed in water. And I’ll drink four bottles of Evian—the big bottles—even though it means I’ll pee like a horse all day.
“You know what I’d like?” Reid asked her. “I’d like you to promise to do something for me.”
As if she wasn’t already starving and flooding herself for him! As if she wouldn’t give up breathing if he asked her to. “Anything except prostitution or getting my nose fixed,” Angela told him.
He laughed. That was one of the reasons she loved him: he was an easy laugh. Then his face took on a sort of choirboy earnestness that she rarely saw. “Let’s renew our vows,” Reid proposed as he took her hand. “I want to marry you all over again.”
Angela was so touched she felt herself flush. Reid had been unusually romantic lately—flowers, little gifts—but this was so … so very, very sweet. She felt she could either laugh or cry, so she went with the first option. After all, it was a Goldfarb-Romazzano family tradition, especially on her mother’s side. “Might as well laugh,” her mother always advised in crisis. “Then you don’t have to fix your mascara later.”
Angela put her hand out, covering Reid’s beautiful long fingers. “Oh, honey. It’s a wonderful thought. A lovely thought, but …” She paused. He watched her face, as attentive as a puppy, but a lot less mature. She didn’t, now or ever, want to hurt him. So how could she explain? “We only married a year ago, sweetie. It’s … it’s inappropriate to do it again so soon. If you want to say our vows privately I will, tonight or tomorrow or—”
“No!” Reid interrupted. “I want to say them publicly. I mean, with people there. People from work. My family. Yours. You know. A ceremony.”
“A renewal ceremony?” Angela tightened her hand around his. “I just got over the wedding! It took me this long to write and thank your family for all those cheese boards. Anyway, sweetie, people just don’t do it.” His family was usually the one that talked about what was “done.” She thought of the pain she’d caused her mother-in-law already with her social gaffes. They’d nearly fainted when she’d had both a rabbi and a lapsed—and married—former Catholic priest at their ceremony. “It’s … not done,” she repeated. “Not for at least ten years, anyway. Or twenty-five.”
“Why? I love you more now than I did when I married you,” Reid protested. “I want everyone to know that.”
Angie