and I wanted to help. At that point I still believed that I knew as much as most people, and more than many. That afternoon, I went home and called my cousin Margot out to the patio, where we could speak privately. She and my mother had been experimenting with napoleons and éclairs and there was bitter-sweet chocolate streaked along Margotâs arms. They had a wedding on Sunday that was driving them crazy.
âI told your mother we shouldnât do weddings.â Margot was supposed to have stopped smoking, but occasionally she had a Salem, during times of stress. She was having one now. âA bar mitzvah, a party, theyâre something else completely. At weddings people are so on edge. They can see their lives passing before their eyes. Theyâre shutting the gate, theyâre locking it twice, and they turn all their anxiety into complaining about the catering. âYou call this coffee? You call this cake?â Thatâs what weâll be hearing. Believe me.â
My mother was busy rolling out dough, so Margot let me take a puff of her Salem. I thought about the way my father had dragged out leaving us. For two years my parents fought day and night, like pit bulls trapped in an L-shaped living room, but Margotâs husband had vacated in a totally different style. He took off in the middle of the night; he didnât even bother to pack a suitcase, he just got into their Ford Mustang and headed south. Margot eventually got the Mustang back, but ever since her marriage had broken up, her mouth had a funny look to it, as though someone had grabbed her by the lips and yanked, hard.
When I asked her what she would do if she wanted to get rid of a baby, Margotâs mouth looked even more pinched than usual. She pointed her Salem at me. âYou?â
âA friend,â I said.
âSure, sure.â Margot shook her head sadly. âThatâs what they all say.â
There were actually tears in her eyes. To be honest, I felt flattered. I could hardly get a boy to look at me. All right, theyâd look, theyâd even take me out, but no one asked me for a second date. I was too nasty, a real wise guy, and all the boys could tell what was beneath my rotten disposition. Down deep, I wanted a commitment with a capital C. To get anywhere with me, a boy would have to sign his undying loyalty with his own blood.
âI swear,â I told Margot. âItâs for a friend.â
Later, while my mother was boxing up the pastries, Margot gave me an address in New Jersey. She scribbled down all the information, dotting her iâs with little hearts.
âI hope your friend has money. It costs three hundred bucks.â Margot was getting her coat on, a soft camelâs hair I greatly admired. She didnât believe in girls getting rid of babies, but then again, she didnât believe in women working either and here she was with no husband and her own business. âI could lend you the cash,â she said.
âItâs not for me,â I insisted.
Margot took my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. âSwear to me on your fatherâs grave youâre not pregnant.â
My father was living in a huge Tudor house in Great Neck, but I swore on his grave anyway and Margot must have believed me because she kissed me on both cheeks.
âGood girl,â she said, which, to my ears, sounded something like a curse.
That evening, my brother came home from the Food Star with salami and a bucket of coleslaw. He did this most nights; my mother, after all, was too busy catering to fix dinner, and that evening she actually had a date. Her first. I sat on her bed, ate a sandwich, and helped pick outfitsâher black dress was too reminiscent of mourning; the red skirt was too extreme. Finally, we settled on a pale blue suit and a cream-colored blouse.
âI must be crazy,â my mother said as she viewed herself in the full-length mirror. Margot had arranged
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley