Free Significant Others by Marilyn Baron

here knows everyone else’s business. It’s putting us all on edge.”
    “Have you called the police?” I asked, wondering if I should be worried.
    “No. I mean, they’d just ignore us and think we’re a bunch of crazy old fools. After all, they’re just flyers. It’s not like anyone is holding a gun to our heads. We’ve told the Homeowner’s Association about it.”
    My mother came out of the kitchen carrying a tray. “Here, I cut up some nice apples, and I’ve got some cheese and crackers. Eat. What did I miss?”
    “We were just talking about those Seniors Against Sin flyers.”
    “Oh, yes. I got one of those taped to my door.”
    “Probably because you’re seeing Max.”
    “I’m not seeing Max,” my mother protested. “He’s just a friend.”
    “And I was telling Honey about the concept of significant others,” Aunt Helene said.
    “You mean like Birdie Rosen and Ben?” my mother asked.
    “A perfect example,” she replied. “Just last week Birdie Rosen’s significant other, Ben, went into the hospital for open heart surgery and he never came out. When they were together, he treated her like a queen. When he went shopping for groceries, he’d buy one for him and one for her because he knew she was on a moderate income. He was not a rich man, but he was comfortable. He even paid whenever they went on dates or trips. They were going to take that Christmas cruise with their friends Max and Jean. The one Max has invited your mother to take with him. But after Ben died, where did that leave Birdie? Ben’s children were very appreciative of the fact that she had taken such good care of their father for all those years, but Birdie was still an outsider and they weren’t willing to share a penny of their inheritance with her. Since Ben never made specific provisions for Birdie in his will, she was left high and dry.”
    “That’s sad,” I said.
    “But around here, those are the realities of life,” Aunt Helene said.
    “At least Birdie and Ben found a little bit of happiness in their final years, which is why I’m encouraging your mother to go to this dance. I don’t think I’ve seen her smile since your father died.”
    “Exactly,” Mom said. “I’m in my final years, so what do I have to smile about?”
    I knew what my mother meant, but I didn’t want to share my aging anxieties with her. She didn’t need the extra aggravation.
    “Mother, that’s morbid and in your case, premature,” I argued. “You’re still young. And you’re beautiful. Why don’t you go to the dance? You can stay for a little while, and if you feel uncomfortable, Aunt Helene will take you home.”
    My mother hesitated.
    “Okay, I’ll go with you. I even brought a dress for just such an occasion.”
    “But I have nothing to wear,” Dee Dee said, “except black.”
    “Oh, well, now you sound like Cinderella,” I teased. “I think we need a shopping trip. Aunt Helene and I will be your fairy godmothers and find you something special to wear to the ball. And it’s turning cold in Atlanta. I’d like to buy you a holiday sweater. Nothing practical or classic. Something trendy and fun. We can make an afternoon of it—go to the salon, the works. You could use a nice haircut. Maybe I’ll even let Rumpelstiltskin mangle my hair.”
    Aunt Helene’s hairdresser—I call him Rumpelstiltskin—has a heavy hand on the heat and his endless blow-drying has a tendency to turn my golden hair into straw. Some people go to their hairdressers for a haircut and blow-dry. Everyone went to Rumplestiltskin for his advice. The best place to go for window treatments, where to buy tile, who could build a cedar closet, the best painter, the best restaurant, the best hotel to stay on vacation—and the best gossip.
    Aunt Helene lifted a few strands of hair from my head. “He can get rid of this gray, too.”
    “I don’t have any gray hairs,” I objected. “They’re Arctic Blond. But I’m due for a cut. I’m always too