Free Amanda in the Summer by Brenda Whiteside Page A

debate with you if you were here. We have had it already, but since I can have the last word, I shall state with conviction and without retort from you that an individual is not determined by whether or not she has her own unique name or shares it with her mother before her. I can guarantee you, any name I might come up with will not be unique to this world. And then what? She shares a name with some unknown woman with no history between them, no connection, no pride in tradition? So pooh-pooh tradition all you want. My Amanda will be quite the individual; so much the more with the influence of her mother and her adopted Bohemian Spinster Auntie Tilly. Yes, you shall be known as Auntie Tilly, Amanda’s Spinster Aunt. So sad for Tilly—twenty-four and already a spinster. Are you laughing yet? Perhaps Robert will meet someone at Columbia and introduce you. Now I laugh imagining that you, of all people, need help in that department.
    It’s time for me to lather on more sun tan lotion (another good thing to come out of the war) and start reading. I am going to see what Dr. Benjamin Spock knows about raising Amanda.
    Please write soon and tell me about all those wonderful nights dancing until dawn, drinking Manhattans and teasing all the eligible men of New York. And watch over my handsome husband adrift in the big city.
    Love, your friend,
    Amanda

August 13, 1948
    Dear Tilly,
    You’re due to arrive two long weeks from now, but I need to talk to you. I so wish you could have driven out with us and wish it even more so today. Robert suggested this vacation from the city. He promised three glorious weeks away from the rigors of New York City life, of his constant pursuit of a graduate degree and his ten-hour workdays. I know he won’t be long from Amanda who is the center of his universe. But honestly, Tilly, I can’t believe the office had to call him back before his vacation had barely begun. If only I had you here to enjoy this magnificent beach, I wouldn’t miss the wretched man at all.
    I almost erased that last sentence. If you were here, I’d have blurted it out and felt the better for it, that is, before the guilt set in. He’s a darling husband. You know that. Mother had the nerve to tell me that once a child enters a marriage, the relationship changes, and I should just grow accustomed to it. Nonsense. Amanda is pure enrichment for our lives. I know perfectly well to what Mother was alluding. She’s so old fashioned. If she was a fly on the wall of our bedroom, the poor woman would be shocked. The problem is, he seems to be fitting me in. He’s so busy with graduate work and his long workdays entertaining clients outside of work hours, that when he does enter our bed, he devours me without forethought.
    You must burn this letter after you have read it!
    So I brood. Although you aren’t here to join in my complaining girl talk, I can at least take comfort you are there to keep an eye on my darling. I made him promise to have dinner with you by his second night. Of course, my insistence is purely selfish. You’ll be appalled to see him at your door instead of here with me and will berate him for abandoning his wife and daughter. He’ll be shamed into hurrying his work along to return. Perhaps he’ll talk you into an early arrival. As his oldest friend, you do have a way of lighting him up, so light a fire under him. Unless of course you’re busy with those new friends we met last month at your apartment.
    Here I must interject an apology since we’ve not seen each other since. I hope we did not insult anyone by excusing ourselves in the middle of the rather heated discussion.
    To tell you the truth, Tilly, I found Janet Smite (sorry if I got her last name wrong) melodramatic and totally monopolizing the conversation. That Jack Kerouac fellow had my attention. Is he merely a friend?
    Mother is yelling from the door to have some lunch so I’ll close. The breeze is luscious and the water is exhilarating.