ballooned to 185 pounds. Even if I’d wanted to wear the stylish clothes favored by my peers, I couldn’t have fit into them.
Hiding behind the counter at a florist shop seemed preferable to going off to college, where I’d have to face a whole new gamut of girls who would laugh behind my back or, worse, pity me, and boys who would never date me.
“Earth to Ellen.”
I started out of my reverie. “Huh?”
“You wandered off there for a minute,” Alice said. “Where to?”
I made a face. “Just remembering my eighteen-year-old self. Not a pretty sight.”
Alice laughed. “You should have seen me. All bony elbows and knees and stick-straight hair. I wore a white eyelet peasant dress to my wedding. Bobby wore a baby-blue tuxedo. I still wince at my horrible fashion sense when I see the pictures.”
“I bet you were a beautiful bride,” I said. “All brides are.”
“Yes, well, I suppose it could have been worse. We both fancied ourselves sort of hippies. We threatened to get married on the beach, barefoot, before my mother put a stop to it.”
“Why did you pick Amish country for your honeymoon?”
“Like I said, we were into all this natural, back-to-the-land living. We dreamed about building our own cabin in the woods, growing our own food and living happily ever after with no artificial preservatives or corporate claptrap. The Amish seemed like good role models, and Pennsylvania was close enough we could drive there, and we could afford a cheap room.”
I studied Alice’s chic haircut and multiple pierced ears. “I’m trying to picture you as a granola girl,” I said.
She laughed, that wonderful throaty laugh of hers. “I was! I was going to bake my own bread, sew my own clothes and raise chickens and goats and children.”
It sounded like hell to me, but then I’ve never been overly domestic. “What was Bobby going to do while you were the domestic goddess?”
“Work for Markson’s, what else? It’s what half the boys who graduated from Ridgeway High School did in thosedays. But in the back of our heads we figured he’d eventually be able to quit his job and settle down with me on the homestead, selling handmade furniture or pottery or something like that.”
I was fascinated by this glimpse of my friend that I’d never known. “So how did that work out for you?”
Her laugh was more of a snort this time. “I was a horrible baker, I couldn’t sew a straight line to save my life, and I’d much rather sit on the porch and read novels all day than dig in the garden or clean up after chickens.” She glanced at me. “The Amish make it look easy, but they’ve been trained since birth, plus they all have a houseful of children and relatives to help.”
“How did you end up in California?”
“Bobby had a cousin who worked for Widder Enterprises in Ojai. It was a good job, making real money. We shed our hippie threads faster than you could say ‘Neiman Marcus charge card’ and became Silicon Valley yuppies.” She laughed. “Instead of baking my own bread, I hired a housekeeper and a cook. Bobby traded in his work shirts for three-piece suits and bought a sports car. We were living high on the hog back then.”
She put on her blinker and moved into the right lane and nodded at a billboard up ahead that advertised a local smoke-house. “Speaking of hog, why don’t we get some barbecue for lunch. A pulled pork sandwich sounds so good right now.”
I pretended not to notice the quick change of subject. Maybe Alice really was hungry. Or maybe she didn’t want to talk about her first marriage anymore. I wasn’t about to pry.
“Sure. Barbecue sounds good.” Food was a safe enough topic of conversation. Neutral and not loaded with emotional minefields. Chocolate brownies or French fries are always so much easier to deal with than things like fears or hurts or our real motivations behind the choices we make.
When Alice had asked me to travel with her to Ojai, I’d
Hiding behind the counter at a florist shop seemed preferable to going off to college, where I’d have to face a whole new gamut of girls who would laugh behind my back or, worse, pity me, and boys who would never date me.
“Earth to Ellen.”
I started out of my reverie. “Huh?”
“You wandered off there for a minute,” Alice said. “Where to?”
I made a face. “Just remembering my eighteen-year-old self. Not a pretty sight.”
Alice laughed. “You should have seen me. All bony elbows and knees and stick-straight hair. I wore a white eyelet peasant dress to my wedding. Bobby wore a baby-blue tuxedo. I still wince at my horrible fashion sense when I see the pictures.”
“I bet you were a beautiful bride,” I said. “All brides are.”
“Yes, well, I suppose it could have been worse. We both fancied ourselves sort of hippies. We threatened to get married on the beach, barefoot, before my mother put a stop to it.”
“Why did you pick Amish country for your honeymoon?”
“Like I said, we were into all this natural, back-to-the-land living. We dreamed about building our own cabin in the woods, growing our own food and living happily ever after with no artificial preservatives or corporate claptrap. The Amish seemed like good role models, and Pennsylvania was close enough we could drive there, and we could afford a cheap room.”
I studied Alice’s chic haircut and multiple pierced ears. “I’m trying to picture you as a granola girl,” I said.
She laughed, that wonderful throaty laugh of hers. “I was! I was going to bake my own bread, sew my own clothes and raise chickens and goats and children.”
It sounded like hell to me, but then I’ve never been overly domestic. “What was Bobby going to do while you were the domestic goddess?”
“Work for Markson’s, what else? It’s what half the boys who graduated from Ridgeway High School did in thosedays. But in the back of our heads we figured he’d eventually be able to quit his job and settle down with me on the homestead, selling handmade furniture or pottery or something like that.”
I was fascinated by this glimpse of my friend that I’d never known. “So how did that work out for you?”
Her laugh was more of a snort this time. “I was a horrible baker, I couldn’t sew a straight line to save my life, and I’d much rather sit on the porch and read novels all day than dig in the garden or clean up after chickens.” She glanced at me. “The Amish make it look easy, but they’ve been trained since birth, plus they all have a houseful of children and relatives to help.”
“How did you end up in California?”
“Bobby had a cousin who worked for Widder Enterprises in Ojai. It was a good job, making real money. We shed our hippie threads faster than you could say ‘Neiman Marcus charge card’ and became Silicon Valley yuppies.” She laughed. “Instead of baking my own bread, I hired a housekeeper and a cook. Bobby traded in his work shirts for three-piece suits and bought a sports car. We were living high on the hog back then.”
She put on her blinker and moved into the right lane and nodded at a billboard up ahead that advertised a local smoke-house. “Speaking of hog, why don’t we get some barbecue for lunch. A pulled pork sandwich sounds so good right now.”
I pretended not to notice the quick change of subject. Maybe Alice really was hungry. Or maybe she didn’t want to talk about her first marriage anymore. I wasn’t about to pry.
“Sure. Barbecue sounds good.” Food was a safe enough topic of conversation. Neutral and not loaded with emotional minefields. Chocolate brownies or French fries are always so much easier to deal with than things like fears or hurts or our real motivations behind the choices we make.
When Alice had asked me to travel with her to Ojai, I’d
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