The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler Read Free Book Online Page B

his fingers tight on his napkin.
    “And her present,” Pauline said, “was . . .”
    For the first time, she faltered. She turned to untie the baby’s bib.
    “. . . was something personal,” she said finally. “A bottle of cologne, or a see-through nightie. He would never give her anything useful! And he’d never just tell her to buy it herself! He’d never say, ‘Happy birthday, hon, and why don’t you stop by Zack’s Housewares and pick up one of those family-size canning kettles you’ve been telling me you needed.’”
    Michael felt his mother send him an uncertain glance. She said, “Oh. Well . . .”
    “But what am I boring you with this for?” Pauline caroled. “It’s not as if we live that way ourselves, now, is it?”
    And she sprang lightly to her feet and lifted Lindy from the high chair and carried her out of the kitchen.
    Downstairs in the grocery store, Michael slit open a cardboard carton and unpacked tins of peaches. He stacked them on a shelf above a tab that read 17¢—18 POINTS . In his head he was defending himself. “Was I supposed to read your mind, or what?” he silently asked Pauline. “How would I know what you want for your birthday? I’m twenty-two years old! The only woman I’ve ever bought a gift for is my mother! And Mama’s always loved getting presents that were useful!”
    He recalled the moment when the inspiration of the canning kettle had hit him—the flood of relief as he remembered Pauline’s complaints about his mother’s little dinky one. He had been so proud of himself! Now a wounded feeling swept through him.
    And notice how she had said nothing about her birthday cake. Chocolate cake, with chocolate icing spread not just across the top (“flat top” style, as the Ration Board called it) but down the sides as well. Who did she imagine had asked his mother to make that cake? Left to her own devices, his mother probably wouldn’t have remembered what day it was, even.
    Eustace emerged from the stockroom, toting a crate of eggs. He set it down by the refrigerator case and straightened, groaning, to massage the small of his back. “Must be going to snow,” he said, “achy as my bones has been.”
    “Yup, my hip says the same,” Michael told him.
    “You got them items ready for Miz Pozniak?”
    “They’re over by the register.”
    Eustace went to check. The groceries were in a canvas sack of the sort that newsboys carried, with a strap that crossed the chest bandolier-fashion. (Eustace was too old, he claimed, to learn to ride the delivery bike with its oversized wire basket that Michael had used as a boy.) He heaved the sack onto his shoulder and approached the door just as Mrs. Serge walked in. “Morning, Eustace! Morning, Michael!” she said, stepping to one side so Eustace could pass.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Serge,” Michael said. He rose from the carton of peaches and reached for his cane. “Cold enough for you?”
    “Oh, yes. My, yes,” she said, and she clutched her coat collar more tightly around her throat. In fact, coming from just next door she must have barely had time to feel the cold. But people seemed to expect this kind of small talk, Michael had found. “How’s your mama?” she asked him. “How’s Pauline? How’s that darlin’ Lindy?”
    “They’re all fine. What do you hear from Joey?”
    “He’s coming home on leave tomorrow afternoon.”
    “That’s wonderful!”
    “Yes, so I’ll need some tinned milk, because I want to fix him some ice cream.”
    “Tinned milk,” Michael said, and he turned back to the shelves. “One can, or two?”
    “Better make it two. You must think I’m crazy, doing this in January.”
    “No, ma’am,” Michael said. “I know how Joey loves ice cream.” He set the cans on the counter. “Anything else?”
    “Well, let’s see. A box of gelatin, and I might as well get some vanilla extract just to play it safe . . . Did Pauline try that ginger tea I was telling her