The Cosmopolitans by Nadia Kalman Read Free Book Online Page B

Malcolm, because he is better-looking. He has longer legs. They’ll have attractive children. ”
    Osip nodded.
    “ He wants to get married, he wants five children, even. That shows he’s a serious boy. He will have to make money to support those children. ”
    Osip nodded.
    “ And you? Did a cat eat your tongue?” Why did she have to be the only one looking for optimistic things to say? “ What, you think it’s better for her not to get married? To sleep with a lot of men, and after that, try to find someone? ”
    He stirred the liver as if he were not planning to reply. The Russian Soul counseled “ women’s golden patience .” Why was it that she always had to be the one to face facts? Finally, he lifted the spatula and said, “ I’ll teach Malcolm how to do more practical things, fix toilets, like that. ” That was all he could come up with? What about Malcolm’s joblessness? Should they try to find him something themselves? Or would that anger his parents? Would he laugh? What would Milla say? She was a smart girl, an accountant, she had to understand…and there was Stalina, in the middle of an argument with her daughter, and Osip nowhere to be found.
    For so long, Stalina had felt as if she were driving a troika and her daughters were the horses, and she was whipping them forward to what she knew would be a better place. And no one ever thought about how difficult it was for such a driver, how frightening. She said, “ You think Malcolm Strauss wants to learn? To fix toilets? From you? Do you know what his family thinks of us? ”
    Osip’s shoulders hunched. Now, he had cause to ignore her, and that was what he would do. In a minute, he would finish the liver and take it to the TV room. He would call Pratik in there, too, and Stalina would wander alone through the rest of the house.
    “ I said us, Osya, not you, us ,” she said.
     
     
     
     
    Jean
     
     
    You had to send in the wedding announcement at least two months in advance, was what Bobby’s sisters had said. If you were a rapper or a famous banker, like Bobby’s cousin Paul, you could get away with five weeks, but that was it. It was now four weeks and five days before the wedding, and no announcement in sight. Part of her wanted only to tell the kids about the deadline and to say, “There’s no use now.” Another part of her thought Malcolm might still change his mind, so why announce anything? However, she was determined that if Malcolm did break it off, he would have no grounds to blame her. She would proceed with good faith, as Bobby had advised.
    “So, have you sent in your Times announcement yet?” she asked Malcolm and Milla over take-out Portuguese.
    Milla looked at Malcolm, as Jean had known she would. Wouldn’t anyone save Pauline from Peril, in the guise of a simple yes/no question?
    “Why don’t we write it now?” Jean said. “Won’t that be fun?” She got a pad and her Waterman pen from her briefcase (Briefly, she wondered about the Waterman Malcolm had received as a graduation gift: had he lost it? She never saw him using it.) “How shall we start? How about, ‘Malcolm Philippe Strauss, the son of Jean and Robert Strauss, was wed —” It was difficult to finish the sentence; it made it all seem so real. Now she understood why Malcolm hadn’t wanted to write the announcement. “Milla, what’s your middle name?”
    Milla looked up, seemingly surprised, and pointed to her own masticating mouth. A few seconds later, she said, “Russian people don’t really have a middle name? It’s the patronymic? So mine is Osipovna.”
    “So you do have one. ‘Milla Osipovna Molochnik, daughter of Osip and Stalina Molochnik, in the Great Hall of the American Museum of Natural History.’ Okay?” They nodded.
    Now, Jean had a brief respite from Milla, as she and Malcolm filled in information about his family, Yale, (“Weren’t you at least cum laude?” she asked. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t been any laude at