Joe said, “I’m not— That is, Marguerite and I aren’t going to make any decisions on the basis of grandparent access. We’re not even sure we’re having kids.”
Everyone grew very, very still. Finally, Joe said, “Didn’t thefolks tell you about the hemophilia, Rabbi? I assumed you knew.”
“No.” Rabbi Goldstein looked grave. “I didn’t know, but if you’d like to tell me, I’m happy to listen.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. I said, “I carry the gene for hemophilia. Our children could be born with it, or they could not. There’s no way to tell. It’s a most … a most weighty decision.”
“And one,” Joe said, “that Marguerite and I will be making alone.” His mother began talking, but he put up a hand like a traffic policeman. “No, Mom. There will be no pressure. None.”
“But that’s unfair!” Mrs. Stark cried. “I, who would be the only grandmother, can’t even have an opinion?”
“You can have an opinion,” Joe said. “You just can’t share it with us.”
“You can share it with me, Mom,” Sophie said. “Obviously, because I’m going to hear anyway. And I’ll pass it on. I won’t be able to help it, because I never am. How’s that?”
“Nope,” Joe said. “This topic is closed. If—if—it happens, we’ll tell you, andthenyou can share your opinion. Your joyful opinion. Your optimistic opinion.”
“That’s a lot to ask,” Mr. Stark said.
“I know,” Joe said. “But imagine how much you’d be asking Marguerite and me to bear if you shared your anxieties. Look.” He’d stopped eating at last. “The closer we get to having to decide about this, the scarier it becomes. For Marguerite, sure, and for me, too. I don’t just have to worry about the baby, I have to worry about Marguerite, too. So, yes, I’m going to insist. No questions. No comments. No pressure. No worry. If we get any of that, we walk out the door or hang up the phone.”
Mrs. Stark had her mouth open, but nothing was coming out of it. The rabbi said, “That’s a strong statement.”
“Yes,” Joe said. “It’s coming from a strong place. I don’t know everything about marriage, but I know this: my first and last job is to protect my wife. And that’s what I’m going to do.”
“From your ownparents?”Mrs. Stark asked. She had her hand on her bosom again.
“Yes, Mom,” Joe said. “Even from you.”
“But of course,” I decided to say, “this is a decision we won’t make until Joe is finished with his schooling. We would both wish to be … established, I suppose is the word. Ready.”
“You’re never ready to have kids,” Mr. Stark said. “Even under normal circumstances. You just think you are. In reality, you have them, and thenyou find out how unready you were.”
“Then,” I said, “we’ll wait until we feelmoreready. But I do wish to ask a favor of you, Mrs. Stark.”
“Yes?” Her lips were so tight, they’d nearly disappeared. But surely this had been helpful, to lay all these things out in the open, and in front of the rabbi, too. He could—at least I hoped he could—help reconcile the Starks to Joe’s unfortunate marriage. I had the feeling it wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to do so.
I said, “I would so very much like you—and Mr. Stark, too—to come see the site we’ve chosen for the new house, and to advise us. There, we most definitely want your opinion. You’ve made such a comfortable home here, and I know too little about how to plan such a thing. We’ll work with an architect, of course, but how to make sure it will be both beautiful and comfortable? The kitchen, especially; in this area, I would wish your help in particular, Mrs. Stark. I’ve looked at many magazines and walked through many open houses, but the kitchens don’t vary a great deal, and I’m not convinced they’re right.”
“Well, of course they’re not right,” Mrs. Stark said. “Theywere all designed by men. What does a man know about how to set up a kitchen?”
“Exactly,” I said. “You have it exactly right.My friend Susie will also help—she teaches Home Economics and is very knowledgeable in many ways—but you’re such an accomplished homemaker and will know even more.”
“I should hope so,” she said, “after thirty years.” Her lips weren’t nearly as thin now, though.
“The bathroom, too,” I said. “Should we have one, or two? And how should it—they—look? The pictures in the magazines are very …” I paused. “Very odd. Does Joe want a purple toilet? I think not. And a bathroom with pink tile and paint combined with aqua fixtures is not very masculine, while one with yellow fixtures, red walls, and a floor of black tiles, I fear he would find most unrestful.”
“As would anyone,” Mrs. Stark said. “As I said—men.”
“Fortunately,” Joe said, “I’m not that picky. Any man who’s spent months using Army latrines …”
“Joe,”his mother said. “Some of us are still eating.”
“Whoops,” he said. “Sorry. My sensibilities are cast iron by now. I tend to forget that other people’s are more delicate.”
“But youwillhelp, Mrs. Stark?” I asked.
“Joe’s just been telling us all the ways you don’t want our help,” she said. “Have I been such a bad mother that I deserve this?”
