Then there’s Helga. We’ve met three times to be exact, once as we were both about to slide into our husbands’ cars, the second time, when we both arrived at the same restaurant, and the third time, when we arrived home and slid out of the cars that same night—none of which was planned. She’s quiet as far as I can tell. Her husband does all the talking, but I’ve only seen them when they’re together. She seems to have an artificial smile pinned to her face, one that doesn’t fade. Her dark blonde hair is flawlessly pinned back into tight curls, not a strand out of place, and her makeup looks as if it’s been professionally applied—so much so that I think her makeup does a good job of making her appear cheerful and energetic. Yet, I get the feeling she has a different story locked up inside of her.
Each of the women follows the same path as Frau Berger, into the kitchen with the dishes they graciously brought with them.Otto offers a quick introduction to Hermann, Ursula’s husband, since he’s the only one I’ve yet to meet in passing. After our quick hellos, Otto ushers the men off into his study, leaving me standing in everyone’s dust between the room full of women and the one full of men.
My kitchen looks like it belongs to an upscale restaurant with the flurry of activity, hands on every dish, preparing plates and pouring drinks. The roast is the only untouched item, so I squeeze between the others and add the garnish I was waiting until just before serving time to sprinkle over the top.I glance over my shoulder as I replace the foil, spotting a cloud of smoke billowing out from beneath the closed door of Otto’s study. It doesn’t take long for the musty scent of cigars to fill the kitchen.
“You ladies must have done this a time or two,” I say, unsure if my voice is loud enough to hear over the commotion of plates and dishes shuffling around.
“We sure have, and now you’ll be joining us too. Another set of hands is never something to complain about when it comes to keeping our husbands happy. Am I right, ladies?” Ingrid says, her red curls bouncing behind her as she mixes up a bowl of greens.
“You’re right,” the two other neighbors echo each other.
“It’s been a while since I’ve hosted a dinner party, but I must say, I do miss the camaraderie of being around other housewives,” Frau Berger says. “See, Emilie, it’s essential to make good solid friendships at the start of your marriage. That way by the time you have children, you’ll have a village around to support you.”
I knew she wouldn’t make it ten minutes without mentioning children.
“She isn’t wrong,” Ursula says. “Our two kids are older now and we’re lucky if they spend a night at home with us, but those early days were quite tiring, and I didn’t have anyone to call if I needed a hand. Thankfully, you will have us, as your mother-in-law says.”
Smile, I tell myself. “Yes, absolutely.” I must sound like I’m biting down on a piece of leather with the way I’m clenching my teeth.
“Or you could end up like us and be content as a couple without children,” Helga adds, her words meek and hushed.
“Nonsense,” Frau Berger responds. “She’ll have children. They’ll have children,” she says. Maybe Helga thinks the way I do in that the thought of having a child during a war sounds frightening and stressful, and likely the worst time to enjoy what should be the happiest time of one’s life.
“Do you and Wilhelm ever plan to have children?” Ingrid asks, peering over at Helga with a hint of judgment.
Helga shrugs against her blonde shoulder-length curls. “I’m not sure. Only time will tell.”
“I see,” Ingrid says. “I might have some tips for you. We can talk more later.”
Tips? Shouldn’t pregnancy come naturally? I want to have children someday, but not now.
Frau Berger rinses her hands in the sink and dries them on one of my decorative hanging towels that Mama gave me when I moved out. They’re my grandmother’s and she told me if I have these in my kitchen, I’d always make wonderful meals. Frau Berger was there when Mama handed the towels to me and commented that it was such a sweet sentiment. I’ll assume she forgot what the grape-purple laced towels looked like.
She claps her thick heels across the kitchen and down the hall to Otto’s study. She gives a terse knock, pauses a moment then knocks once more. “Gentlemen, dinner is about to be served. You can have a seat in the dining room, assuming the table is already set.” She mutters the last part under her breath, acting as though I can’t hear her. She’ll later follow her mutterings with the fact that her hearing has gone bad in recent years because aging has been difficult for her.
“Mother-in-laws are all the same,” Ingrid says. “Don’t pay any attention to her. She probably still sees Otto as a little boyand can’t handle the fact that some woman—one better than she, as she probably sees you, stole him away.”
She gave him away at our wedding with his father. They pushed us to move up our wedding since our engagement was lasting too long in a time of war. As soon as the ring slid onto my finger, it was like she suddenly despised everything about me. I’m not sure what made her feel differently after inviting me into her house from when I was a young girl, offering cookies and milk, or even help with homework if Mama was busy, but I often question if I’ve done something to offend her.
“I didn’t steal him,” I reply. “Otto asked me to marry him.”
“She’s being funny, dear,” Ursula says. “She’ll act like she loves you again after you give her grandchildren. I promise.”
There’s a fire burning inside of my chest as I take in the unnecessary amount of unsolicited advice and warnings.
“Well, you know what I said to that,” Karl shouts as he steps out of the study. “The hell with them. What have they done for this country? Nothing. They can burn in hell for all I care.”
“Karl,” Ingrid snaps. “Watch your mouth. We are guests here.”
“Who can burn in hell?” I ask, repeating his remark.
Laughter grows among the men but then Otto loops a lazy arm around my waist. “Sorry about him. He slugged two glasses of bourbon without rocks within the first two minutes of arriving. He just likes to hear himself talk.”
“Well, what’s he talking about?” I ask again.
“He’s—uh, he’s been going off about the overpopulation of rats because we were talking about testing in the lab and Hermann doesn’t like to hurt animals. Ignore them, trust me. It’ll be easier that way.”
Animals? I wasn’t aware the research had reached the testing phase…
