Джули Салливан - Friends and Strangers

Sam tried to steady her voice. “Sure,” she said, thinking this could go either way. She thought the interview had gone well—the gallery was gorgeous. It looked just like the one in London. Mostly, Sam had talked to Natasha, but at the very end, Matilda herself came in to meet her and Sam gushed about her many visits to the Mayfair space, her favorite exhibitions. Matilda didn’t say much, but after she shook Sam’s hand and left the room, Natasha whispered, “She liked you.”

Now Natasha said, “I’m calling to officially offer you the job as Matilda’s assistant.”

Sam rose from her chair and started jumping up and down. Elisabeth stood too, and danced in place. A hilarious, shocking sight.

Sam composed herself long enough to say thank you, and that she was thrilled to accept. They talked through logistics—when she might start, how much she’d get paid.

When she hung up, she said, “I got the job.”

Elisabeth said, “I gathered that. Sam! Congratulations! Should we open a bottle of champagne to celebrate?”

It was one o’clock on a Monday, but before she could respond, Elisabeth had gone to fetch the champagne.

Left alone for a minute, she thought of Clive. The sweetness of this strange turn of events was cut through with the question of what would become of them now.

Sam twisted the ring on her finger. He had proposed in Leicester Square, in the exact spot where they met, down on one knee in front of hordes of onlookers. Half of them took out their phones and snapped photographs. Sam felt mortified, even as she tried to stay in the moment.

“It’s only a cheap thing,” Clive said as he showed her the ring. “I know you don’t care, and that’s one of a million reasons why I’m mad about you.”

Elisabeth returned, clutching the champagne bottle by its neck.

“What’s wrong?” she said. “You look sad.”

“Thinking about Clive.”

“People do long distance all the time.”

“They are based in London,” Sam said. “Maybe there would be a chance for me to transfer there eventually.”

“Right,” Elisabeth said. “Bottom line: Your dream job just fell into your lap. You’ve got to do it. Doesn’t it feel meant to be?”

Sam tried not to express it for fear of seeming boastful, but she felt the fiercest sense of pride. Of all the applicants they must have seen in London, they remembered her. Elisabeth was right. It felt meant to be, like a gift from the universe she could not refuse.

—

She called her parents after dinner to tell them the news.

Her mother said, “Thank God. You’re staying in America.”

They hadn’t talked much about her plans for next year. Whenever her parents brought this up, Sam said she was sending résumés out every week and left it at that. She hadn’t yet told them about Clive’s proposal.

Her mother’s reaction annoyed her.

“They’re based in London,” Sam said. “So maybe I’ll have to go back and forth sometimes. But, yes, I’d be mostly in New York.”

Her father’s first question was about the money. When Sam told him the starting salary, he whistled and said, “I think that’s about what our paperboy makes.”

In the background, her mother yelled, “Don’t listen to him!”

Sam knew he was kidding, but also not.

Her mother got back on the line. “Sweetheart, in all seriousness, we are so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“While I have you, can I ask about tickets for graduation?”

“Sure.”

“The five of us are coming, of course. I know you want Elisabeth there. Nana and Pop-Pop would die if they couldn’t come. So, that’s eight. How many more tickets do we have? Enough to invite Aunt Mary-Ellen and Uncle Paul and Aunt Cathy and Lou?”

“Let me check,” Sam said. “I get ten, and they’re all spoken for, except one. But Isabella said she might have extras.”

“Who’s the ninth person in our group?” her mother said.

“Clive.”

“Really? I thought he’d have to work.”

“He’s taking the Friday off.”

“Is it worth doing that? You’ll be so busy. You probably won’t have time to see him.”

“You guys are taking that day off,” Sam said.

“We don’t live in another country,” her mother said. “And we’re your family.”

“So is he.”

Her mother sighed.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe Clive could sit this one out. Your grandmother has no idea how old he is. Is that how you want her to find out? You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and it’s been a stressful few months around here, as you know. Maybe it’s selfish, but I just want this moment for us. Your dad and I are worried about it being less than perfect.”

“Perfect for who?” Sam said.

She hated that she was engaged to someone her parents didn’t approve of. She hated her need for their approval. Part of Sam wanted to beg her mother to try to like him, for her sake. She wanted to list all the sweet things Clive had done for her.

But none of this came through in what she said next. “Clive will be there. You’ll have to deal. If you can’t deal, don’t come.”

“Sam—”

“I need to go, because he’ll be calling me any minute. We talk every night at this time. Not that you’d know that, since you never ask about him.”

Sam hung up.

In truth, Clive wasn’t calling her for another hour.

She grabbed hold of a pillow and screamed straight into it.

“You okay over there?” Lexi shouted from across the hall.

“I’m fine,” Sam yelled back.

She needed to talk to Elisabeth.

Sam texted, asked if she was busy.

Just put Gil down for the night. Andrew’s out with George. Come over! Elisabeth replied. Let yourself in. I’m in the den upstairs. Hope everything’s okay…

When Sam found her, Elisabeth was sitting cross-legged on the couch, computer in her lap, some dumb real estate show on TV.

“What’s up?” she said, patting the couch beside her. “Clive again?”

“Not exactly. I’m furious at my mother,” Sam said.

“I didn’t think you ever got mad at her,” Elisabeth said.

Sam paused to think. “I don’t very often.”

When she was finished telling the story, Elisabeth said, “That sucks. But try to see it from her point of view. You’re her little girl. I’m guessing you’ve never done anything wrong before in your life.”

“You mean, before being with Clive? That’s wrong?”

“Not wrong, just—cause for concern. From her point of view! I’m not saying it’s rational. But I know your mother loves you and wants the best for you. Not all of us have that.”

Sam nodded, not entirely convinced.

“It’s been a hard time lately because my dad’s business isn’t doing well and my parents are stressed about money, but I feel like I’m being asked to fix everything. I’m not, really. But. It’s annoying. They want their perfect day.”

“Sam, I had no idea!” Elisabeth said. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Before she could respond, the baby started to cry.

Elisabeth groaned as she stood up. “Be right back. His new thing is throwing his pacifier out of the crib so I have to go in there and get it. Why couldn’t I have a thumb-sucker? You can’t lose your thumb.”

Sam sat on the sofa and watched TV. When Elisabeth still hadn’t returned several minutes later, Sam turned her laptop around to see what she’d been looking at.

The browser was open to Facebook. The page was one Elisabeth had made fun of in the past, full of overly analytical Brooklyn mothers, the type who started thinking about their kids’ Harvard applications while they were in utero.