Anne Tyler - Digging to America

On the afternoon of the party, these two families arrived before anyone else and even before the specified time by a good half hour or so, pulling up in front of the house one after the other as if they had traveled in tandem, although they lived in opposite directions. At first Bitsy felt annoyed; she was still trying to stuff Jin-Ho into her costume, and the coffee urn had not been started yet or the cake set out on the table. Then she wondered if they had come with some agenda in mind. The wives seemed uncharacteristically eager to steer the children toward the TV room, and once the grownups were settled in the living room, Abe (the younger one) kept looking expectantly at Mac. For some reason, Bitsy felt no particular need to help them out. In fact, at the very moment that Mac said, So! Well, ah. Since we're all here, she was seized by the urge to head him off. She said, You know what I did this morning?

Everyone looked at her.

I listened to the audiotape we made at the airport that night. Goodness, it seems long ago! I'm talking into the mike; I'm saying, 'Everybody's gathered around; everybody's brought presents. Mac and Laura are here, and Abe and Jeannine.' Although actually, she had not referred to them by name. She was just trying to make it more interesting. I sounded so shaky and scared! Well, face it: I was scared to death. I thought, What if it turns out that I can't warm to this child? What if well, we'd seen that one photo and we already knew she was beautiful, but what if in person she was somehow off-putting or unappealing? These things can happen, you know! Although no one likes to admit it. And look at Susan. Of course she's a darling, but I've always wondered, didn't the Yazdans feel maybe the faintest bit disappointed when they saw how homely she was? With that sallow skin and bald forehead? And then later come to love her; I don't mean we wouldn't have loved her, but still… Oh, I was a nervous wreck that day! And you can hear it in my voice. Then I say, 'Oh! She's here! Oh, she's lovely!' and there's this clattering sound; that would be me letting go of the tape recorder Say, maybe we should play that tape today at the party! Brad said.

Well, I don't know; I think I'd feel sort of stupid if other people heard it.

Aw, hon, it wouldn't be stupid. It would be sweet.

Bitsy, Laura said in a declarative tone. (She was a grade-school principal; she was accustomed to taking charge.) We need to have a talk about your parents.

My parents?

Laura looked at Mac. He straightened and said, Right. Mom and Dad. I guess we don't have to tell you that Mom seems to be sinking.

I'll say you don't have to tell me!

Her brothers and their wives had not been as attentive as they might have been, in Bitsy's opinion. She directed a special glare toward Jeannine, who had once declined to drive Connie to a chemo appointment because her youngest had a playdate.

And you can see that it's wearing on Dad, Mac went on. This summer's been bad enough, but with classes starting in September, well, I'm not sure how he's going to manage. He's talking about taking early retirement. But you know how much he loves teaching. I'd hate to see him give that up just when… just before he's going to need something to do with his days, you know? We think he ought to hire some kind of nursing help for Mom.

Oh, Bitsy said. She was relieved. She had worried they might ask her to be the nurse, or even to take her mother into her house.

But for sure they're both going to argue. Dad will say he wants to care for Mom on his own. Mom will say she doesn't need any care.

She's so obstinate! Laura burst out. Doesn't she realize how difficult she makes things? People who refuse to accept their limitations: oh, it's all very admirable, all very brave and heroic, but in practical terms it's infuriating! Getting into fixes she can't get out of, refusing canes and walkers, insisting on going to places where the restroom's a hundred miles away and up three flights of stairs Bitsy knew exactly what she meant, but to hear it from a mere sister-in-law someone not even related, so efficient and professional in her cat's-eye glasses and square-cut pantsuit seemed an insult. She said, Oh, Laura, who knows what we'd do ourselves in her situation?

We'd bow gracefully to circumstance, I would hope, Laura snapped. Her husband sent her a warning glance and Abe started looking anxious, but she ignored them both. So, she said to Bitsy. Are we agreed? We offer to hire caretakers?

Givers, Bitsy said automatically.

Pardon?

Caregivers, is what they're called these days.

And around the clock, don't you agree? So your dad won't have to get up nights.

How much would that cost, exactly? Brad asked. I mean, of course we do agree don't we, Bitsy? but wouldn't this cost an arm and a leg?

Not if we all chip in, Laura said.

Everyone looked at Bitsy.

She said, Well, of course we would chip in. But I don't think they'll accept it. And the issue isn't money, anyhow. I'm sure Dad makes enough money.

Yes, but offering to pay is a way of bringing up the subject, Laura told her. Here's what you do: say it's for your sake. Say you're losing sleep over this and it would make you feel better if you and your brothers could pay for some help.

Me? Bitsy asked. I'm supposed to say? What about the rest of you?

Well, naturally we'll back you up Back me up?

But then the doorbell rang and she sprang to her feet, glad for the interruption. This was supposed to be a party! A celebration for Jin-Ho! (Who had been hustled off to the TV room with the most minimal of greetings, just so the grownups could conspire together.)

On the porch she found Ziba's parents Mr. and Mrs. Hakimi, beaming, in stiff dark clothes. Mrs. Hakimi mutely held out a huge, extravagantly wrapped gift, contrary to all instructions, while Mr. Hakimi cried, Felicitations, Mrs. Donaldson! They were so exotic, so blessedly distant from the scritch-scratching irritation of the scene back in the living room. Bitsy said, Oh, what a pleasure to see you! and then she said, Please, it's Bitsy, and took the gift from Mrs. Hakimi and kissed her on the cheek. Mrs. Hakimi's cheek was as soft as an old velvet purse. Mr. Hakimi's parchment-colored head resembled an antique globe. They entered the house in a hesitant, respectful manner, even though the front hall was littered with toys and yesterday's Dyper Delyte delivery sat by the umbrella stand.

Such an occasion! Such a joyous occasion! Mr. Hakimi announced in the living-room doorway. It was like a stage direction. Immediately the men stood up and put on welcoming faces, and the sisters-in-law began stirring and bustling, and the children streamed in from the TV room clamoring for something to eat. The doorbell rang again, and again, and then again the Yazdans with Maryam, then Brad's parents, and last of all Bitsy's parents, her mother quite alert today and steady on her feet and it really did start to feel like a joyous occasion.

Why was it that Bitsy loved Sami and Ziba so? The two couples had little in common, other than their daughters. And the Yazdans were so much younger. Too much younger, it seemed at times. Sami had that very young habit of taking himself too seriously, although that could have been just his foreignness showing. (Even though his accent was dyed-in-the-wool Baltimore, something studiously, effortfully casual in his manner marked him as non-American.) And Ziba, with her noticeably manicured, dark red nails and her hennaed hair and two-tone lipstick: why, Bitsy herself had not bothered with such concerns in years! Or ever, as a matter of fact.

Even on issues pertaining to their daughter, the Yazdans took a very different approach. Imagine changing that charming name, Sooki, part of her native heritage, to plain old Susan! Su-zun Yazdun: it didn't even sound right. (Yaz-dan, Ziba had corrected her, when Bitsy once wondered aloud how well that really worked. Okay, but still. .) Not to mention the outfit Susan was wearing today, a party dress from one of those grandmother stores over in D. C. The sagusam Bitsy had lent her was lying now on the couch, shucked off as soon as everyone had had a chance to admire it. And their child-rearing philosophy in general: the working mother, the regimented bedtime, the singsong, fluty-voiced baby talk Su-SuSu! Susie june! as if Susan belonged to some whole other, less intelligent species of being.