Douglas Kennedy - The Pursuit of Happiness

'We could always find a bigger place in the city', I said.

'The city is no place to raise children'.

'But the baby's not due for around seven months. I don't want to be commuting back and forth to Connecticut to my job...'

'Your job?' she said, sounding amused. 'What job?'

'My job at Saturday/Sunday, of course'.

'Oh, that job. You'll be resigning at the end of next week'.

'No I won't'.

'Of course you will. Because a week later you will be married. And married women do not work'.

'I was planning to be the exception'.

'Sorry, dear. It cannot be. Anyway, given your condition, you'd have to give up work in a few months. It's the way motherhood works'.

I tried to remain rational, reasoned, in control.

'Say I refused? Say I simply walked out of this hotel right now and didn't go through with any of this?'

'I have already outlined the consequences to you. I do believe in individual free will - so, as far as I'm concerned, you may do whatever you want to do. Sadly, the outcome of such a decision may not be to your liking - as raising a child on your own without a job or a decent place to live may be a little difficult. But we would never dream of stopping you...'

My eyes began to water. I felt tears cascading down my face. 'Why are you doing this?' I whispered.

Mrs Grey looked at me, baffled. 'Doing what, dear?'

'Ruining my life'.

'Ruining your life? Please spare me the cheap melodrama, Sara. I certainly didn't force you to get pregnant, now did I?'

I said nothing.

'Anyway, if I was in your position, I would be positively delighted with the way everything's been arranged. After all, it's not many girls who get given a house in a desirable suburb as a wedding gift'.

A final tight smile. I stared down at the table. There was a lengthy silence.

'Cat got your tongue, dear? Or have you simply seen the logic of my arguments?'

My gaze remained fixed on the table.

'Splendid', she finally said. 'Our plans will proceed as agreed. Oh... and look who's here to see us. What marvelous timing the boy has'.

I looked up. George was standing at the entrance of the Palm Court, hesitantly awaiting the wave of his mother's hand that would beckon him to the table. No doubt, she had given him an appointed time at which to arrive at the Plaza. Just as she had told him last night exactly how she was going to stage manage our life from this day forward. Because, in the world according to Mrs Grey, this was the price one paid for transgressing her sense of order and decorum and social standing.

Mrs Grey used her right index finger to beckon George forward. He approached our table shyly, like a schoolboy being called into the principal's office.

'Hi there', he said, trying to sound cheery. 'Everyone happy?'

He glanced at me and saw that I had been crying. Immediately, he tensed. His mother said, 'Sara and I have been discussing future plans, and we're in agreement on everything'.

I said nothing. I continued to stare at the table-top. Her voice became testy. 'Aren't we, dear?'

I didn't raise my gaze, but I did say, 'Yes. Everything is fine'.

'And we now so understand each other, don't we?'

I nodded.

'So you see, George - everything is working out splendidly... as I told you it would. As I'm sure you well know, Sara - the poor boy is a bit of a worrier. Aren't you, George?'

'I guess so', he said nervously. Sitting down next to me, he tried to take my hand. But I pulled it away before he clutched it. Mrs Grey caught sight of this little drama and smiled.

'I think I'll go powder my nose, and let you lovebirds have a moment or two alone'.

As soon as she was out of earshot, George said, 'Darling, don't be upset...'

'I didn't realize I was marrying your mother'.

'You're not'.

'Oh yes I am... as it seems that she is calling all the shots here'.

'After the wedding, we can block her right out of our lives

'After the wedding we will be living in Old Greenwich, Connecticut. How nice of you to discuss this little change of address with me...'

'The offer of the house only came last night'.

'So you naturally decided to accept it without consulting me'.

'I meant to call you at work this morning'.

'But you didn't'.

'I was tied up in meetings'.

'Liar. You were afraid what my reaction might be'.

He lowered his head. 'Yes. I was afraid how you might react. But, look, the house in Old Greenwich was just a really generous offer from my parents. We don't have to accept it'.

I stared at him with utter contempt. 'Yes we do', I said, 'and you know it'.

A pause. He squirmed in his chair. And finally said, 'You'll really like Old Greenwich'.

'I'm so glad you think so', I said.

And if you don't like it...'

'Then what?'

'Then...' He squirmed again. 'I promise you, it will all work out. Let's just get through the wedding...'

'And then - let me guess - you're going to tell her to stay out of our lives forever?'

Another uncomfortable pause. 'I'll try', he said, his voice a near whisper. He then made a loud coughing noise to indicate that his mother was returning. When she approached our table, George instantly stood up and held her chair. After she sat down, she nodded to indicate that he could be seated. Then she turned her gaze to me.

'So', she asked, 'did you have a nice chat about things?'

Had I been the fearless sort, I would have stood up and walked out of the Plaza, and accepted my fate. But to do that, in 1947, would have meant taking the most enormous personal gamble. And yes, as much as I loathed her, Mrs Grey was right about one thing: deciding to be a single mother would have meant instant unemployment, instant social ostracization. Back then, only widows and abandoned women were allowed to be single mothers. To decide to have a child outside of wedlock - or, worse yet, to reject an offer of marriage by the child's father - would have been considered, at best, deeply reprehensible; at worst, deranged. And I didn't possess the don't give a damn mentality needed to buck conventionality. I longed to have Eric's seditious streak, but knew I couldn't pull it off. Like it or not, I was a small-c conservative. My parents may have despaired at my minor acts of rebellion - like moving to Manhattan after college. But they instilled in me such a fear of authority - and such deeply engrained notions of respectability - that I felt unable to do the impossible, awkward thing: telling George Grey and his godawful parent to go to hell.

I certainly wasn't going to tell Eric about my conversation with Mrs Grey (or the way I was being railroaded into a life in Old Greenwich, Connecticut), because I knew he would have gone berserk. At best, I would have to listen to his very impassioned, very persuasive arguments, pleading with me to bail out of this future domestic nightmare while there was still a chance. At worst, he would have done something melodramatic... like spiriting me out of the country to Paris or Mexico City until the baby was born.

But my mind was made up. I was going to marry George. I was going to move to the Connecticut suburbs. I was going to have the child. I had landed myself in this mess. I was going to accept my fate. Because I deserved my fate.

I also began to rationalize like crazy. All right, George was dwarfed by his mother - but once we were married, I would be able to gradually excise her from our lives. All right, I would hate leaving New York - but maybe Old Greenwich would give me the peace and quiet I needed to try writing again. All right, my husband-to-be was the emotional equivalent of vanilla ice cream - but hadn't I vowed never to fall victim to wayward passion again? Hadn't I vowed to avoid another...

Jack.

Jack. Jack. Damn you, Jack. That night - that one absurd night - led me right into the dull, worthy arms of George Grey.