44 Charles Street

She was relieved that she only had two more days to get through. But the next day was better because it was Christmas. They had present opening, a big meal, with the table set for thirty, with the children at the table in the hall again, the girls in velvet dresses. There was touch football outside afterward on the frozen ground, from which she was exempt because she was a girl. And then they all drank hot toddies and sat around the fire. Chris’s mother played bridge with her husband, her daughter, and one of her nieces. And Chris sat next to the fire with her. Ian was playing upstairs somewhere with the other kids. And by midnight she was back in her room with Chris. Only one more day to go, and then they could leave. She could hardly wait.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” she lied, “but I’m scared all the time that I’m going to do the wrong thing. I feel like a kid.” That part was the truth.

“You just have to ignore them. They think they created the world, but they didn’t. That’s why I only come home twice a year. And it’s better at the Vineyard. It’s more relaxed.” He was well aware that his family could drive most people insane. They were major overachievers in everything they did, and expected everyone else to be too, and conform to all of their rules. He hadn’t in years, but no longer confronted them about it. He just led his own life, he always had. But he liked coming home for Christmas, for all the traditions, and was grateful she had come with him. He knew this wasn’t easy for her, to be constantly scrutinized. He readily admitted to her that his family lived in a cookie-cutter world, where everyone was the same and all the pieces fit. She came from a world where nothing fit, neither her mother nor her father. One was outrageous and the other was artistic and eccentric. But both she and Chris were their own people, independent of their parents’ ideas and lives.

“Your mother would have a stroke if she ever met my parents,” Francesca said ruefully.

“Yes, she would,” he agreed. “But, so what? I don’t approve of my parents either. They live an incredibly limited life and they bore me to tears.” At least he agreed with her about it, but she didn’t want to be rude about his family. They were decent, respectable people. She just felt ill at ease and off-kilter in their midst. She didn’t fit. But neither did Chris. She was comforted by that.

He slept in her bed again that night, and was gone before seven, and he had breakfast with his mother again. It was the day after Christmas, so everyone was more relaxed, even his mother. And for once, they didn’t have to go to church. Everyone played tennis and squash again, which seemed to be a daily ritual when they all got together. Francesca still couldn’t remember anyone’s name, and she felt like she had dementia. She was the only “Francesca” in the group. The men all seemed to be named Chris, Bob, or William, and there were at least five of them with each name. The women were Elizabeth, Helen, and Brooke. His mother was Elizabeth with countless offspring of all ages named after her.

The only one who seemed to be having any fun was Ian, who loved his cousins and was unhappy to leave. Chris had a last breakfast with his mother on the day they left. His father drove them to the airport and said he had loved meeting Francesca, and she felt like she had been in the twilight zone for three days. It had been the weirdest Christmas of her life, and in spite of that, she still loved him, but she couldn’t wait to get back to New York and relax. She wanted to scream with joy the minute they got back to the house. They had been there for ten minutes when her mother called her from Gstaad.

“I hope you had a nice Christmas,” she said blithely. “I met the most divine man at dinner on Christmas Eve. He lives in New York, he’s Swiss, he’s a banker, and he’s taking me to dinner as soon as I get back.” Francesca could tell her mother was beaming, and she almost groaned. It sounded like number six was on the way at last. Wait till the Harleys heard about that.

“Don’t rush into anything,” Francesca said wanly. There was no stopping her mother when she had a potential husband in her sights. And she hadn’t had one in too long, according to her. And it wasn’t for lack of trying.

“Of course not. It’s just dinner, for heaven’s sake, not marriage.”

“That’s refreshing,” Francesca said, and her mother laughed.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I figure you’re going to find number six one of these days.”

“What’s so wrong with that, if it makes me happy?” her mother asked her, and for a long moment Francesca didn’t answer as she thought about it.