That Summer by Jennifer Weiner (read more books .txt) 📕

word of Brad Burlingham’s suicide had reached him, or if something else was responsible for his appearance.

“I’m a consultant,” she answered. “And Daisy’s been giving me cooking lessons.”

“You don’t cook?” Evelyn asked, cocking her head.

“I do now. Thanks to Daisy,” Diana said, and Beatrice’s mom had beamed. Diana felt the other woman’s pleasure like a thumbtack piercing some soft part of her. The poor woman got so little praise, so little gratitude. “But I never really learned.”

“Your mother didn’t teach you?”

Diana shook her head. “My father was actually the cook in our house.”

At that, Vernon Shoemaker made a show of incredulity. “What kind of consulting do you do?” he asked Diana.

“I work with pharmaceutical companies.” When she told him she was there working with Quaker, Vernon’s expression became respectful. “You must be good at what you do. They’re, what, a hundred-billion-dollar business?”

“And still growing, with the genetic screening kits they’ve launched.”

Vernon looked at her hands. “So no family? No husband?”

Diana shook her head, with her smile still in place, and quickly glanced at Hal, and Danny, to see if they were paying her any special attention.

Vernon, meanwhile, nodded as if she’d confirmed something. “That’s how it goes for women,” he said to Beatrice. “It’s either a big job or a husband and kids. You can’t have both.”

Jesse put his hand on Danny’s shoulder as Beatrice asked, “Why not?”

All three of the adults turned to look at her. Beatrice stood up straight. “I mean, Dad’s got a big job and a family.”

“Your father’s got a wife,” Vernon said, with heavy good humor.

“Well, maybe I’ll grow up and have a wife. Or a husband who wants to stay home. And I’ll be the one with the big career.”

Her grandfather laughed. Or, really, he spoke the syllables Ha, ha, ha. “I wish you a lot of luck,” he said. “Good luck finding a man who wants to stay home while you’re out hunting and gathering.”

“You don’t think that there are men who want to stay home?” Beatrice asked indignantly. Again, Diana wanted to look, to see how Hal was reacting to this, as Daisy jumped in to ask who was ready for another drink.

“Another Scotch, sweetie,” Vernon said, and Daisy hurried to get it.

Beatrice plopped on the couch, looking disconsolate, and helped herself to a fistful of cheese-dough-wrapped olives. Diana couldn’t help herself. She sat down beside the girl and said, quietly, “Don’t let them discourage you. You can do anything you want. The world is changing.”

Beatrice nodded, then looked at Diana. “Did you ever want a family?” she asked. “Like, do you feel like you missed out?”

Diana’s heart gave a terrible wrench. She hadn’t longed for a baby, or a toddler, or a house in the suburbs, hadn’t cared about cars or clothes or jewelry, but she would have loved to have a ten- or twelve- or fourteen-year-old daughter, a smart, spirited girl like Beatrice. She pressed her lips together, then said, “I wanted a lot of things when I was your age.”

Beatrice looked unhappy at that answer. Diana wondered what she was thinking, if she was coming to the conclusion that adulthood was just one long process of settling for what you’d gotten, whether or not it was what you’d wanted.

“But, listen, you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do, and what your life will be like.”

“I don’t know,” said Beatrice, as Daisy came to the living room entrance. “Dinner’s ready,” she said, and everyone went to the dining room. Diana was seated with Daisy on one side and Beatrice on the other, across from Danny and Jesse. “Let me help you,” she said to Daisy, as Hal spread his napkin on his lap. Daisy, flustered, said, “No, no, you’re my guest.”

“You can show me how you plate the food,” said Diana. She didn’t trust herself to stay at the table with Hal and Danny. All she wanted to do was grab Beatrice, and maybe Daisy, too, and throw them in her car and drive away, maybe all the way back to Cape Cod, so that she and Daisy could keep Beatrice there until she was old enough to move safely through the world. In other words, Diana thought, forever.

She watched in the kitchen, with her trembling hands in her pockets, as Daisy put a scoop of mashed potatoes on the bottom of each shallow bowl and spooned chicken and sauce on top. “Can you grab me the slotted spoon?” she asked, and Diana handed it over. “Vernon doesn’t eat mushrooms,” she explained, straining the sauce for his portion. Diana didn’t comment as she helped Daisy carry the food to the table. When everyone was served, Diana picked up her fork. She was wondering how to proceed when Beatrice did her job for her.

“So,” she said, “what do you all think will happen with Huey Sanders?” Huey Sanders was a twenty-one-year-old pitcher who’d been signed by the Phillies for a contract worth six million dollars for his first year. A few days ago some social-media sleuth had discovered tweets and Reddit posts he’d made when he was fourteen using the n-word and calling his friends faggots. Huey had issued a version of the statement most athletes released in similar circumstances, saying that the words did not reflect the man he’d become, saying that he’d been wrong and that he was sorry. He’d asked for forgiveness and had promised to do better. So far, the Phillies hadn’t said anything about whether they intended to ignore the incident, cut him loose, or find some middle ground.

“I hope the Phillies get rid of him,” Beatrice said.

Daisy looked proud. Hal pressed his lips together. Vernon Shoemaker swung his head around to peer at his granddaughter. “Oh, really?” he said. “You want to punish a young man for stupid things he said when he was younger than you are right now?”

“Fourteen is still old enough to know what hate speech is,” Beatrice said.

“I agree,” said Jesse, and, beside him, Danny nodded his