a doctor. He rationalized that Heleneâs comments were no worse than his motherâs occasional remark about âthose goyim and their cocktails.â
âHelene, letâs let them get some rest,â Will urged, suitcase in hand.
Right about now, Ericâs parents, also in town for the bris, were probably perspiring in their High Holiday wools and linens, chatting in the shadow of the enormous menorah outside the temple. They always took a break at one or one-thirty, right after Musaf.
Will kissed Maggieâs cheek. âWeâre going to meander down to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial before we head over to Amyâs.â
Amy was a saint for putting up Maggieâs parents. âCall it a thank-you gift for that killer apartment, big brother,â sheâd said of the apartment overlooking the zoo that Maggie and Eric had bequeathed to her.
Helene slid her purse up her arm, toned from hours on the tennis court, and snuck another peek at Alec. âI hate to run off when I could make another casserole or help you with the laundry.â
Helene had spent the past week knitting, whipping up concoctions involving Campbellâs soup products, and telling nonstop anecdotes about Maggieâs first days of life, while Will busied himself assembling baby gliders, swings, and strollers.
âOh, no, Mom,â Maggie said. âPlease, youâve done enough. Go see the sights.â
After they said their goodbyes, Eric and Maggie took their Thai food into the kitchen and sat down at the Ikea table Eric had moved from apartment to apartment and finally this house.
âYou okay?â he asked.
She rested her head on his shoulder. âDo you know what my mother told me? âI got back into my size four weeks after I had you, dear.ââ
âOh, babe.â
âAnd back then a size four was a real four!â Maggie looked in the direction of the den, where Alec was sleeping. âI promise never to count your calories, buddy,â she said, tearing into a carton of drunken noodles.
Eric registered the sounds of Maggie swallowing, Alec breathing through his stuffy little nose, the hum of the fluorescent kitchen lights â occupational hazard. He worked as an audio technician.
Maggie was eating so fast she was barely chewing. âYou ordered these from Spices?â she asked through a mouthful of noodles.
âOnly the best for the mother of my son.â Theyâd been doing a lot of this third- person kind of talk since the baby was born.
She gobbled up the rest of the order without speaking, spearing the last fat noodle with her fork. Then she said, âMy parents donât get the bris thing.â
âDid you tell them that weâre going to have him baptized too?â Eric asked.
She tossed the empty carton into the trash. âOf course. I tried to explain that a bris is a highly significant Jewish rite of passage rooted in a tradition thousands of years old, but achieving cultural competency isnât exactly their lifeâs mission.â When Maggie was agitated, she peppered her speech with diversity-training jargon, nodding her head authoritatively at the end of every sentence.
âIt will be over tomorrow.â He was eager to end the conversation.
âBut I certainly wasnât going to tell them how hard it was to find a mole who would circumcise a baby with a Methodist mother,â she said, as if he hadnât spoken.
âMoleâ was how she pronounced mohel, no matter how many times heâd said, ârhymes with boil, honey.â Whenever Maggie mentioned either the bris or the baptism, it was like having the barber part his hair on the wrong side of his head.
âWhy donât you treat yourself to a nice hot shower while the babyâs sleeping?â he suggested.
Maggie sighed, kissed him on the forehead, and trotted upstairs to the bathroom.
Eric tried to doze on the couch. While Helene and Will
Tabatha Vargo, Melissa Andrea