October 1973 – Boston, MA
Emily held up a tweed, pastel colorblock, sheath dress in front of her. "Do you think this is too short?"
Truthfully, Angela thought it was beautiful and classy. But she wasn't exactly sure if she and Emily were of the same mind. Emily - well, all her new friends, actually - was extremely conservative, and Angela was just a few months out from, what settled out to be, a one-night-stand. What would they think if they found out? …Guess I'll never know! It was one thing to be honest about her opinion on fictional characters, if she preferred the orange or purple bangle bracelets, and maybe even about how nervous she was. But revealing something, well, scandalous, as far as these ladies were concerned, was a completely different proposition. We'll work into that…or not. No difference at this point.
"Angela?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry." Breathe. Lying feels unsettling. Try to smooth it over. "Well, it probably wouldn't hit your knees, if that's what you're concerned about. But it's a beautiful design!"
Emily's mouth tipped in disappointment. "Yeah, you're right. We can't be too careful." As Emily put it back on the rack, Angela felt a wave of…sadness? be pulled out of her chest like a ghost. Gotta be honest, this honesty thing doesn't feel much better than lying….
"probably because you're still lying" Angela heard her mother say in her head. Ugh! "Emily. Wait." Angela sighed. "It's a lovely dress, and you'd look spectacular in it. Is it so important that it hits the knee?"
Emily bit her bottom lip and fingered the material at the shoulder of the dress. "I really like it," she said longingly. Then she looked back at Angela. "But my father is still the one paying my expenses. If he finds out I'm squandering his money on the ostentatious, he'd think I was…" she looked away, and blinked a few times. She briefly looked down, then back up to Angela. "Anyway, I'm worried I'd lose my funding," she said with a shrug.
Angela tipped back a slow nod of realization. She's not even allowed to be honest - not in her present circumstances, anyway. "I get it. My mother allows me to bill her my expenses, too." Angela gave Emily a sad, sympathetic smile.
"Is she strict?"
Angela managed to stifle a laugh well before it surfaced. It wouldn't help the situation. "Uh, no…But handling money has been a contentious subject in our relationship." Vague, but true… At Emily's puzzled look, Angela continued. "I just understand the enormous responsibility of finances, and the precarious nature of trying to navigate that with family." It was Emily's turn to try a slow nod of semi-realization.
Angela shook her head to clear the air. "Well, it's not worth a sweat!" she said regrouping. Trying to help Emily shake off the disappointment, Angela offered, "I saw some tea dresses displayed near the foyer when we came in. Let's go see if we can't find something *discreet*." She waggled her brows in a semi-mocking manner, and took Emily's elbow in her own. They rested their heads briefly against each other's as they walked away giggling.
They spent the afternoon flying back and forth between the floors and dressing rooms of various shops. Settling with their packages in a nearby café, Angela slipped off her heels under the table.
"Oh! That feels good!" Angela said in ecstasy. Emily waited a beat or two, then did the same.
"Oh, you're right! Why isn't this common practice? Ouch! I feel like my toes could be the subject of a compression problem from my Phys 12a class a couple years ago."
"Oh, no. That would be shining too much light on the injustice," Angela said with a smirk.
"Why do we do this?" Emily said exaggeratedly, still recovering.
"Because they're pretty!" The girls clinked cappuccino cups.
"The lengths we go to to be attractive! What's the craziest thing you've ever done to get a guy to like you?" Emily said before she took a sip.
Panic flooded Angela's face and she reached down to scratch a non-existent itch on her calf. "Oh, I don't know about the craziest thing I've ever done…but I did suck in my stomach each, every, and entire class period at Yale." PLEASE let that suffice…
Emily laughed, "We women are so uncomfortable, aren't we?"
"I heartily agree!" Angela said with all the earnestness she possessed.
"Why did you leave Yale anyway? My father would've blown gasket if I'd defected."
That non-existent itch sprang up again, and Angela thought quickly. "Oh, I just…really needed a change. It was hard to leave, though. I grew up as thoroughly Yale as you did Harvard."
"That's what I'm saying. How– I can't even imagine!"
"Yeah, it's a great school. I just- I had some social problems. And honestly, the thought of going through that for another two years was more than a little distracting. And as taboo as crossing over is, I've really liked it here, thus far."
"Well, I'm glad you're here, but what did your mother say?" Emily asked, leaning in.
Angela laughed, knowingly. "She wanted an explanation, to be sure. That wasn't something I could pass off as a whim." Emily nodded in understanding. "But ultimately, she was extremely supportive."
Emily waited a couple of seconds before she spoke tentatively. "Is that something you do a lot? …'Pass off' how you feel as something palatable?" Angela was stunned in the crosshairs. "I do that. I kind of feel like I have to." Angela's muscles started to relax. "Anyway, I just want you to know it's okay if you want to do that with me. I get it." She smiled, small at first, then much wider. "I know you like me….But if you ever do want to say how you feel, I'd love to hear it."
Angela couldn't help but smile through her still red face. "I'm really grateful for you, Emily."
Emily shrugged, "What are friends for?"
I wouldn't know, but I'm starting to find out.
The waiter brought them their warm, lemon scones, and they simultaneously shrieked, "Eeee!" and clapped little hummingbird claps.
December 1973 - Cos Cob, CT
Over the previous months, Angela had felt herself wanting to be open with her friends. She wanted to be open with her mother. Half-truths, which she'd convinced even herself was mere diplomacy, had become her way of life, and it was exhausting. But she wasn't sure she was ready yet. She wasn't sure she was willing to lose these people if that's what honesty demanded. In fact, the closer she got to them, the more she feared losing them, and maddeningly, those were also positively correlated to how open she wanted to be. Angela was thinking all these things as she pulled up to her house that Christmas break. Shaking her head, she walked inside.
"Mother? I'm home!"
"That's why the poor thing was a wreck all summer. I'm so glad she's home for a bit." Angela heard her mother's muffled voice coming from the kitchen. Angela frowned slightly as she walked through the living room toward the sound. "I don't get it, Carwen; it was just a man," Mona said exasperatedly. Carwen was wiping the stove, while her mother was sitting on the counter.
Angela's mouth fell slightly open, and her face felt hot. "Mother?"
"Oh, Angela! You're here! Welcome home!" Mona said, jumping off the counter.
Incredulously. Angela just stared at her mother. She told. She's talking to Carwen about Brian!
"Honey? Are you alright?" Mona asked, like she hadn't just knocked her daughter off of a cliff.
Angela looked from her mother to Carwen, terrified she'd see disappointment on Carwen's face. Carwen turned around with a pitying smile on her kind face. Horrified, Angela backed out of the kitchen, then turned and ran to her room. Mona followed her, walking.
Mona knocked solidly on the door. "Angela?"
"Angela?" Mona said again, but got no response. Rolling her eyes, Mona opened the door. Angela was face down on her bed, sobbing into her pillow. Mona put her hands on her hips. "Angela, what was that all ab-"
Angela flipped over fast, her red face smeared with snot. "How could you do that to me?"
"What?" Mona questioned, still lost.
"How could you tell Carwen about me and… That was private! I trusted you!"
"Actually, you didn't. You just needed me," Mona quibbled. Angela looked at her mother in complete shock.
"Is that what this is about? You're mad I won't tell you what happened?"
Mona's eyebrows went up and down as she shrugged in acquiescence. "I thought I handled it pretty well. But you still spent the whole summer moping and musing over him. I just don't know why you're having such a hard time recovering."
"How would you? You don't know what happened!"
"I'm saying!"
"Why would I tell you what happened? So you can minimize it? So you can make fun of me for it? Or so you can tell one of the people who means more to me than you'll ever know?!"
Mona's face looked like she'd been slapped. She looked down, and slanted her jaw. Looking back up at Angela, she said, "Fine." Mona turned, and walked out the door.
Angela flipped back over and cried.
Two hours and a nap later, Angela made a groggy, clunky trek to the kitchen. Carwen was adding in honey to a bowl of batter. Tiessenau Mel, Angela smiled. Carwen looked up at Angela with warm eyes as she started to stir.
"Hi, Carwen," Angela said in a small voice.
"Hello, dear. Are you feeling better?"
"Yeah. Thanks. Listen, about what mother was saying-" Angela began.
"Did I ever tell you about St. Dwynwen's Day?" Carwen interrupted. Angela was a little jolted. That had never happened before. Carwen didn't speak much at all, and certainly not while anyone else was talking. Angela became very curious.
"No," Angela replied, almost like a question.
"It's a wee bit like Valentine's Day, I suppose. But when I was a young lady, oh, probably 45 years ago now, I was a spitfire. Talking back to my mam..." Angela tensed up. She was most worried about Carwen thinking she was loose. She hadn't thought to worry about her thinking she was disrespectful. "A young man named Oliver gave me a wooden spoon. It was the first I'd gotten." At Angela's confused look, she chuckled. "It's a special thing over there. Anyway, when my mother found out he'd given me that, she forbade me to go to the festival at all, least of all with him." Angela was starting to relax. Carwen poured the batter into the greased muffin tin. "But she did not understand. This was special to me. He was special to me - but mostly because getting a spoon was special to me."
"Were you mad?"
"Oh, not for long. I felt much happier when I snuck out and met him." Angela's eyes shot wide open. "Well, that night, I did not come home until the rooster crowed. I snuck back in, and my mam was none the wiser," Carwen said with a smile powered by 45 years of snarkiness. Angela's mouth started to tip.
"What happened?" Angela said, wiping a finger along the batter on the edge of the bowl.
"I looked for him the next day, but I couldn't find him. I kept looking for him. He'd been in our village for months, and then he was gone." Angela felt sad at how hollow Carwen sounded. Carwen sighed. "I wanted so very much to leave that place. So I packed my bag, boarded an ocean liner, and found my way here. My mam thought I was leaving in a fit, that I didn't get my way…She didn't know I was leaving because I did get my way. I did not ever tell her that. We didn't tell each other such things. Anything, actually. I'm really very sad about that." Carwen looked back at Angela from where her gaze had drifted into the distance. She held her hand up to Angela's cheek and smiled. "I'm glad you have a mother who wants to know about you. It is a good thing for mothers to be close to their daughters."
Angela was so confused. She knew her mother didn't mean harm, even if she was being childish. But it really hurt that she'd told something so personal, like it didn't matter. And she was so grateful to Carwen, for her gracious perspective. But she wasn't sure Carwen was focusing on the right thing. "Carwen, I'm not mad that she wants to know about me, I'm mad because it doesn't seem like she values what I tell her." Carwen shut the oven door, and turned to look at her.
"I know, dear. It's hard to talk to mothers. But it's also sad not to. They're both true, and you have to decide which is more important."
Carwen lovingly patted Angela's hand, and turned to set the oven timer. "They'll be ready in 15 minutes," she said smiling as she left the room. Angela watched the stopwatch on the oven counting down the minutes.
Carwen may be coming from a place of regret, but she's right. At least the person Mother told is someone who loves me… But she shouldn't have told! This was huge! And trying to draw her attention away from how hurt she is, in order to look at that, is exhausting and I don't want to do it! …I do love my mother, and I want to talk to her. But I don't plan on confiding in her, if I can help it.
