Coming Out

“It's funny you said that,” Frieda said, looking pensive. “I can't tell you why, but I had the same impression when he sat here having tea with me yesterday. I can't tell if he's worried or sad. He seems preoccupied. Maybe he's worried about finding a job when he graduates,” she said sensibly. He was a very responsible young man.

“He's seemed that way to me since that friend of his committed suicide last spring. I keep thinking it's that. I know he had counseling for it at school. Maybe it's something else. Or maybe it's nothing. Harry thinks I'm crazy,” she said, sharing a cup of tea with her mother-in-law, which was the only peaceful moment she'd had all day. Frieda always told her she did too much. It was the fate of all working mothers, particularly those who made their living in the law, had a five-year-old at home, a husband, and three kids in college. It was a constant juggling act on the high wire, usually without a net, from morning till night.

“Men never see things like that,” Frieda said, still thinking about Charlie. “It's probably nothing. He's probably just worried about what he'll do after graduation. It's a tough time for most kids. Like it or not, they have to leave the nest and grow up. He'll feel better once he makes his mind up about whether to take the job in California, find a job here, go to divinity school, or go to Oxford. They're all good choices to have, but until he makes a decision, he'll probably be a nervous wreck.” They both agreed that he seemed troubled.

“I think you're right. I remember how scared I was when I left college. I had no family to fall back on. I was terrified, and then I married Chauncey, and I thought I was home free after that. As it turned out, not as home free as I thought.”

“You were too young to get married,” Frieda said with a frown, although she had been younger than that herself when she married Harry's father. But things were different then, they had been through the war, survived the horror of the camps, and had led a different life. During the war, people grew up fast, particularly as she had. Her youth had ended in the concentration camp at Dachau.

“At least I got three great kids out of it,” Olympia said philosophically, and Frieda smiled in response.

“Yes, you did. Charlie's a wonderful boy, and the girls are terrific, too.” And then she looked at her daughter-in-law with a determined expression. “I'm still going to the ball, you know. I don't care what you say, I wouldn't miss it for the world.” Olympia was sorry Harry didn't feel the same way. “Harry said I should stay home with him. I'm still angry at him for not going, but that's his business if he wants to make a fool of himself with his stubborn ideas. I'm going. That's what I told him.” There was a look of determination in her eyes.

Olympia looked at her and smiled. “I was going to try and talk you out of it. But I guess I don't have a chance of that.”

“No, you don't,” Frieda said, looking like an elderly lioness, as she sat on the couch with her leg in a cast, all propped up.

“Why don't I try and rent you a wheelchair?” Olympia said thoughtfully. “Charlie could pick it up tomorrow. That way you won't have to walk.”

“It's embarrassing to go that way,” the older woman admitted. “I hate to look like an invalid. But it makes sense. If you can get one, I'll go. And if you can't, I'll hobble in on crutches.”

“You're a good sport,” Olympia said with admiration. “And a wonderful grandmother.” Frieda loved Olympia's older children just as much as she did Max, and made no difference between them.

“I'm going, if I have to go by ambulance and be carried in on a stretcher by paramedics. Besides, I want to wear my new dress. I've never been to a coming-out party, I'll probably never get another chance, and I'm not going to miss it.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it. This was more than just a party for her. It was about being socially accepted in a way she never had been before. She had spent years of poverty, working in a sweatshop as a seamstress, beside her husband, to put their son through school. Just once before she died, she wanted to feel like Cinderella too, even if her son thought she was foolish. And she wanted to see her granddaughters make their debut. Olympia understood that, and vowed to make it happen for her. It was a dream come true for more than just the girls. It meant a lot to Frieda, too. More than Harry knew.

“We'll make it work, Frieda. I promise.” The only thing Olympia couldn't figure out was who was going to push the wheelchair. She had to be at the hotel at five on Saturday to help the girls dress, and Charlie had to be there with them for rehearsal. There was no one to wheel her into the hotel, except Harry, who refused to go. She was thinking of asking Margaret and her husband to pick her up, if Olympia rented them all a limo. It was the only way to do it.