Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakthrough by Ruth Pennebaker

Author:Ruth Pennebaker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-11-10T00:00:00+00:00

“I talked to Richard today,” Ivy told Joanie.

Joanie, who was sautéing salmon on the stove, stopped. “You did? Why? Did he call here?”

“No,” Ivy said. “I called him. At work. I had something I needed to discuss with him.”

The salmon crackled in the pan. Joanie turned it over, with a loud, greasy slap, frowning and furious.

“You didn’t tell me,” Ivy said pointedly, “that he was getting married again.” She paused and adjusted her new scarf. It was a bright floral pattern. She’d just acquired it that morning.

“Well, I hardly knew it myself,” Joanie said. She turned off the burner and stared at her mother. “He just told me about it yesterday.”

“He said he’s quite happy,” Ivy said.

“Then I imagine he is.” Joanie stabbed the salmon with a fork. It was undercooked. She turned the burner back on.

“I suppose he always wanted more children,” Ivy continued. “Maybe he wanted a son.”

“Why are you telling me this, Mother?” Joanie asked. She looked up at her mother, who stood primly next to her, lips pursed, eyes calm.

Ivy ignored the question. “I’ve always thought,” she said, “that your generation wanted too much.”

“What do you mean?”

“You expected some kind of love we never did.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mother,” Joanie said, fuming. A small flame appeared at the edge of the pan. She was going to burn the house down. Good.

“You expected to be happy, to be loved,” Ivy said. “You wanted something out of life that wasn’t there. As if it were owed to you.”

“And that’s wrong? To expect so much out of life?” Joanie jerked the pan away from the fire. She stared at her mother, whose face had turned more severe, harder. This was a face she’d seen before, disapproving and angry. The face of a generation that had brought her and all her friends up to want so much—then became furious with them for their expectations.

“I believe you’re misunderstanding my point,” Ivy said. “You never learned to be grateful for what you had. You always wanted more. You should see some of the people I know—Hispanics. They’d be happy just to be citizens of this country.”

Joanie pulled out a platter and shoved the salmon on it. The fish was coming apart where she’d poked the fork in it.

“What do Hispanics have to do with it?”

“I’m just using them as an example.”

“So—we expected too much,” Joanie said, her voice rising with each new syllable. “Permanent love, happiness, everything. Yes, I guess we did. But you know what? We didn’t get it. We didn’t even come close. Does that make you happy, Mother?”

By the end, she was almost screaming. But at least she’d kept her wits about her. Even though her mother had provoked her, she hadn’t thrown any plates this time.

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