James and Marla got married immediately after they graduated; George and Lizzie six months later. Mrs. Cantor and James’s mother planned it down to its final sumptuous detail. Lizzie knew that Marla thought her wedding day was almost exactly four years too late and that James was still so angry at his parents and Marla’s that he could barely remain civil when he was with them.
Lizzie and Marla drove back and forth from Ann Arbor to Cleveland often that spring, because between James’s and Marla’s extended families and their parents’ many friends there were wedding showers galore, and Marla wanted Lizzie to be at every one. After each of them, Marla would go through the gifts and give Lizzie any duplicates as well as anything that she didn’t want to keep. There were many rejected items. Marla hadn’t wanted to register for gifts anywhere, so the two mothers filled out the registries themselves, spending several satisfying Saturdays selecting towels and linen sets, china (both everyday and good), silver (sterling and silver plate), and kitchenware (which came in many more colors than were available when the mothers themselves had gotten married more than a quarter of a century before). This was how Lizzie and George eventually ended up with a lot of Marla and James’s discarded loot, including a whistling teakettle (red), a teak salad bowl set, some dish towels, a travel clock, two books (The Silver Palate Cookbook and The New Moosewood Cookbook), and a pair of crystal candlesticks, as well as various pieces of silverware that weren’t the same pattern that the mothers had registered for.
Since Marla had refused to ask James to convert, the rabbi at the Park, the Cantors’ synagogue, declined to perform the ceremony. Instead the wedding took place at a big downtown hotel, with a more liberal rabbi and James’s family’s priest sharing the duties of marrying them. Lizzie was the maid of honor and George was one of James’s groomsmen. After James had broken the glass—a Jewish tradition—and taken Marla into his arms for their first kiss as husband and wife, both of them burst into tears. Looking at the photos later, there was no sign that they’d cried. In fact, the naked happiness on their faces frightened Lizzie. It was unlikely she’d look that elated when she married George in, let’s see, about a hundred and eighty days from now, although George undoubtedly would. Why, Lizzie wondered for the umpteenth time, why did he love her so much? Couldn’t he see what a flawed, imperfect, pretty terrible person she was? Why couldn’t Jack have loved her more? Because he obviously saw everything negative about her that George missed. Maybe she could request that there be no photos taken at their wedding. Ha! Good luck with that, Lizzie: there was simply no way that Allan and Elaine would ever let this occasion pass without several formal portraits of the newlyweds to mark it by. She’d just have to lie her way through the event. Lizzie the liar. If only George knew.
Marla and James left for a backpacking trip around Europe. They wouldn’t be back in Ann Arbor until the start of grad school, James in classics and Marla in art history. Didn’t Jack say that to her? That he was leaving for the summer and would be back in August to start grad school? What if Marla never came back as well? Lizzie didn’t think she would ever recover from the loss of the two people she cared about most.
But Marla returned from her honeymoon already pregnant; she decided not to go to grad school after all.
They named their daughter Beezie (short for Elizabeth, after Lizzie).
*?The Free Safety?*
Maverick told Lizzie that the free safety, Antonio Doll, had the best football instincts of anyone on the team. “To be an outstanding free safety a guy has to have a feel for the entire field. They direct the defense, just like the quarterback does for the offense,” he explained. Antonio went on to play for Youngstown State, where for two years in a row he set a school record in interceptions, but forsook football after he graduated. He went on to Oxford as a Rhodes scholar and eventually became an assistant secretary of state. For no particular reason Lizzie never forgot what Maverick told her about free safeties. When she passed on that tidbit to George, it turned out that he already knew it. “It’s sort of like the point guard on a basketball team,” he told her. “They run the court. Think of the free safety as the Magic Johnson of their team.” And ever after Lizzie did think that, although the subject never came up again.
*?Lizzie & George Talk About Names?*
Lizzie and George were both sitting up in bed. Lizzie was turning the pages of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn but not really reading it. George was underlining passages in Andrew Weil’s From Chocolate to Morphine. They couldn’t be said to be conversing until Lizzie put down her book, looked at George, and took a deep breath.
“George, I really don’t want to change my name to Goldrosen when we get married.”
“Well, there’s no need to. I certainly don’t care about it. You can always stay a Bultmann.”
Lizzie stared at him in disbelief. “You know that’s not possible. I’ve been waiting my whole life not to be a Bultmann. Possibly that’s why I’m marrying you. But I don’t want to be a Goldrosen either.”
“Why not? It’s never bothered me. I like being George Goldrosen.”
“Oh, George. Nothing ever bothers you.”
“Not exactly true, but my name certainly doesn’t.”
“Look at your poor mother. I bet that Elaine wasn’t happy about exchanging Lowen for Goldrosen either, but when she and your dad got married nobody kept their own names.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve never heard my mother complain about our last name. I’m sure she loves it. But if you want to ask her yourself,” he went on in a reasonable tone, “let’s call. They’re probably still up.”
“Go ahead, George, call her. But even in the unlikely event that she says she does love the name Goldrosen, I’m not going to change the way I feel about not wanting it for my last name. I’m serious. This is serious. What would you think about shortening it to Gold? Or Rosen? I could live with either one. It’s just the two parts together that I don’t want.”
“What do I think? I think it’s not going to happen. I can’t even imagine what Grandma and Pop would say about it—nothing good, I’m sure—but I know how hurt they’d be. The only two options I see that you have are staying a Bultmann or becoming a Goldrosen.”
Lizzie shook her head sadly. “Now I know what people mean by saying they’re between a rock and a hard place.”
“Or the devil and the deep blue sea,” George agreed, somewhat coldly.
“Or between Scylla and Charybdis,” Lizzie said, somewhat more coldly. “Don’t be so ridiculously defensive. It’s just a name that happens to be yours.”
“Exactly, it’s just a name. That happens to be mine. Soon to be yours. Maybe you should remember that. Elizabeth Goldrosen. I think it sounds great.”
“Maybe that doesn’t sound too bad,” Lizzie acknowledged, “but think about all the zzzz sounds in Lizzie Goldrosen. Even you can’t think that sounds good. Lizzzzzzzie Goldrozzzzzzzen. It’s awful.”