She tried it on. “It fits perfectly. I knew it would,” he said from the edge of the bed. He gestured for her to come to him. Soon he was running his hands along her back. “I thought you could use some new things. You have so few clothes here.”
“That I definitely could,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. Her wardrobe these days consisted of the few things she had brought with her on what she thought was going to be a quick trip—her good jeans and old boots, a demure A-line skirt that she usually wore to work, packed expressly to wear to the initial meeting she and Sarah had with Max (nearly two weeks ago, she thought with amazement), a couple of tops, a pair of running shorts, along with a few things of her father’s—an old Dodger-blue T-shirt that she liked to sleep in, a thin rust-colored V-neck she was convinced he wore the last time he’d visited her in New York. She liked to think that the speckle of discoloration below the V was the result of the grease from their La Caridad meal. “It’s funny, but I don’t miss my stuff,” she said. “Do you ever feel that way, that it’s a relief not to be surrounded by your possessions?”
“No.” Max gave her a bewildered smile. “I don’t.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Everything here is gorgeous.” Even incidental objects in his house—the cloth napkins he used at nearly every meal—seemed uncommonly lovely.
“What’s wrong with having nice things?” He said it mock-serious, but there was a touch of defensiveness to his voice that reminded her of her father. When Joseph had first seen her walk-up apartment on 105th Street, he had been appalled and pushed a plan to buy a place in Midtown. An investment, he had said, a two-bedroom, “one bedroom for you and a guest room—I could stay there when I visit. In a doorman building, with an elevator.” But she wasn’t interested. “I like being close to school,” she said, already feeling hemmed in by the prospect of such an arrangement. Joseph let it go, but not before telling Lizzie: There’s nothing shameful in living somewhere nice.
“I love your things,” Lizzie said now as she was thinking: Max is different. “I wish I had an eye like you do. I have a hard time spending money on things—well, some things,” she qualified, thinking of the $700 Isabel Marant leather skirt she’d bought (on sale!) just before her father died. She had more than enough money. She had gotten used to the numbers on her pay stub. But she still lived like she was in law school, socking the lion’s share of her money away. Who knew when she might need it? Who knew when it might all vanish? This thought ballooned, filling her with a queasy sense of unease. “It’s just—everything costs.”
“Well, of course. But not everything is expensive.”
Once again, she heard Joseph in her head. He used to say at the Dish: If I could have a hickory burger every day, I’d be happy.
“And I like wanting things,” Max was saying as he touched her wrist lightly, the dress’s silky sleeve. “I don’t believe we’re that different.”
“You haven’t seen my apartment.” She made a face, a preemptive gesture, designed to ward off disappointment. She found it hard to think of Max in her apartment, sitting on her IKEA couch, scrounging for paper napkins after they ordered in from Saigon Grill.
“I would love to see it,” he said. “But it’s hard for me to imagine it, when all I can think of is how fantastic you look in that dress.”
Lizzie raised her eyebrows, shook her head. She’d never been good with a compliment. When she was younger, she could remember her grandmother gazing at Sarah, her huge eyes, her enviably straight hair. “That one is such a stunner,” her grandmother said to Lynn. Then she saw Lizzie watching. “You’ll be pretty too when you grow up,” she said, patting her arm.
Max traced Lizzie’s jaw with a solemn expression etched on his well-lined face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? It breaks my heart, a little.”
“Now, why would that be?” He was being earnest, she could tell, and it made her nervous.
But his seriousness would not be deterred. “I dread the thought of you leaving. You have to know that.” He pulled her hands down, gripped them tight, a look of urgency in his eyes.
“Max,” she murmured.
He was still pressing her hands against his. “You could move in tomorrow, permanently.”
Her stomach coiled up, a contortionist’s trick. Did he mean it? He couldn’t mean it. “No joking about that,” she said, and now she was the one being serious.
“I’m not.”
She pushed him back on the bed. She could hear Claudia in her head: Here it is, yours for the taking. Her arms up around his neck, fingers inching up the base of his skull; she delighted in the stubbly feel of his shaved head. I want this, she thought as she climbed atop him, hiking up the dress, straddling his hips.
“Come meet me for lunch tomorrow; wear this and nothing under,” he commanded, his hands tunneling beneath the silky material.
“Tomorrow? I can’t,” she said, but she was already working her underwear down one leg, following at least part of his instructions.
She and Rose had plans to go to the Huntington. The library’s immense grounds were glorious, and here in the late-morning sun, miles inland from the foggy shroud of the ocean, everything popped: the faraway red pointy roofs of the Chinese garden’s pavilions, the white dogwoods and the bright coral trees blooming with such confidence. Even the craggy snowcapped San Gabriel Mountains looked purple-hued in the distance.
Rose took charge at the entrance desk, showing her driver’s license for the senior discount and taking a while to fish out a card for one free admission from her bag. (“I can pay for us,” Lizzie had said. But Rose insisted: “It’s the principle of the matter.”)
“Come. Let’s go to the herb garden,” Rose said. “Sometimes, with all these sights, it’s smells I like to immerse myself in.”
The herb garden held little appeal for Lizzie, but Rose was asking—or rather, instructing—and Lizzie was glad to comply. She had a poor sense of smell (nonexistent, Ben used to tease her, after he once again fished out moldering cheese from their fridge). She came from a long line of nonsmellers. She could even remember her mother saying, Consider yourself lucky. It only changed for me when I was pregnant with you and your sister.
Rose and Lizzie stepped around a gaggle of schoolchildren, two teachers facing a losing battle trying to quiet them. The garden was nearly empty save for a pale thin man being pushed in a wheelchair by a bored-looking attendant. “You know, the woman responsible for much of this estate, Huntington’s second wife, was also his aunt, the widow of his uncle,” Rose said.
“Is that legal?” Lizzie said, putting her nose to a woolly mint plant. horehound, a small sign said.
“Biblical, perhaps. And prudent, actually. Think about it: it cuts down on alliances. Your entire estate would stay within the family.”