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"I thought I'd better get started before Tyler came up with something for me to do. Where are the twins?"
"Rachel is getting them dressed. Morning, Mom, Alice. Where's Dad?"
"He went for some fresh bagels."
"He won't let me bring any from New Paltz," Aunt Zipporah said, "just because they come pink, blue and green."
Our laughter drew the twins to the kitchen, and Aunt Zipporah made a big deal over them. She had brought them flutes someone made and sold on the street back in New Paltz.
"I don't want them putting those things in their mouths before they're washed," Rachel said and made a face at my father.
"Hi, Rachel," Aunt Zipporah cried and gave her a big hug.
Rachel shook her head. "You know, Zipporah, if you wear one thing, dress one way forever, it starts to look like a uniform," she said.
"I know. We have our own little army up there. Actually, no one knows this because it's a top secret, but we're part of the National Guard."
Jesse laughed.
Rachel shook her head again and sat the twins at the table, ordering them to behave or she would see to it that they didn't go to the fun park. My grandfather returned with the fresh bagels, and our breakfast reunion began. Aunt Zipporah and my father dominated the conversation, she telling story after story about people, college students and the cafe, and he remembering things they had done together when they were not much older than the twins. Every story brought more laughter. Even the twins were intrigued.
Finally, my grandmother announced we would clean up and get ready to go. I was nervous about the shopping expedition we women were preparing to make. I didn't like being the sole reason for it, but I didn't say a word. Finally, Rachel would be able to speak and take some control, for my grandmother was determined to defer to her advice when it came to my new wardrobe.
"I want her to look fashionable and yet like girls her age," she prescribed.
"I know exactly what you mean," Rachel told her.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Aunt Zipporah whispered, and I smiled. "But cooperate. Mom wants you to look nice, Alice. I promised I'd be on their side."
The conspiracy grows, I thought and got ready for our trip.
During the ride to the shopping centers, Rachel talked about clothes, but she really talked about herself more than I had heard her. Aunt Zipporah and I sat in the rear and listened as what Rachel began as a lecture gradually turned into the most revealing anecdotes about herself.
"I wanted to be rebellious and dress
outlandishly, too, when I was your age, Alice, and even when I was older. Not as old as Zipporah, however. I had grown out of it by then, but I had this aunt who was a real socialite, Aunt Dorothea. We could never call her Aunt Dorothy, It had to be Dorothea, and God forbid anyone dared call her Dot. For the most part, I thought her stuffy and snobbish, but when I permitted myself to listen to her, I realized she had something to offer."
"And what was that?" Aunt Zipporah asked.
Rachel turned around.
"Something Alice can appreciate, being an artist. Just like a painting can be enhanced by a beautiful frame, so can a woman be enhanced by beautiful, well-fitted clothes. Aunt Dorothea was a very classy woman." She looked at me intently. "You're very pretty, Alice, beautiful, in fact."
It was the first real compliment she had ever given me. It nearly stole my breath away.
"Thank you," I said, glancing at Aunt Zipporah, who was now smiling widely.
"It's almost sinful not to frame yourself properly, however," she added. "You wouldn't detract from a beautiful painting by framing it in something very inferior, would you?" She threw a disapproving look at Aunt Zipporah.
"Well, we're going to correct that today," my grandmother said. I saw her look up at the rearview minor to see my reaction. "We're going to correct a lot of things," she muttered.
Aunt Zipporah reached over the seat to take my hand and squeeze it.
As long as she was at my side, I wasn't afraid. It was the closest thing to having my mother there, I thought.
Later, when I tried on a pair of designer slacks and a matching blouse, Aunt Zipporah dared whisper in my ear, "You are beautiful, Alice, as beautiful as she was. Rachel's right. It's time for you to take center stage."
And do what? I wondered.
