Chapter 6: Establishing Limits

After Pastor Jake had rescheduled their marriage counseling, Carolyn told Bill that she didn’t know what she thought about future kids. Then she put him in the bedroom while she studied in the kitchen. When she had done what she could, she went in to get her robe and things.

He looked up from where he was lying on the bed when she came in, but they kept their silence. When she came back in her robe, he got up and took his own robe into the bathroom. She inserted the diaphragm, got into bed, and turned on the lamp. Somehow, going to bed separately, even when sleeping nude, seemed more married. They’d been lovers stripping each other slowly in the living room; now, they were an old couple meeting in bed.

He turned out the overhead light and got the contraceptive out of the drawer before dropping his robe. He put the contraceptive under his pillow before getting into bed.

“Want me to try to get warm before I hug you?” Good idea.

“Please.”

“What did you think? ... Of Jake’s questions?” She didn’t know what she thought. She’d already told him that about kids.

“Well, he’s right. We have been planning things, but less a marriage than living together.” Buying a double bed and a bookcase wasn’t really a lifetime plan.

“Well, the next three years are the budget crunch. And we have said we’ll get a larger apartment. And we’ve said you’ll do what’s best for your academic career. If we haven’t said I’ll keep working at Andalusia, we’ve both been assuming it. In case you’re interested, they’re more likely to promote me -- though not soon -- than to fire me.” She realized that she’d been assuming that he’d keep his job.

“What’s best for my academic career with the restriction that I stay in the Chicago area.” Well, she’d got that out.

“Well, yes. I was afraid that you’d look at that and refuse me.”

“It isn’t that bad. I won’t have to choose between a junior college here and Harvard. If I have a chance at Harvard, and we’re talking decades in the future, I’ll have a chance at Northwestern or -- at worst -- Loyola.”

“Or the U of C.”

“I’ll never get a job at Chicago.” She’d never get an offer from Chicago, and she probably wouldn’t take it if she did. She didn’t want to quarrel now, and her opinion of the Chicago School was certain to cause a quarrel.

“I got the take-home figures for next year. That’s still short-term, but we can work out a budget. I’ll read real-estate ads in the Trib on the El tomorrow, maybe the next day, too. That will give us some figures for larger apartments in Evanston. Can you estimate your clothing expense?”

“Look, I’ve been thinking about that. Where I teach will influence what I wear, travel costs, and lunch costs. But the salary has to cover that. Why don’t we just say that I’ll plan on my present clothing expense. If it’s more, it’ll come out of my salary. Nobody will offer a salary which doesn’t cover that much.”

“And total up your other expenses -- lipstick and the like. Anyway, we’ll put together a budget. What else do we have to decide in these ten days?” Aside from children, and he wasn’t pushing her. Of course, she was pushing herself, and he must know that. Well, the future was pushing both of them, much more the future than Pastor Jake.

“Why I like you.”

“Well,” he replied, “I didn’t know you did.”

“He’s right, you know. Sexual desire is an insufficient basis for a marriage.”

“So just move in.” His tone was joking.

“Too late. I showed everybody the ring.” Her joke contained a hell of a lot of truth. Probably, his did too.

“Well, if it’s a weak foundation, we should be sure to give it plenty of exercise to strengthen it.” He reached across to her left shoulder. He’d waited long enough; the hand was quite warm.

She turned her head for a kiss. Their lips gently touched, and their tongue only touched tips. His hand stroked to her left breast, continued on to just short of the nipple. Then he moved it off to her side. The pause was brief; he got up on his elbow.

“Manage the covers, would you?” That was a reasonable request. She made sure the sheet and blanket were tucked around his shoulders while he kissed over her face and caressed her breast. When he came in for a serious kiss, his hand stroked down over her stomach. When it got to her delta, she spread her legs a little.

For the longest time, though, he ignored the invitation. He stroked his fingernails across her delta. He caressed each thigh separately. He rubbed her external lips against one another. When, finally, he did stroke in her cleft, it was several fingers at once. He didn’t spread it wide, those fingers were all behind one another. His kisses went from her mouth to her throat to her right breast. He reached her nipple just before he touched her clit. He licked the nipple and stroked the clit until she was close.

Then his kisses jumped to her left nipple. His hand was absolutely still, not helping at all. She raised her hips to rub her clit over his finger. He moved his fingers down her cleft. He rubbed one against each lip, but they were nowhere near her clit. He started kissing down her breast, too. When he got to her throat, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Bill!” she moaned. He responded by covering her mouth with his. His finger returned to her clit, though. The strokes were wonderfully exciting. She was close, then even closer...

She flew. If she moaned, his mouth caught the sound.

When he left her mouth, she needed the breathing space. She gasped in one breath after another while he kissed her forehead and her ear. His finger began to stroke her lips again -- slowly, gently, enticingly. He trailed kisses down her throat towards her breast. By the time he reached her nipple, seemingly hours later, she was close again. While he sucked on her right nipple, he removed his hand completely. She might have reached to put it back if she hadn’t noticed that he was digging under his pillow. Then he was moving across her leg. Poised over her, he used his hand to spread her lips. He stopped, barely inside, to kiss both breasts. Then he filled her, even stretched her.

“Carolyn,” he said. But it wasn’t the time for speech. She pushed up against him and, then, moved her hips back. He caught her rhythm, and moved deeply into her, out until her entrance held only his tip, deeply into her again. His motion was agonizingly slow, and she hung there -- if you can hang there lying flat and swinging your hips up and down -- for a minute. Maybe it was an hour -- maybe a life time.

Then she flew again, and he drove into and out of her while she flew. Then he thrust himself deep into her and against her while he pulsed.

He lay on her for moments afterward. It was a pleasant, warm, weight at first, but she was happy when he moved over. She rolled to her side of the bed to give him room and moved back against him in the spoon.

“Love you,” he said to the back of her neck. “I checked about the license. The major requirement is that each of us get a test for venereal diseases. There are fees and a brief waiting period after the exam, too, so we shouldn’t wait too long. Anyway...” Anyway, he’d made the call he said he would.

“Do you ever worry that there’s something we’re forgetting absolutely?” she asked.

“All the time,” he answered. “We get down in the front of the sanctuary, and Jake says: ‘Wait a minute, you haven’t done this. I can’t perform the ceremony.’ Well, we’ll ask him next time. It’s more likely something we haven’t thought about which makes it damn hard to live together.” Not that there weren’t things she had thought about which would make it damn hard to live together.

“Someday, you’ll have to give me a list of the foods you don’t eat,” she said. “And do you mind adding a pressure cooker to the shopping list, maybe a better pot for cooking rice?”

“Sure, and another wastebasket, I’d think. You probably need one on your side.”

“Well,” she admitted, “your additions are going to be cheaper than mine. I thought of a cookbook. I don’t know how to cook many things. But I want to wait until after the ceremony. Mama is likely to give me one.”

“Well, women have more than one cookbook. Have you ever seen the shelf in Gladys’s kitchen?”

“You’re not marrying Gladys. Get very clear about that. I’m not going to exhaust one cookbook in my entire life. I just want to add a few recipes to my repertoire before you get sick of the ones I can cook.”

“I’ve thought of something earlier, don’t think I mentioned it,” he said. “For our weekly food budget, why don’t you think of how many meals you’ll cook in a normal week. Then tell me the number and get a grocery budget to supply those. I’ll figure out the eating-out budget for the other meals, at mid-range restaurants. That total is our food budget. When exam time or something makes you want to cook less, we’ll eat out, but more cheaply. For a girl who asks for Burger Hop and pizza, that shouldn’t be too great a sacrifice.” Well, he was the one used to eating out. Wouldn’t the sacrifice be on his part?

Was this what marriage was like, sleepily talking business after sex? Well, they’d have other times to talk when they weren’t so rushed ... But, really, two people in the same bed, what did she expect them to talk about? Current events? Baseball scores? What did Mama and Daddy talk about in bed? Her, probably, at least when she had been at home. You think so much about sex during adolescence, but Jake was right, there was more to marriage than sex.

The conversation went on, weaving them into something closer to marriage than the sex had.

That morning, Bill made sure she stayed awake. He cooked her breakfast again.

“Look,” she asked between bites, “Can I make some more phone calls from here? They sort of involve the marriage.” She sure didn’t want to discuss contraception over the hall phone with the entire floor listening.

“Sure. And that doesn’t restrict it ... I mean that you can make phone calls, and they don’t have to be about the marriage. Obviously, we can afford only so much on our long-distance bill, but you’re the person who wants to be careful about expenses.” Well, he did too. But she knew what he meant. Actually, she had only thought about local calls, but she’d call Mama again, too. She deserved to know that the wedding wouldn’t be fancy.

Somehow, when she was on the bus going to class, she discovered that she’d made her decision about children. They’d have one -- God willing and all that -- but only when she was in some sort of permanent appointment. Colleges had to give some sort of maternity leave, didn’t they? Anyway, a college giving a one-year appointment would be pissed off if she spent most of it gravid and a vital segment of it in the hospital or at home. She’d tell Bill, and she’d hope he would agree.

She starred in class, partly because she arrived long before the seminar and reviewed. She ate lunch in the residence hall and came back to the apartment by bus. If she were going to run up the long-distance bill, she’d at least avoid car expenses. Her first call was to Gladys.

“Hagopian residence.” Was it a residence? Well it was a decent-sized house.

“Gladys, this is Carolyn Nolan.”

“Yes, Carolyn?”

“Well, one of the things I should do before marriage is go on the pill. That takes a prescription. Do you know a Gynecologist you would recommend?”

“Dr. Gabel does an excellent job. Do you want his number?” She took it down. “Look, Carolyn, this is none of my business, but...” Damn few statements were always accurate, but she’d never known that statement to be less than 200% correct. On the other hand, Gladys had been a friend, and she’d rather hear it from her than have her tell others.

“Go ahead.”

“Y’know. Lust is different from love ... You and Bill have a lot, but do you have enough to build a marriage?” Right on two counts. She and Bill had a rocky foundation for a marriage, and it was none of Gladys’s damned business.

“Well Gladys...” How could she put this? “It’s not the question of what basis for a marriage would be best.” That wasn’t it. “Let’s say that I was going to marry someone else -- say Keith. Skip all the other reasons I shouldn’t marry Keith; Would you be happy if you knew that I still found Bill much more desirable than Keith?”

“I think I see your point. But couldn’t you just scratch that itch and go on?”

“Some itches just get worse when you scratch them.” And Bill, whatever his other faults -- his myriad of other faults -- was a skilled and thoughtful lover.

“Well, I said it was none of my business, but I blame myself for Thanksgiving.” And, in some way, she should -- or credit herself for Thanksgiving.

“Well, I’m thankful for that Thanksgiving feast. I’m sorry you feel this way. I’d thought of asking you to be my matron of honor.”

“Carolyn, You shouldn’t. Certainly, you have friends your own age.”

“Yeah, Three roommates, for example. And, if I asked one of them, I’d make two enemies for life.” Gladys laughed.

“There is that. But remember that the part after the honeymoon is lots more important than the part before.”

“Did you tell Barbara that?”

“Fewer, although she would deny this, than a hundred times.” And, they parted friends, if not in agreement. Her next call was to the doctor.

“Dr. Gabel’s office. The Doctor is not available.”

“I’d like to make an appointment. I was referred by a patient.”

“Yes, ma’am. Is this an emergency?”

“Not a medical emergency.” A social emergency, maybe. “I’m engaged to be married, and I wish to go on the pill.”

“Yes ma’am. That will require a full examination. Does next Tuesday sound like a good time?” It sounded like a bad time for an examination. She’d have her period by that time.

“How about the week after?”

“Tuesday?”

“Would Thursday afternoon be possible?”

“Certainly.” The settled on 2:30.

“One more thing. As I said, I’m getting married, and the license requires being examined for venereal disease.” She didn’t want her, even a stranger on a phone, thinking that she thought he might have one. “Does the doctor do that?”

“That’s a blood test. We can have that done and issue the certificate you need. Shall I put that on your appointment?”

“Please.” And that took care of the easy ones.

“Hello?”

“Mama?”

“Carolyn. Have you settled on the wedding date yet?”

“Yeah, pending your approval. The first Saturday in semester break is February 17. Can you come for that?”

“For our daughter’s wedding, we can come.”

“And we’re talking about something very simple.”

“Carolyn! But I only have one daughter!” As if she wouldn’t have noticed a sister around the house.

“Thing is, Mama, that we have lots of expenses facing us these next few years. A big splurge now might mean that I had to take a job that would wreck my future.” The reality was not that dramatic, but drama naturally fitted when talking to Mama. “We only have so many resources, and you can’t ask us to spend them to please you.”

“But, Carolyn, the wedding is Daddy’s expense, not yours.” That was nice to hear, although she knew the social conventions.

“Thing is, Mama, we were depending on your paying the tuition on my next semester. I’m not sure you can afford both.” And, while she hadn’t consulted Bill, that would be a fair trade for Mama’s running her wedding.

“Well, we were planning to do that. We’ve already mailed the check.” Which she’d bet anything was a fib. Mama wouldn’t know even if it were true. Daddy paid those bills, and he didn’t tell Mama when.

“Well, in that case, we’ll think about the wedding again. Bill isn’t here now. And I can’t speak for him.” Mama heard concession, and soon got off the line.

Well, she had studying to do. And, since she had only her books for the seminar, she studied that. When she had Saturday’s prep done, she decided she had enough time to change books. She left a note for Bill:

Pick me up at the church at 8:30.

She took the bus. At the residence hall, she packed all her clean underwear and another sweatshirt and pair of jeans in her book bag. There was just enough room left for her Friday books. She left her economic-history book in the bag. She studied Money and Banking until she was satisfied that she could handle it the next day. By then, it was almost time for dinner. She put the book in her bag and took it and her coat down to eat.

From there, she walked to the church. If she was a little late for choir rehearsal, Miss Armbruster didn’t complain. When they left rehearsal, Bill was waiting at the top of the inside stairs with the other non-singing spouses. As had become their habit, they delayed their greeting kiss until they were in the car.

“I’m assuming that you ate,” Bill said. “I had some of that sloppy-joe stuff on the rice. Micro-waved, it isn’t a bad mixture.” He could eat left-overs when he wasn’t taking her out. Good! Because left-overs would be a major part of their diet soon. She wasn’t going to cook something special seven days a week.

“I ate. After all, I have a meal plan. And I had just committed you to more outgo.” He looked her a question. “A tux and my corsage, I think. You’ve already bought the rings. Mama wants a fancy wedding. I explained that we expected them to pay next semester’s tuition instead. She said that they would cover both.”

“Um, when did I expect them to cover next semester’s tuition?”

“While I was on the phone to Mama.”

“Well, we’re one couple. You can commit me. Especially for something like that. But what made you leave me so suddenly?”

“Let’s understand one thing. I’m not leaving you every time I go back to the Residence Hall. I have things to do there. I have things there. I have different courses Monday, Wednesday, and Friday than I have Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I have to change course materials, I have to change clothes. What I don’t have to do is explain myself every fucking time.”

“You sure you don’t dye your hair.” Which was a wild non sequitur even for Bill. Did he think she was that old?

“You’ve seen the hair that women don’t dye often enough.”

“Seen it? Yes. Often enough? No. But redheads are supposed to be the ones with the temper.”

“Well, you lose,” she said. “You got the brunette with the temper.”

“Okay.”

“I left you a note. I should have been explicit that I was going to eat, maybe. I thought you could figure that out from the time. I’m used to being around people who can see the obvious.”

“So, I asked. I didn’t assume the opposite; I checked. Assuming things about you hasn’t really worked well for me. And we’re going to be married. You’re going to live there all the time. I think that’s what really bugs you, not my question.”

“Well, I’ll have that as my residence.” Echoes of Gladys’s ‘Hagopian residence.’ “I won’t be there all the time; you’re not there all the time.”

“But, aside from the days you know I’ll be gone, I expect to tell you when I won’t be.”