Martha in America Ch. 08

"We just had to," she murmured after we had recovered.

"Um-hmm," I agreed.

Without moving, with him still in her, we fell asleep. Eventually, she rolled away from me, and he slipped out. I moved closer behind her, and we were asleep again. When I rolled over in the night, I moved my balls and found the rubber, waking out of my half-sleep, and slipped it off and placed it up on the corner of my bed. Martha followed me, putting her arm around my chest, and we drifted off to sleep again.

In the early morning, she rubbed my chest and awakened me, murmured:

"Good morning. I've got to go."

"Good morning. Me too," I responded, recalling all the beer we had drunk.

She got up as I found the rubber and wrappings, and then I followed her. When I joined her, she smiled up at me a little wryly when she saw the rubber. When she had finished, she waited for me to use the toilet and dispose of the rubber and wrappings, remarking softly:

"Since we couldn't keep from sleeping together, we may as well shower together for the last time, too."

In silence, we washed each other again, but very much with the feeling that it was the last time, intimate but unaroused. As I started to shave, Martha said that she would go and get dressed.

I joined her, and we had a good breakfast, but the conversation was subdued. We cleaned up the kitchen and house, and she packed for her week on the island. I gave her the six pack and two cans of beer left over from what we had bought.

Then we were off. Martha said again how nice it was that she could spend a week on Fire Island: "something to tell about at home."

It was too obviously an oblique reference to our week together, which she couldn't tell about. We were silent until we passed Flushing Meadows on the Long Island Parkway, when Martha asked:

"Did you pack our bundle?"

"Um-hmm, asked it to shrink again, enough to sneak it in your bag with the beer."

"Hm-hmm, thanks."

"I wrapped it with red, white and blue ribbon, ... for the Norwegian and US flags."

"That was a nice idea. ... Oh, ... what is your sister going to think? ... I mean, ... will she assume we've been sleeping together?"

"Hmm? Probably. ... At least, she won't mind."

"Hmm?"

"I think she will, ... and like that we have, ... for both of us."

"Funny, ... well, ... a little strange, the thought of telling her ... Oh! ... And why we want to give it to her, ... that I know about you two."

"Hadn't thought of that. ... I don't think she will mind that either, ... like I didn't. ... If you talk about us, she'll probably think that we mentioned her."

"Your dream?"

"Um-hmm, ... and yours."

"Hmm? ... Um-hmm, ..."

"Oh, ... if you don't tell her - if she doesn't ask - you can give the bundle back to me, and I'll give it to her. She won't mind my telling her that you know about us."

"Hmm? I hope not. ... Might find it strange that we spent a week together and never talked about it."

"Um-hmm, ... so you probably will."

"Hmm! Um-hmm."

Then we were silent for a while until I said:

"More of a problem is what my parents might assume."

"What they're going to say to you?"

"Um-hmm. I'm not looking forward to the drive home with them."

"It was their idea to let us spend the week together."

"With subsequent misgivings, ... duly justified."

"I'm glad."

"Me too, ... just apprehensive of the consequences."

"What's worse, letting them think we did, or trying to lie about why we didn't?"

"Hmm! ... Have to wait and see what they say, ... how much they assume."

"Um-hmm, be kind of difficult for both of us if they assume we did."

"Very, especially for you for the last few days."

"Um-hmm, thanks for thinking of me."

"Yeah, ... the natural tendency to blame the person one is less close to. I guess I'd better try to convince them that we didn't."

"Thanks. ... Tell them I didn't let you."

"Hmm! If worse comes to worse, let them think I would have."

"Oh, ... I didn't want that."

"Thanks, but it might - no, would - be better than admitting we did. ... Save your reputation, tell them your mother said you shouldn't."

"Hmm! But I don't like their thinking you would have."

"Me neither, but I did."

"We did."

"Too good, too much, our bundle."

"Um-hmm, don't remind me."

Martha smiled with a frown, and I drove on in silence for a minute or two, before replying:

"If they assume too much, I'll boldly accuse them of assuming it was just like it actually was, that they could think that you just came home, and we had a beer and jumped into bed."

"Hmm! If you can?"

"Yeah, they won't like that, having their misgivings expressed in such bold terms. ... Oh, I'll tell them that we had a good time and enjoyed each other's company - they know that I took you to the oyster bar ..."

"Hope they don't think about oysters like you told me."

"Me too! Won't mention that. ... Oh, if they still don't believe me, I'll tell them that we were surprised that they trusted us, even joked about how your mother and my parents were all worried that we could have."

"Can you get away with that?"

"I hope so."

"Me too."

We exchanged wry smiles and drove on in silence, occasionally exchanging smiles. On the causeway to Fire Island, Martha took more interest in the scenery, again saying how much she was looking forward to the week on the beach. As we pulled up at our house, she said that she would carry her bag, snickering as she added: "not to make it look like we're a couple." I appreciated her forethought, especially when the whole family came out to greet us.

My mother and older sister had prepared a more festive dinner for the family's last meal of the vacation. I joshed my older sister that she looked even more pregnant after a just week, which could hardly have been true, since there wasn't much to see yet, but she took it as a compliment, and her husband looked proud. During the meal, of course, I was asked about my work and then Martha, about what she had done. She managed to satisfy my parents' interest, although my sister gave me a glance when Martha told that she had gone to the Metropolitan Museum for a last look at all the famous paintings.

Then my mother asked me rather pointedly how we had gotten on together. I avoided looking at Martha and my younger sister and replied:

"Just fine, as I think we told you on the phone. Martha surprised me with her cooking, the meatloaf and then Norwegian fishballs, no, first the fishballs, apparently a Norwegian favorite."

Martha chuckled as my sister asked:

"Fishballs?"

"Kind of bland, like dumplings, but apparently with fish, and with a white sauce," I explained.

"You made them?" my mother asked.

Martha explained with another chuckle that the fishballs came canned, that she had found them in a store that catered to Scandinavians, admitting that they really didn't taste like much but had been something she had missed. Everyone smiled understandingly. Then I boldly said that her salmon stew had been much better. Martha grinned, and my mother asked:

"Salmon stew?"

"He's joking; I can't make that. I insisted on taking him to a little Norwegian restaurant after he taken me to the oyster bar. In Europe it isn't nice for a girl to let herself be taken out without reciprocating - different from here, where the man always pays."

My parents seemed to have mixed feelings about that; maybe liking that Martha hadn't wanted to let me pay, but not liking that we had gone out together. My mother managed to say that that was a nice custom. I tried to distract them by telling how an older man had talked to us and venturing to add that we didn't want to sit around at home all evening.

My brother-in-law seemed to understand my implication and supported me by saying:

"Sounds like a good idea, exchanging a bit of New York and Norwegian culture."

My parents still looked a little sceptical, but Martha picked up the ball and said:

"We went to that German restaurant, Heidelberg, last night, 'Dutch treat.' Isn't that the expression?"

"And ate too much," I rejoined, adding:

"But also part of New York's culture - not eating too much, the Germans in Yorktown."

There were chuckles, and my mother glanced at my father's substantial figure and remarked: "Maybe eating too much, too."

"All part of the job, entertaining customers," he replied with an apologetic smile.

We all chuckled again, and the conversation turned to other topics.

After dinner, while the cars were being loaded for my parents and sister and brother-in-law to return home, my father asked him to accompany Martha for a practice drive. When they returned, we all said goodbye to Martha and my sister, and with apprehension I joined my parents for the drive back to the city.

After we had been on the road for a minute or two, Mother said:

"It sounded like you and Martha got on well."

"Not too well, I hope," Dad interjected before I could answer.

Mother's glance at him suggested that his remark wasn't appreciated at that moment, but it did make clear what they were thinking about, and did suggest an appropriate reply:

"No, just very well. I had hardly talked to her before."

"It sounded like you spent a good deal of time together," Dad commented.

"Of course. What else were we to do? She was nice company; it would have been rude to avoid her."

"We didn't think you needed to invite her out," Mother remarked.

"It just seemed a nice way to reciprocate for her cooking, ... and better than just sitting around, maybe watching something on TV, ... and she thought so too, apparently, both ways, inviting me out."

There was a pause in the conversation, and then Dad said:

"You did remember what I said on the phone?"

"Of course. We joked about that. Her mother had warned her before she left 'not to sleep with the young gentleman'."

"You told her?! And she that, and joked about it?!"

"Why not? Thought it kind of funny that our parents seemed to assume that if two young people were together, what you're worried about was inevitable."

I liked the way I had expressed that, less blunt than what Martha and I had discussed on the way out, and the few moments of silence seemed to indicate that it had been effective.

"Her mother said that?" mine then asked.

"She said so. I guess in Norway parents are more direct."

I was about to say more, but realized that anything I said would suggest that we had talked more about what her mother knew about her sex life. Luckily, Dad interjected:

"It sure sounds like it."

"What did she tell you about her family," Mother asked.

"Probably what you already know: that her mother is a dental assistant and daughter of a Lutheran minister; father works for an insurance company; two older brothers."

"I didn't know her grandfather was a Lutheran minister," Mother replied.

That was the end of the conversation, but I wasn't sure, until Mother started talking about something else - to my great relief, having escaped without a blatant lie. Then she got on her new favorite topic, the future grandchild. Dad seemed to have heard it all already, but was nonetheless pleased with the idea of becoming a grandfather.

My thoughts could then return to Martha and my sister. In the presence of my parents, I couldn't even think about what I had done with them - what they each had done with me. I was wondering if they would do anything together. No, I was really hoping they would.