The Boston Girl

—

It was a Sunday night and so quiet we could hear our own footsteps down Commonwealth Avenue. I didn’t feel cold but under the streetlights I could see Aaron’s breath in the air and I wondered if he was going to kiss me good night.

There was no kiss. Not then anyway.

It turned out that we were so late, my landlady had turned off the porch light. That meant the door was locked, and I didn’t have a key. None of us did. It was the rule in a respectable house like Mrs. Kay’s: no late nights. She could throw me out for this.

I said, “Maybe I can take the trolley to my sister’s house in Roxbury.”

“The trains stopped running a while ago,” said Aaron. “But my cousin Ruth has her own place in the Fenway. I’m sure she’ll let you stay over.”

He said it was a good thing we had drunk all that coffee to stay awake, but it also made me need to go to the bathroom—not that I told him that. We did not take our time on that walk, let me tell you.

A girl in a robe opened the door. “What the hell is going on, Aaron? It’s almost one o’clock in the morning.”

He explained what happened. “Tell Addie I’ve never done this before.”

Ruth gave me the once-over and pinched Aaron’s cheek. “It’s true. As far as I know, he’s a straight shooter.”

I followed Ruth up to her flat, which smelled like cigarettes and spices. She gave me a nightgown, threw a blanket on the couch, and said good night.

I thought I’d never fall asleep, but I was gone the minute I closed my eyes. I guess falling in love makes you tired. Or maybe it was all that walking.

Ruth was still sleeping when I got up and tiptoed out of the apartment. The sun was just coming up but Aaron was already there, sitting on the steps with his suitcase. He hadn’t shaved and he was holding a bunch of daffodils he must have stolen from someone’s yard. He said, “God, you’re beautiful.” So I kissed him.

Luck. I’m telling you.

You know how people say that everything happens for a reason and that fate brings together people who are meant for each other? I don’t buy that.

Luck, on the other hand, I believe in. And it was pure luck that I met your grandfather.

Aaron was living in Washington and the only reason he happened to be at Miss Chevalier’s house that Sunday afternoon was because Rita went into a coffee shop and ran into one of her law professors who was sitting with Miss Chevalier who was interested to hear about her brother’s work and asked if

he would be willing to speak to some friends. It so happened that he was going to be in Boston at the end of March for Passover . . .

Luck. I’m telling you.

The night after we met was the first Seder, so he was in Brookline with his family and I was in Roxbury with mine. For most of the meal my mother was in the kitchen telling Betty what she was doing wrong, my father had his face in the Haggadah, and Levine was trying to make his sons sit still. I was thinking about Aaron and how we were planning to have breakfast before I went to work in the morning, but I must have been yawning a lot because Betty said that if I was so tired, I should sleep there. “You can take the trolley to work from here in the morning.”

I said “No!” so fast that she gave me a look like What’s going on?

I made up a story about having to be at work earlier than usual and asked Levine if he would drive me home. I was out of there before Betty could ask me anything else.

—

That week we were together as much as we could be. Thank God I didn’t live at home, where I’d have to explain where I’d been and where I was going. Aaron told his parents that he had a lot of meetings at the State House, but he thought Rita probably suspected what was going on.

We went to cafés and restaurants in out-of-the-way places. We took long walks and talked and kissed. The kissing was very nice. We were compatible that way, if you know what I mean.

One night it rained and we went to a movie. We held hands the whole time and sat with our knees touching. I was glad we were in the dark so I could smile without having to explain why.

When we walked past Symphony Hall, Aaron told me how his mother used to take him there when he was a boy. She wanted all of her children to love music.

I said I wanted to go to a concert one day—I’d never been. I didn’t mean it as a hint or anything, but he went inside and bought tickets for the next night. We got there early and watched the chauffeurs open limousine doors for the kinds of people who were always being mentioned in Serena’s Out and About column. It was a sea of white hair and black coats except for one woman wearing a green velvet cloak and waving at someone across the lobby, with bright red nails.

I grabbed Aaron’s arm. “Do you see that woman? That’s Tessa Thorndike. She’s the other reason we met.”

Aaron asked if I wanted to say hello.