Eleven Kinds of Loneliness Read Online Free PDF

open smile of a bride. The thing to do was concentrate on plans.
    Tomorrow morning, “bright and early,” as her mother would say, she would meet Ralph at Penn Station for the trip home. They’d arrive about one, and her parents would meet the train. “Good t’see ya, Ralph!” her father would say, and her mother would probably kiss him. A warm, homely love filled her: they wouldn’t call him a white worm; they didn’t have any ideas about Princeton men and “interesting” men and all the other kinds of men Martha was so stuck-up about. Then her father wouldprobably take Ralph out for a beer and show him the paper mill where he worked (and at least Ralph wouldn’t be snobby about a person working in a paper mill, either), and then Ralph’s family and friends would come down from New York in the evening.
    She’d have time for a long talk with her mother that night, and the next morning, “bright and early” (her eyes stung at the thought of her mother’s plain, happy face), they would start getting dressed for the wedding. Then the church and the ceremony, and then the reception (Would her father get drunk? Would Muriel Ketchel sulk about not being a bridesmaid?), and finally the train to Atlantic City, and the hotel. But from the hotel on she couldn’t plan any more. A door would lock behind her and there would be a wild, fantastic silence, and nobody in all the world but Ralph to lead the way.
    “Well, Grace,” Mr. Atwood was saying, “I want to wish you every happiness.” He was standing at her desk with his hat and coat on, and all around here were the chattering and scraping-back of chairs that meant it was five o’clock.
    “Thank you, Mr. Atwood.” She got to her feet, suddenly surrounded by all the girls in a bedlam of farewell.
    “All the luck in the world, Grace.”
    “Drop us a card, huh Grace? From Atlantic City?”
    “So long, Grace.”
    “G’night, Grace, and listen: the best of everything.”
    Finally she was free of them all, out of the elevator, out of the building, hurrying through the crowds to the subway.
    When she got home Martha was standing in the door of the kitchenette, looking very svelte in a crisp new dress.
    “Hi, Grace. I bet they ate you alive today, didn’t they?”
    “Oh no,” Grace said. “Everybody was—real nice.” She sat down, exhausted, and dropped the flowers and the wrapped candy dish on a table. Then she noticed that the wholeapartment was swept and dusted, and the dinner was cooking in the kitchenette. “Gee, everything looks wonderful,” she said. “What’d you do all this for?”
    “Oh, well, I got home early anyway,” Martha said. Then she smiled, and it was one of the few times Grace had ever seen her look shy. “I just thought it might be nice to have the place looking decent for a change, when Ralph comes over.”
    “Well,” Grace said, “it certainly was nice of you.”
    The way Martha looked now was even more surprising: she looked awkward. She was turning a greasy spatula in her fingers, holding it delicately away from her dress and examining it, as if she had something difficult to say. “Look, Grace,” she began. “You do understand why I can’t come to the wedding, don’t you?”
    “Oh, sure,” Grace said, although in fact she didn’t, exactly. It was something about having to go up to Harvard to see her brother before he went into the Army, but it had sounded like a lie from the beginning.
    “It’s just that I’d hate you to think I—well, anyway, I’m glad if you do understand. And the other thing I wanted to say is more important.”
    “What?”
    “Well, just that I’m sorry for all the awful things I used to say about Ralph. I never had a right to talk to you that way. He’s a very sweet boy and I—well, I’m sorry, that’s all.”
    It wasn’t easy for Grace to hide a rush of gratitude and relief when she said, “Why, that’s all right, Martha, I—”
    “The chops are on fire!” Martha bolted for the