Rose had always spent her birthdays standing at the center of a crowded ballroom, decked out in some ridiculous contraption of a party gown, forcing herself to smile while everyone admired her for the doll that she was.
Now, in early September, her eighteenth birthday was drawing closer. And without her mother around to plan a celebration, she began to imagine that Cal would simply forgo any festivities at all. Last year her birthday had fallen six or seven months into their courtship, and although Cal had felt obligated to foot the party bill and make an appearance, he hadn't been particularly warm or personal about any of it—he'd seemed to view it as something of a business deal that would help him secure her hand just a few short weeks later.
Rose's birthday always made her feel lonely.
Skipping over it would at least be preferable to the mindless attention it had brought her in the past.
*****
"Isn't your birthday coming up sometime this month?"
"The twelfth," Rose replied. Her breakfast stood untouched on the table in front of her. Neither she nor Cal had said a word to each other thus far, and she'd spent the past twenty minutes gazing out the window as the morning sun climbed over the property. "I'd rather not have a party."
Per usual, Cal was lost in the morning paper, checking the day's stock quotes. "Then how do you plan to celebrate?" he asked, not looking up.
"I hadn't planned to, actually."
"You don't want to celebrate your own birthday?"
"Not if it means another banquet or cotillion."
The conversation seemed to be over and she assumed that he'd accepted her apathy.
"Was there some other way you thought you'd prefer to spend it?" Cal asked. He looked at her over the rim of his reading glasses.
The question took Rose by surprise. "I don't know," she said. "I didn't think there were options."
"Well, do share if you come up with something. I can't read minds."
Was that an offer?
"I'd like to go to the theater," said Rose decisively after another pause. "For my birthday. I would enjoy that."
"All right then," Cal said. "We'll go to the theater."
"There's a particular play I want to see. The production just opened last month. It's called Spring Awakening."
Rose hadn't imagined that Cal, who had no particular interest in the arts, would have heard of the play, but she realized she was wrong when he responded to her comment with disgust.
"I'm trying to consider you, Rose, but I am not going to pay good money to sit through something so tastelessly vulgar and pornographic."
"It isn't!" Rose said, angry that he couldn't relinquish his need to control even when he was doing something nice for her. "It's a coming of age story!"
"It's smut. It was banned in Germany."
"Well, I would like it if you took me to see it on my birthday, but if the idea horrifies you so much, then let's just forget the whole thing."
She got up and left the room in a calculated huff.
*****
The auditorium was a dark wash of warm voices, heavy and vivid, the height of intellectual opulence. Sitting in the front row of the center balcony next to Cal, Rose took it all in and smiled triumphantly to herself.
"—dreamed about his mother!"
"Did he tell you that?"
"If you knew what I've gone through since that night!"
She sensed more than saw Cal cringing next to her as the play unfolded. She knew that Cal wasn't a prude—he had pressured her to sleep with him from the moment they were engaged, when society looked down upon any form of premarital sex, and she was absolutely positive that he had more than a little experience in that department—but she had an idea that he saw sex as something to be practiced without acknowledgment. Spring Awakening was a play about adolescent sexuality; Rose had read the translated version and it contained depictions of rape, incest, masturbation, teenage pregnancy, and abortion. To Cal these were things to be privately aware of, not expressed in a public display.
At intermission, Rose excused herself to the powder room and splashed water on her face. She felt very warm and she could hardly breathe stuffed into her corset; it was getting more difficult to conceal her changing body, and Elizabeth seemed to lace her up tighter every day.
*****
"What did you think?" asked Rose as they left the theater some time later. "Now that you've seen it for yourself, not just read about it?"
"It was uncultured and vile. Do you actually enjoy that sort of filth?"
Rose tried to breathe deeply. "I enjoy exposing myself to the ways other people think and imagine things, even if they're controversial," she said. She reached out and touched Cal on the shoulder when he stepped toward the car. "Could we just walk for a bit? I feel lightheaded."
Cal shot her a glance, almost as though he didn't believe her, but he said, "Of course."
They strolled along the sidewalk together. Skyscrapers shot up to the stars, glowing orange in a mist of city lights. In spite of her physical discomfort, Rose felt at peace, resigned to being in the moment.
"Thank you for taking me out tonight," she said. "I know you didn't want to see that play."
"You're welcome," said Cal, narrowing his eyes at her. He probably thought she was being congenial because she wanted some other favor from him and that she was working up to the request.
But she wasn't. "Actually, Cal…I really do appreciate everything. I've felt a little better lately."
What she wanted to say was that she valued the effort he seemed to be making to think about how she felt, but she didn't know how to put it. She didn't want him to take it for more than it was, to interpret it as a license to demand more from her than she was ready to give.
"I would hope so," said Cal. "Dr. Heinrich is a much better physician than that other man you were seeing early in the summer."
"I don't mean like that. I meant—"
She stopped. What did she mean? She still felt alienated and empty; she still longed to relate and connect with someone; regret continued to eat away at her and thoughts of what might have been in some other lifetime plagued her dreams.
But somehow, in the month since her mother's death, something had shifted. Some of the sharp pain had dulled, though there was a constant ache inside her that wouldn't subside.
He was studying her closely. "What?"
"Nothing." She stepped into a darkened alley and motioned for him to follow her.
"Where are you going, Rose?"
"It's a shortcut," she said. "There's a fountain on the other side. It's beautiful, all lit up at night."
When he still hesitated, she took his arm and led him along. He didn't resist.
The alley opened onto a plaza where the fountain had been built. Cascades of water burst into the air, illuminated by the shimmer of streetlights.
Rose perched on the stone fountain ledge and gazed into the water. Coins that people had tossed in reflected out.
"Do you have a coin?" she asked Cal.
He dug in his wallet for a nickel and dropped it into her outstretched hand as he sat down next to her. "We should get back," he said, checking his watch. "It's past midnight and I have to be at the north side mill by seven tomorrow."
"Let's sit here a moment. It's such a nice night and this is one of my favorite spots." She flipped the nickel several times. "I don't know what to wish for," she said.
"What's that?"
"You know…you're supposed to toss a coin into the fountain and make a wish."
She thought a moment, staring up at the starry sky, then stood and flipped the coin into the water.
"What did you wish for?" asked Cal, looking like he found the whole thing rather pointless.
A cool breeze whisked across the plaza, and Rose shivered. "I can't say," she said. "Otherwise my wish won't come true."
He arched an eyebrow. "Knowing you, I doubt it will anyway."
The comment was an unexpectedly painful jab at her sensitivity. She stared at the fountain, her sense of peace retreating.
Cal checked his watch again and got up. "Come on, Rose."
She didn't move.
"Rose?"
She looked over at him. She knew he was confused and impatient, worrying ahead to tomorrow's work day rather than trying to relax and enjoy her company.
Had she expected something else?
She couldn't explain the sense of crushing disappointment that washed over her as she followed him back to the car. Not even to herself.