Read Online Hausfrau by Jill Alexander Essbaum - Free Book Online

of birds. And Bruno was, in the moment, being the only kind of loving he knew how to be.
    B RUNO AND T IM WERE locked into a conversation about the teams in the Swiss National League. Anna listened until Mary suggested she join her in the kitchen. They received automatic nods of departure from their husbands who otherwise didn’t disengage from their chat.
    In the kitchen Mary motioned to a high side table flankedby a couple of bar stools with backrests. Anna recognized the set. It came straight from the IKEA warehouse floor. “Have a seat, Anna.” Anna sat. Mary busied herself opening doors: refrigerator, oven, pantry. Mary was at home in her kitchen, a good little hausfrau, happy as a rabbit. Mary hummed while she stirred, sautéed, and sampled. She was a pretty woman, but plain somehow, and doughy, a Canadian mother from the sticks. Her clothes were functional; she wore a sensible hairstyle and very little makeup.
Aren’t athletes’ wives usually flashier? Don’t they typically have more style?
Anna saw nothing immodest about her, her kitchen, her house, her family. Anna chalked this up to the Gilberts’ Manitoban pragmatism. Mary was four years younger than Anna. This they had discovered during a class break earlier that week.
    The news rattled Anna’s vanity.
Do I present as matronly as that?
Later that particular afternoon in Archie’s apartment, bare-breasted and straddling him, Anna asked whether he thought she did, warning him first to think hard before he answered. He swore upon the bones of some Scottish hero Anna had never heard of that she did
not.
Anna felt a little bit better.
    “Bruno seems
very
nice, Anna. And your children—oh!—so precious!”
    Anna swigged from her glass and muttered something along the lines of
Seem and be are cousins, not twins.
Bruno
was
behaving sweetly and with charismatic allure. But that was one night out of thousands.
    “I’m glad you’re here,” Mary said and sadness seeped through her words like water through cheesecloth. “The other men on the team have Swiss wives and I don’t know any of the mothers from Max and Alexis’s school yet. I know I’ll meetpeople and make friends eventually. Everyone is nice enough. But cold, you know?”
    Anna told her she did know.
    Mary took the roast from the oven and put it on a platter. Anna rose to help but Mary said, “No, no, I have it.” Anna eased back onto the bar stool. “Anna,” Mary started, “how long was it before you felt like you belonged here?” Her voice hung on the hope that Anna would answer with the words
Not long at all.
    That was not her answer.
    “Oh.”
    Anna retreated. “Mary, it’s really not that bad,” she lied. “It’s just a chilly climate all around. You’ll find your footing and your gait. You’ll find your stride. It’s good you’re in German class. I waited nine years too long.”
    “But Anna—your German is the best in the class.”
    Anna corrected her. “I’m the only person who’s lived in Zürich more than a few months.”
    Mary picked up the roast and signaled with her elbow to a bowl of salad. Anna took it and followed her into the dining room. “I’m so glad we met,” Mary offered. “Let’s do something after class next week. It doesn’t matter what. I’m happy to have someone I can talk to. Tim, too, it seems.” Mary gestured toward the den, where Tim and Bruno leaned forward in their seats. Bruno used the coffee table as a writing desk and jotted on a confetti-edged piece of paper ripped from a spiral notebook. Anna guessed he was giving financial advice. Mary called out, “Soup’s on!” and Max and Charles raced down the stairs. She called again for Victor and Alexis. They had been squabbling over whose turn it was to play the game.
    Max was in the kitchen, underfoot. “Darling, please get out of Mommy’s way.” Max danced around. “Mommy!”
    “What’s it, dear heart?” Mary dodged her son as she carried a pitcher of water into the dining