“Welcome home, Abby. Nice to see you, Abby. We missed you, Abby!” And so it begins, thought Abby.
“What’s all this Abby nonsense? Your name is Abigail.”
“I’ve decided I like Abby better.”
“No, you don’t. It’s common.”
“Perhaps it is, Mother. Perhaps I am, too. But that’s the name I wish to be addressed by.”
“Utter nonsense. I refuse to call you by that name.”
“Then we won’t be having many conversations, will we?” Abby picked up her suitcase and walked past a dumbfounded Mrs. Smith, who was hovering in the doorway of the dining room with her mouth hanging open.
“It was unbelievable,” she told Mr. Smith later that night. “It was like an alien being had invaded her body. She was a completely different person.” Mrs. Smith was a big Star Trek fan.
“Wonder what happened at that Lodge,” mused Mr. Smith, reaching for the mashed potatoes. “This lamb is good, Dear.” Mrs. Smith prepared the meals for the Fremonts and always made enough for her and her husband. It was the only way she could be convinced to stay long enough to serve the dinner and tidy the kitchen. Mr. Smith worked until 8:00 at night and picked his wife and his dinner up on the way home. It was a system which suited everyone.
“Thank you, Dear. I know it’s one of your favorites.” Mrs. Smith handed her husband the string beans. “I don’t know what happened. They wouldn’t talk. Mrs. Fremont refused to call her anything but Abigail, and Abig…Abby wouldn’t answer her. I don’t know what I’m to do. What should I call her?”
Mr. Smith pondered that for a moment. “Well,” he said finally, “maybe you could call her Abby when it’s just the two of you and Miss Abigail when her mother’s in the room.”
“I guess I could,” answered Mrs. Smith. “It seems a bit hypocritical, though.”
“I think the young lady will understand. She knows who pays your wages.”
Mrs. Smith nodded. “It won’t last, anyway. Mrs. Fremont will wear her down. You’ll see.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~It began that night at dinner.
John Fremont arrived home late and Abby and her mother were already at the table. He had spent the last week castigating himself for his dishonorable act. He was ashamed of himself and furious at his wife for having talked him into it. His daughter’s words ‘I will never forgive you’ had rung in his head all week.
“Hello, Abigail. It’s nice to see you home,” he said dropping a kiss on her cheek.
“Hello, Daddy,” said Abby.
Her father took his seat at the head of the table. He unfolded his napkin. “Well, what delight has Mrs. Smith made for us tonight?”
“Cream of carrot soup, to start…and then roast lamb,” answered his wife.
The three ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the occasional ting of a spoon touching the soup plate.
“Did you enjoy the meals at the Lodge, Abigail?” said her father finally.
Abby nodded. “Yes, they were fine.”
“Nothing like Mrs. Smith’s cooking, though, I’ll bet,” he said heartily.
“Well, aren’t you going to make your father follow your new rules…or is that just for me?” Sharon Fremont addressed her daughter in an icy tone and then looked up the table at her husband. “She’s come home with her head full of nonsense. She’s decided to change her name. To Abby.”
John looked at his daughter. “Abby,” he said, softly. “That’s nice. I like it. I never thought of you as an Abby.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Sharon. “People don’t just change their names in the middle of their life. You will not call her Abby.”
“I don’t see why it’s a problem,” her husband replied. Then he looked at Abby, “Of course, you can’t always teach an old dog new tricks. It might take some time. But I’ll try…Abby.”
Sharon Fremont snorted and rose to her feet. She took the soup plates and left the dining room.
“I’ll do anything,” John continued, “to make up for…”
Abby held up her hand in protest. “I don’t want to talk about it. Ever.”
“But I want to apologize. It was wrong of me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Daddy.”
John Fremont sighed. “Well, if you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, will you let me know?”
“Yes, Daddy, I’ll do that.”
Sharon Fremont sailed back into the room, followed by Mrs. Smith. They placed a platter and bowls on the table and Mrs. Smith retreated to the kitchen. The Fremonts served themselves in silence.
“So what did you do at the Lodge, Abig…Abby?” asked her father, when everyone had salted and peppered to their satisfaction and were preparing to eat.
“Played tennis,” said Abby. Tried to kill myself. Ate pizza. Met a friend.
“You must have played a lot of tennis,” said her mother, “if it made you too tired to return phone calls.”
Abby looked at her mother. “I wasn’t too tired,” she said simply, shocking both her parents into speechlessness by her boldness. She had never spoken back to her mother like this.
The silence grew oppressive. But Sharon Fremont could not let it go. “Too busy out buying hats, then?” she said. “You should see the silly hat she bought, John. It looks like something from the turn of the century…the last one, not this one…1900…oh, for God’s sake, it’s not funny.” The other two were amused at her attempt to define the era.
“It is from then, Mother,” said Abby. “It’s called a newsboy’s hat. And I like it.”
“New hat, new name,” muttered her mother. “What else is new? New man?”
Abby so very much wanted to say ‘yes’, just to see the look on her mother’s face. But her mother would hound her for details until Abby’s story fell apart and then she would berate her for making up nonsense. But Abby wasn’t about to let her mother force her into saying ‘no’.
“Slept with a couple of traveling salesmen and did the waiter once behind the bar, but that’s all,” she said, mildly.
“Abigail!” Her father was shocked.
“Yes, Daddy?” She turned innocent eyes on him.
“That is not appropriate talk for the dinner table…or any other time for that matter.”
Abby shrugged. “It’s not like I said ‘fuck’ or anything.”
Sharon Fremont gasped and covered her chest with her hands. John Fremont looked at his daughter and then shook his head sadly. “You may be excused from the table, Abigail,” he said.
“Abby,” said Abby. Her father did not reply.
Abby set her knife and fork down and stood up. Her mother braced herself. She hoped there wasn’t going to be another food-throwing incident. But she didn’t have to worry. Her daughter simply turned her back and walked from the room.
Abby sat in her room and thought. She had been rude, she knew, and would have to make amends. Her mother would pay her back tenfold for her lapse in manners. Ah well, thought Abby, the momentary satisfaction had been worth it. She knew that it was only the trace of bravado that had followed her from the Lodge and that it would disappear by tomorrow. She’d be back to being Abigail.
She read her new book for awhile and then went downstairs to apologize to her parents.
