Already

Yesterday afternoon Palmyra, Shalini, Henry, Carolynn and I stood at the top of the steps of Street Hall. Beneath the peaked entrance, in front of the locked door, we hovered over a collection of Sargent portraits. Uncertain, we turned away from the book and kicked the cold out from under our feet. No one knew what to say. We were inscribing it for Zoe and Gabe. Across the street, people passed into the Union League Cafe and the couple’s engagement party. No one had any practice with this kind of thing. We barely knew what to wear until someone remembered that Union League meant coat and tie for men and something equivalent and ambiguous for women. We hadn't an idea what to get them, and now we didn't have a sentence that wasn't trite or untrue. But we wore nice clothes, got a nice book and wrote nice words sterilized by surprise. We wrapped up our hesitant present, crossed Chapel Street and entered the party. In the elevator we met a fur coat and a firm tie. Shedding the elevator and our coats, the room came to greet us with champagne flutes and a mild turn from several adults near the entrance. The older crowd was scattered with students. In my open toed heels I felt unseasonable in the large room. It felt fancy for the usually casual couple. Shrimp fell off a centerpiece on a table. Shooters of lobster bisque topped with coconut cream circulated on trays. I sipped the ocean out of oyster shells. A waiter with a French accent handed me a glass and I took in a tide of effervescent liquid. In a navy suit, Gabe was more dressed up than I'd ever seen him. A bright red tie consciously matched Zoe's red velvet dress. Long-sleeved and long skirted, the folds of material swerved from metallic to regal. Zoe who wore overalls once to a black tie party seemed at home in the dress and the party as her mother moved through the crowd in a red blazer less at ease. Short with short hair she leaped up on a chair a little later. "Yo, yo Zoe," her mom called as the crowd shifted from the brie table towards her. The couple came together and emerged to stand in front of her. She started with a humorous tone that did not cover her anxiety. The content of the first line was she was the most concerned person in the room to have her oldest daughter getting engaged so young. Zoe, enigmatic, poet, premed, New England, economics and mathematics major moved closer to Gabe, calm and just, humble and intelligent, sarcastic, southern. St. A's seniors, Gabe attends every Thursday while Zoe consistently misses meeting. They are admired, widely discussed, and seem more than happy together despite a few fights I’ve witnessed in the ten months they've gone out. The speech continued wavering between doubt and praise of Gabe. Lines went like "this is really hard for me, but it's become easier as I have gotten to know Gabe. Still, I called Zoe this morning to ask if she was really doing this." Gabe grimaced theatrically. His family from Arkansas stood on the side, silent and blond. Her dad toasted them and the mature person Zoe's become but his speech could not mitigate the communication of his wife's uncertainty. Carolynn and I looked at each other confused. The elegance seemed to have become an effort by her parents to do it right, despite doubts they could not honestly hide. Right for Zoe and Gabe, but the rest of the room was a mixture of happy yet taken off guard. It was generally agreed we were not ready for friends to have engagement parties. Naturally the conversation had turned to marriage. Someone told the story of a Yale junior married last summer. From a well-known wealthy British family, the daughter married a middle class guy. In a Jane Austen novel, speculations of motives arose among our circle. Then back to Zoe and Gabe, some joke about divorce, a discussion of the optimal age to be married. Late twenties consensus. Then back to motives for marriage. Holding a scotch, I nodded as Carolynn commented on the conversation, "I feel old." "I feel young," I said changing my mind. Throughout, even in the chatting and carousing, the common conflict was between this symbol of our friends acting like adults and the perception of our youth. The party was an afternoon attempt to reconcile happiness for them with the awareness their choice was one foreign from anything I'd imagine for or want from future few years.