Settling In, part 23

Clarice had mentioned that she was the hostess for the next Newcomers Club coffee, which was on a Wednesday, so it conflicted with Everett Rice’s Spanish art history class. “I’ll try to come after class,” I said. “I don’t know if you’ll still be going that late, though.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Come anytime.”

So I stopped at Marks & Spencer before the class and picked up a dozen pre-packaged sandwiches in the grocery department, figuring anyone who was still at Clarice’s by 12:30 would be happy for a little lunch.

There were just four or five women at Clarice’s beautiful house when I arrived, and they were clearing away the remaining cups and plates. “Come on in and join us,” Clarice said, smiling.

I gave her the sandwiches. “I thought you guys might like something to eat,” I said.

“That’s perfect!” Clarice said with a smile. “I’m just ready for some real food—not those tea cakes.”

I’d met a couple of the other women before at Newcomers events, though I didn’t know them well. One was Vicki, an American whose husband worked for the U.S. Embassy. She was from Tennessee, warm and friendly, with a daughter in Lisa’s class. Another was Sylvie, a Swiss woman married to a Turk. She had lived in Istanbul for many years and missed it terribly.

With them were two sisters, Americans, both married to Spaniards, who had lived in Spain for many years. One was tall and blond, the other average height with dark hair; I would never have guessed they were sisters. They sent their kids to a German school but worked hard to make sure the children learned good English as well. “Do you have any children’s books I could borrow?” asked the blond sister. “I’m always looking for reading material in English for my kids.”

I promised to look among Julie’s and Lisa’s books for something to lend.

We brought dirty dishes into Clarice’s kitchen, which consisted of a breakfast room, a separate food preparation area, and then a laundry, all white-tiled and sparkling. As we walked back and forth to the living room and dining room to pick up more used china, I saw in the daylight how lovely the house was—a sort of high-ceilinged hacienda with sisal mats on the floor and lovingly collected furniture and tchotchkes everywhere. And the yard visible through the large windows was spectacular—beautifully landscaped, with a large lawn sloping downhill to a sparkling swimming pool.

We finished the clearing up and turned to the sandwiches, perching on the counters in Clarice’s kitchen. As we ate and talked, the conversation slowly turned from trivia to spiritual matters.

“I don’t know what I believe,” Vicki was saying. “I was brought up a Bible-thumping Baptist, but that didn’t really work for me. But I think there’s something out there. I just don’t know what.”

“I was raised a Catholic, which really messed me up,” Clarice said with a laugh. “As I got older, I became interested in other kinds of spirituality. When I was in Hong Kong I studied a lot of Asian disciplines—tai chi, feng shui, Chinese medicine. I learned reiki, and I studied Indian medicine and the chakras.”

“I don’t know anything about those things,” I said. “I was an atheist my whole life until recently. I found out that I’d better form some kind of spiritual connection in my life, and I’m working on it, but I haven’t gotten very far.”

We had reached an intense level of intimacy in no time, and it felt great to me. Nobody seemed to need to go anywhere; time stood still for a while as we spoke about our most personal feelings. It was wonderful to be able to talk and talk about these questions, and at the end of several hours I felt close to everyone in that kitchen.

I wasted no time inviting the Scarritts to dinner. As a parent I had always looked for other families that would be a perfect match—with the same number of kids of the same age and sex as mine, so everyone had a chance of getting along and no one would be left out—and I had only found it once. But that one family had moved out of Stamford after only two years, so I had had little chance to enjoy the good fit. I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to recreate that kind of a setup.

I called Clarice and asked her to bring the family over on a Sunday night, and she happily agreed. Everyone got along from the start. Julie and Natalie were already good friends, and Lisa and Gaby knew each other fairly well, although Gaby was in a different second grade class. Natalie was a porcelain doll of a girl, with a beautiful face and long brown hair. Gaby was a little sprite with Clarice’s dark coloring and stunning thick, black hair.

The dinner conversation was easy and lively. John told us a story about the family’s move from Brazil to Hong Kong. “The kids were brought up speaking Portuguese,” he explained.

“John’s Portuguese is excellent,” Clarice interjected.

“We have videos of them speaking fluently,” he continued. “But when we moved to Hong Kong, the only real alternative for them was a British school, so we had to switch them over to English fast.”

“How old were they?” I asked.

“They were about six and three,” John said. “We started speaking English all the time, at home, everywhere. They learned really quickly—it was a relief. But now the Portuguese is completely gone.”

“You’re kidding!” Mike said.

“No, it’s absolutely gone,” John said sadly. “When we go to visit Clarice’s family, I think they can understand a little bit, but they can’t speak at all. It’s ‘the American cousins are coming to visit.’ They can’t communicate.”

“That’s amazing,” I said.

I told them the story I told to anyone who would stand still for five minutes—the one about my miserable Spanish washer/dryer. I was still struggling and suffering with it.

Clarice looked at John. “Well, we have a washer and dryer that we brought from Hong Kong,” she said. “They’re 220 volts, and they’re GE—really big American machines. They’ve just been sitting out in the garage. When we moved here, we didn’t have a house yet, so we didn’t know if we’d need them or not. But our house already had a washer and dryer, so actually we don’t need them at all.”

My heart leapt. Who would have thought that laundry machines could have caused me such joy? “Would you be willing to sell them?”

John thought for a minute. “Sure. They’re just taking up space.”

“But how will we get them over here?” Mike asked.

“That’s no problem. I have a handyman who belongs to my landlord. He’s always doing something around the house for me. He’ll bring them over in his truck, and I’m sure he can install them for you, too,” Clarice said.

“Oh, my God, I’m so glad I asked you to dinner!” I gushed.