ŷ������

Have you ever felt as though you deserved something better than what you've got? Ever thought your kids or a good friend deserved better than how they've fared?

Of course you have.

But, really, at the end of the day. . . do we really know or understand what it is we DO deserve? (And who says we deserve anything?)

Enter Ruth, our protagonist here. Our narrator, too.

As a reader, I embraced Ruth quickly. I understood her, felt as though she could easily be a friend of mine in real life.

It was natural for me to wonder if Ruth deserved what she got.

Ruth and her mother were abandoned by Ruth's father, early in her life, and Ruth's beloved mother died right around the time Ruth turned 30. Ruth grew up without siblings, and she was impregnated about five minutes into a rare romantic affair, with a man who had a lot of requirements of her:

He liked me very light about everything, smiling, mild opinions, carefree. But beneath that he wanted me tender in my personality; it was how a woman should be, with intelligent courage, a careful imagination for the difficulties of others, soft laughter, delicate feminine instincts. A sense of duty. If you think of the way a doctor sometimes says with sympathy as he presses against you with his fingers, 'Is it tender here?' Like that. He could overlook a certain sadness as long as it wasn't twee, but anger would have struck him as unsightly.

And, just as Ruth's father abandoned his family, the father of Ruth's child abandons her, almost immediately, and she is left to raise her own daughter without parents, siblings, or a partner.

When did I learn the more you wanted from people, the less they gave?

It is Ruth's friends, all women, who show up for her, and they offer complicated and reciprocal relationships, both with the nuts and bolts of childcare and mutual aid, and with laughter and emotional support, too.

. . . each time you had ought to be a special thing, a special time, you made something out of it. An event to remember. That was life, that was living. . . it was important as you got older to take pleasure seriously.

These friends are the ones who cringe in despair and disbelief as they witness Ruth's only child, Eleanor, turn away from her mother and her privileged existence to a life of erratic behavior, drug abuse, and complete indifference toward her family.

And Eleanor, like her father and grandfather before her, abandons her mother and newly born daughter.

Ruth. . . sob. . . my sweet friend Ruth. I am so sorry, my friend. Good God, woman, I am so grateful you had shelter, you had friends, and you had clear-headed and loving Lily, but still, lady, you deserved so much more than you got.

Didn't you, dear?