Forsaking All Others

Selected Shorts

This episode of Selected Shorts explores contrasting visions of marriage through two short stories read by acclaimed actors Molly Bernard and Jane Curtin. Amy Silverberg's

Key takeaways

• Marriage as an evolving institution reflects changing societal values and personal expectations over time.

Main topics

• Modern vs. traditional views of marriage

Notable quotes

Marriage requires a lot of optimism and more than a dash of willful blindness.

I'm celibate, I said. Get thee to a nunnery.

Conclusion

Through these contrasting stories, Selected Shorts illustrates how marriag

Transcript preview

Speaker 1 (0:07) Marriage requires a lot of optimism and more than a dash of willful blindness. Otherwise, how could anyone say, till death do us part? I'm Meg Wolitzer, and this week on Selected Shorts, fiction about what people mean when they say, I do, with actors Molly Bernard and Jane Crick. Stay with us. You're listening to Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction, one short story at a time. Speaker 1 (0:43) Marriage is an institution, sure, but it's always changing. Things that were once taboo become the norm. I mean, not so long ago, divorce was verboten and same-sex marriage was illegal. Now, for very different reasons, both of these things are commonplace, and what a relief. I grew up watching I Love Lucy, and it was brilliant and hilarious, and I loved that show, don't get me wrong. But Lucy was given an allowance by her husband Ricky, and was constantly treated in a kind of infantilizing way. I really worried that this would be my future when I too married a charismatic band leader. Well, I am equally glad that I Love Lucy can still be watched at any hour of the day, and that we understand it as a snapshot of a moment in time. Speaker 1 (1:31) For marriage and its depictions in popular culture and in life have changed greatly over the decades and are still in flux. And naturally, fiction has followed suit. We'll always have classic marriage plots as rendered by novelists such as Jane Austen, but we're much richer for all the writers who have explored ideas of matrimony since then. Everyone from, say, Leo Tolstoy to Celeste Ng. The subject is ripe for storytelling. I mean, how can I neglect to mention that I even wrote a novel called The Wife? And there are just as many ideas about marriage as there are marriages. Today, we explore just two stories about marriage, and each one has a very different idea about it. One of the marriages is the product of a rigorous, long-term commitment. One involves a modern, lax notion of couplehood. Speaker 1 (2:22) One is about a stifling kind of intimacy, the other, anything but. In the first story, a woman loosely separated from her husband learns the limits of a life outside partnership. And in the second, the wife of an aging magician does her best to maintain illusions. Our first story is by writer Amy Silverberg. Her debut novel, First Time, Long Time, was published in 2025, and she has written a lot of very funny short stories, too. These pieces have appeared in the Paris Review and Tricorderly, and you may have heard some of them on Selected Shorts. This story, about mothers and husbands and dogs and used car dealers, is read by Molly Bernard. She is well-remembered for series including Younger and films including the recent Hitman. She's also produced and starred in indie films such as Best Man, Dead Man. Now, Molly Bernard reads Amy Silverberg's story, Have You Met Husband? Speaker 1 (3:32) Have you met husband? The first time I saw Ray was at a car dealership. It wasn't actually the first time, but it was the time that mattered. I'd gone with my mother to help her pick out a new car. My mother is a single woman, which she reminds me of often, flipping her hair back and laughing maniacally. Whenever she does this, when we're out to lunch, for instance, everyone stops speaking and stares at her. She thinks she's getting their attention. No, I tell her, you're stopping them cold. It's not the same thing. You don't understand, she often says. I'm not used to being single. Speaker 1 (4:04) I take this to mean I should be used to it. It was at one of these lunches that I'd agreed to go with her to get a new car. Normally, when she asks something of me, I tell her I'll think about it. I need time to prepare my excuse. This time, I'd had an oyster sliding around in my mouth, threatening to slip behind my tongue. The oysters were her idea, a way of catching me off guard. I accidentally said yes. Outside of the dealership, the sunlight glinted across the roofs of new and used cars. They were parked in color-coded rows. A man I went to high school with was helping us. His name was Ray, and he was bald. Or rather, his head was shaved. I didn't know whether to trust a man with a shaved head. It seemed misleading, pretending the hair there had never existed. It depressed me sometimes to think that this was my dating pool. Speaker 1 (4:51) When I caught my reflection in the glass of the dealership, I saw myself in my button-down cardigan, which was all so strange. The cardigan was brown, shapeless. I looked like a woman in her 30s wearing a cardigan. It wasn't a bad thing. I just had other plans for myself, plans to lead the life of a woman who would never be caught dead in a cardigan. I wanted to be the kind of woman I sometimes noticed from afar, leaving a show or laughing at a restaurant. Ray was flirting with my mom, and then he flirted with me like a ping-pong game, one I wanted to do nothing with. What do you think, she said, regarding me from behind her large sunglasses. A convertible for your mother? She laughed again. She pulled her sunglasses down low on her nose, and she said to Ray in a breathy voice, She's my daughter. Speaker 1 (5:39) And the two of you look like sisters, he said. Beautiful sisters. My mother looks nothing like me. Okay, darker hair, darker eyes. She's quicker to speak, which makes her look different too, as though she's always in motion. I wanted him to know that he shouldn't bother with me. He should concentrate on her. I'm celibate, I said. Get thee to a nunnery. I laughed, but it was a different laugh than hers. A dull, deadpan sound meant to shut things down. close the door on that conversation. Ray looked confused. My mom said, she's joking with the nunnery stuff. Shakespeare, I said, and my mother shook her head at me. A small silence followed, refreshing, deep enough to splash in for a second. Anyway, she said, turning away from me and toward Ray, what about an SUV? Like the women in those rap videos? Speaker 1 (6:35) She made a small, tight shimmy. I blushed despite myself. Any sexualized gesture of hers, and I was still 14. Inside the dealership, a woman was watering the plants. Her hair was piled tall on top of her head, and she wore a collared shirt and held an official-looking black watering can. I watched her through the window, passing each plant and dipping her can, slow and methodical. She paid no attention to the red Lamborghini which the plants flanked. The leaves were a glossy green. I wondered if this were her only job. A plant caretaker. Huh. It didn't sound so bad to me. I almost asked Ray about it, but when I turned back toward him, he was opening the door of a used bug-looking car, those Beetles with the rounded convertible tops. He gestured for my mother to sit down. How do I look? She said. The door was open and one leg was in the car and the other leg was out. Speaker 1 (7:32) Ridiculous, I said. She waved me away. Ray wrote furiously on his clipboard. Great deals on these, he said. Fall was coming. You could taste the tang of it under the air, I said. Soon it'll be too cold for a convertible. She tossed her lemon-colored scarf around her neck as though the air were whipping it back. She placed both hands on the wheel, arms locked in racing position, pretending to drive. Stop, I said. Mom, mom, stop. I shivered a little. I hated to see summer end. Even the fall was too cold for me. I could never get warm. I'm cold-blooded, I guess. Reptilian. Honey, my mom said, reaching out of the car to hand me her cell phone. Take a picture of me in my new car. Mom, I said, come on, get out. She held the phone out to me steadfast. Joy, I said, using her name. She ignored me. Ray kept watching, his eyes still ricocheting between the two of us. Speaker 1 (8:25) Fine. I took the photo. Sold, she said. In Ray's office, my mother signed the paperwork, and Ray opened a bottle of sparkling cider to celebrate the purchase. Then he asked us both out to dinner. My uncle would be perfect for you, Joy. He was smiling at my mom, but I could feel the nagging interest in the corner of his eye, like a tiny, pale hand reaching for me. I went back to staring at the faded diploma framed in plain, dark wood on his wall. I wasn't wearing my glasses, so I couldn't read it. How could we resist a date, she said. I rolled my eyes, exaggerating, so she could see the whites, a thing she'd always hated. Frailty, thy name is woman. Ray laughed, but it was more like a shudder. Shakespeare, I said. He knows, Joy said, shaking her head. Everybody knows. It's not that hard. Speaker 1 (9:14) That Friday, my mother came to my apartment to prepare for our double date. After the trip to the dealership, I'd bought plants to set up around my entryway. It was just as I'd expected. The sight of them and the fresh, damp smell cheered me up. They're harder than you'd think, plants. Harder than fish to take care of. I thought maybe I'd ask Ray about the plant lady at the dealership, ask her how she got those leaves so glossy. I'd cleaned up the place for my mother's arrival. Speaker 1 (9:40) An hour ago, my apartment had been strewn with discarded underwear from the past week, ripped open bills and magazines. Now, the place looked immaculate. Sometimes, I stood at my refrigerator in various states of undress and tried different things out of cartons with the spoon, prodding the leftover Chinese noodles, my pulse quickening as though this wasn't my food to begin with. I'd look over my shoulder like someone was about to catch me. Then I'd feel stupid, knowing there was nobody there but me. It was something I started doing right after my husband left. And well, lately I started doing it again for the past month, I'd say. Speaker 1 (10:18) I dressed for the date before my mom arrived so she couldn't make any suggestions about my outfit, couldn't have a say in my choices. I wore a skirt and I traded the cardigan for an average, indiscriminate-looking blazer. She, on the other hand, brought an overnight bag with toiletries, makeup, and a few costume changes. Mom, I said, watching her in my bedroom mirror as she twirled. You look fine. Let's not make this into something more than it is. She turned and looked at me pointedly. And you, my dear. Shouldn't make it into less. Speaker 1 (10:50) We were going to a restaurant called Alfred's, the type of place that used fancy cloth napkins but had silverware with permanent smudges on them. It cost too much for what it was, is what I'm saying. I'd insisted we'd meet them there, my mother's only concession to me. She drove us in her new convertible. On the way, she said to the rearview mirror, this will be something good. She is a woman who believes in positive affirmations and speaking what you want. Speaker 1 (11:18) So when we arrived, the men were already sitting at the table. I saw them immediately. She and I both stood there at the doorway watching them. One of those rare moments, spying on somebody's perceived privacy. Of course, there were other people around, but I thought just standing there for a moment, observing them, could reveal something about how the date would go. Let's say Ray had his feet up on the table, lounging, or he was gnawing at his fingernails. Instead, Ray and the uncle were just talking quietly, laughing occasionally. other times looking serious. They had similar gestures, kind of small, incremental ways of moving. My mom whispered in my ear as we approached the table, After dinner, we're going to go dancing. She timed this so that she finished the statement just as Ray pulled out my chair. He smelled of antibacterial soap and mild, musky cologne. Speaker 1 (12:08) Beautiful, he said affably, both of you. He and the uncle, Frank, were dressed similarly, in brown blazers with a houndstooth print, a fabric that made me picture old-fashioned dens, the wood freshly polished, filled with books. Uncle Frank looked to be about my mother's age. It was hard to tell he was in that gray area of older men, the time when their aging seems to slow down while women's seems to speed up. In the restaurant, there was the persistent buzzing noise of a Friday night out, a kind of unfolding, and the dining room was dimly lit, flattering all of us. Ray looked better than I'd remembered him being at the car dealership. Not great. Speaker 1 (12:48) But better. His shaved head looked sort of distinguished, but he had chapped lips that preoccupied him. He kept squeezing them together. We ordered Caesar salads, all four of us, just to make it easier on the waitress. She had a huffy, impatient way of coming and going, reminding all of us that she has many places she would rather be. I jostled the ice in my water, swallowed a sip. I did this a few times. Our salad forks scraping across our plates. Speaker 1 (13:16) The four of us made polite conversation about my mother's new car and the local high school Ray and I had both attended. I hated talking about that sort of thing. How close I'd stayed to home, how few places I'd been to, or how little I'd done. I sensed that Ray felt the same. He wanted to talk about my mother's car, how she liked it. But he didn't want to talk about his actual job, the selling aspect, and not about how he'd ended up doing it. I didn't blame him. The waitress came to ask what we'd like