She cradled the receiver between her shoulder and cheek, twisting the claddagh ring as she waited for an operator.

“Number, please,” Pearl Fry’s nasal tone came over the line.

Vivian thought the nasal tone made Pearl sound like she was complaining all the time, and that she’d sound less so if she’d sit up straight in her chair at work, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Forgetting the chaos in the switchboard room, Vivian asked Pearl for some privacy when she connected the call. Not that she would’ve known if Pearl continued to listen in anyway. Listening and slouching and whining through her nostrils. Some people had no respect for family affairs. Vivian really wanted a cigarette.

“Hello, Mom?” Vivian said when her mother answered the phone.

“Vera?”

“No, Mom, it’s Vivian.” She rolled her eyes. How could her mother still get the two of them confused?

“Oh, oh,” she stammered. “Vivy.”

Vivian didn’t have a chance to say anything else before the telephone was handed to her father.

“Hiya, Vivy,” he said, cheerful as ever.

“Hi, Pawpy.” Vivian took a deep breath.

“Aw, now, Vivy, love, you don’t have to make a big to-do about it. We saw the paper.”

“I . . .” Vivian felt her voice catch, and she bit her lip. She suddenly felt small. Small and overwhelmed.

“Now, nothing wrong with this, I tell you! A wedding, and I didn’t have to pay for it!”

“Oh, Pawpy.” Vivian laughed through the sob that came out. Spittle sprayed the telephone mouthpiece and Vivian pulled up a corner of her apron to wipe it away.

“There’s nothing so bad that it couldn’t be worse.”

“Uh-hunh.”

“You doing some baking today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Attagirl. Whatever it is, bring some by tomorrow, okay?”

And then, like he always did, he hung up the phone. Patrick McGinty didn’t feel the need to waste time or words on the telephone, and his family had learned not to take the hang-ups personally. Just like that, the first call was over and Vivian felt like crying with relief. Part of her wanted to run over to her parents’ house and curl up next to her dad on the couch like she used to when she was little. She’d felt like that a lot, lately.

Myrtle McGinty always complained that her children never visited, especially Vivian, since she lived just a few blocks away. Vivian winced as she thought of this. That sullen, gloomy attitude of her mother’s was contagious. If you spent too much time with her, you’d soon find yourself filled with worry and dread and a general sense that everything was awful, until you were just as depressed as she was. Not quite what Vivian needed at the moment. She was glad her mother had handed off the phone.

She felt a little lighter after talking to Pawpy, so after giving herself five minutes just to breathe and muster some bravery, she made the next call to Violet. And then I’m done for the day. That’d be enough. Laura Eagan answered at the switchboard this time and Vivian asked for privacy, like she’d done with Pearl, although Laura was quick to pooh-pooh the thought, in her cutesy baby voice.