Cristina Cassata could just hear the whispering at the firm. Mrs. Findlay had seen her with Norman on Arch Street, walking hand in hand. She’d given her a reproving look at the time, but hadn’t said anything at the office, despite Mr. Smith’s iron-clad rule, no socializing with the architects.
Well, what of it? She’d done nothing wrong. What she and Norman did on their own time was their own business. They were long past the Victorian age, now more than ten years past the Edwardian age. The times were changing and young people like her had to make their own choices. She knew very well she had a big choice to make, as she sat in the office’s small kitchen, reading “The Great Gatsby” – would she marry Angelo Rosamilia and make my family happy, or do I continue my affair with Norman? Maybe one day Norman would propose to her and she’d be able to get out of South Philadelphia. Angelo meant she’d spend her whole life on those same four square blocks.
Mrs. Findlay stopped by the kitchen door. “Miss Cassata, it’s time to return to our desks. Mr. Smith will want to have a word with you this afternoon, by the way.”
“Yes, Mrs. Findlay.”
She went back to her book, intending to finish the chapter before going back to her desk. And then Norman walked by, stopped, looked at her, looked away, then walked away. How odd, she thought – he’d done just that yesterday. Funny thing, he’d been avoiding her since their Saturday walk on Arch Street. That got Cristina to thinking. Angelo Rosamilia did have a teddy bearish way about him, all those muscles and all that furry hair …
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