Author: Kristan Higgins

“That’s beautiful, Grampy,” Bronte said.

“So now you got an attitude, huh? I just started liking you,” Noah said.

“I’ll get you another beer, Dad,” my own father offered.

“Good, son. ’Bout time you did somethin’ useful with your life,” Noah returned. “Speakin’ of useless, Freddie, when the hell are you goin’ to graduate from that fancy-ass college of yours and stop bleedin’ your parents of their life savings?”

“About five more years, Noah,” Freddie said cheerfully. “I just switched my major to parapsychology. I’m going to be a ghost hunter. What do you think?” Noah, not realizing that Fred was jerking his chain, sputtered on his fresh beer. Mom, though she usually defended Fred, didn’t comment, as she was willing my father to turn into a pillar of salt or something.

“I love family dinners,” Hester grumbled.

“Oh, me, too,” I said.

“Hey, will you chaperone some Brownie troop field trip next week?” she asked. “I have a seminar in Boston.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “When is it?”

“After school on Thursday,” Hester answered. “Josephine really didn’t want to miss it.”

“Of course,” I said. “Where are we going? Cabot’s?” I hoped so. The creamery had a free cheese bar.

“Uh…Josephine, where are the Brownies going next week, honey?” Hester asked. Josephine, who was rubbing Bowie’s tummy and sending clots of fur onto the just-vacuumed floor, jumped up.

“It’s a farm, I think,” she said, leaping up to clutch my waist and beg. “Can you come, Auntie? Can you? Please?” Today she was dressed in a black-sequined unitard and a purple skirt with pink Crocs.

“I sure can,” I said. I had oodles of vacation time socked away, and Mark, who had no nieces or nephews, had always been great about letting me do things with Bronte and Josephine. At the thought of Mark, my heart twisted. He’d kissed Muriel when he was leaving the office today. On the cheek. “See you later, babe,” he’d said. Not that I was eavesdropping. And Muriel’s face had flushed even brighter than her usual consumptive look.

Babe. Mark had never called me babe. Honey, yes. But he called Karen honey, too, and she was basically a barracuda with legs. Once, he called me sweetpea, something so old-fashioned I’d melted (you’re not surprised, are you?). Dad used to call Mom Bluebird, because, he said, she made him so happy. At this moment, she was fingering her knife and looking at him with great speculation in her eyes.

I herded my family around the dining room table, got drinks, fetched a clean fork for Josephine, who’d dropped hers, moved the centerpiece of zinnias and cosmos, which I’d picked that very evening, wiped up a spill and finally sat down. “This is nice,” I said. No one answered, as they were all halfway done already. Seven minutes later, it was official. Dinner, which consisted of my famous garlic-roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with dill, homemade gravy, braised carrots and green beans almondine, all of which took me two hours of prep time, was consumed in just under thirteen minutes. Setting the table had taken more time.

“That was wonderful, Poodle,” my father said, twinkling at me.

“I’ve got to get back to the shop,” Noah grumbled, pushing his chair back and hopping out of the dining room.

“Where’s your leg?” I asked. He didn’t answer.

“It’s under the table,” Josephine said, peeking.

“So gross,” Bronte grunted, pushing her potatoes around her plate.

“Maybe we can play Monopoly,” Dad suggested hopefully, beaming at my mother, who was staring at the tablecloth, lost in pleasant fantasies about dismembering her ex-husband. “Eleanor? I seem to remember you loved being the iron. Would you like to be the iron again?”

“Is that your come-on line, Dad? It needs work,” Freddie offered, glancing up from the message he was texting.

“Let’s play Wii!” Josephine chirruped. “Callie, can we play Wii?”

“Who named that thing?” Mom asked, examining her manicure. Frequent exposure to formaldehyde made her fingernails quite strong and lovely. “Whenever I hear it, I imagine children playing with a urine-filled balloon.”

Dad gave a booming laugh. “That’s funny, Ellie! How about that Monopoly? Bronte, sweetheart? Want to play with your old Poppy and Grammy?”

“No,” Bronte mumbled, folding her arms across her nonexistent chest.

“Fred, get off your ass and help Callie clean up,” Hester said, kicking our little brother.

“You help her,” he returned amiably. “Your own ass is bigger, so you’ll probably be more help.”

“I worked all day,” Hester said. “So bite me, you lazy little bastard.”

“You get women pregnant all day long. Who’s to say I don’t do the same?” Freddie returned, raising his eyebrows innocently while Bronte snickered.

Ah, family. Meanwhile, no one was helping me clean up, either. Chugging a little more chardonnay, I then took a cleansing breath and smiled. “It’s all good, it’s all good,” I whispered to myself.

“There’s Callie, slowly going insane while we all watch,” Freddie said. I smiled, grateful that someone was paying attention. “Hey, Cal, you find someone to sleep with yet?” he added.

“There are children in the room, Fred, in addition to yourself and your mental age of six,” Hester said, kicking him again.

“If you insist on marriage,” Mom said thoughtfully, “why don’t you give Louis a try? He’s so talented.”

My brother snorted. “Yes, Callie, the man has a way with a corpse, so—”

“Fred, quiet. Mom, no talk of Louis at the table,” I said. “Besides, Dad asked if you wanted to play Monopoly with him,” I reminded her.

Mom slid her chilly gaze over to Dad. “What do you want, Tobias?” she hissed.

“Is there any dessert?” Bronte asked.

“Yes, yes, get out while you can, both of you,” I answered. “Run. There’s pie and chocolate chip cookies in the pantry. You and Josephine can cut it up, okay? Ice cream’s in the basement freezer.”

Dad frowned, doubtless hoping to use the girls’ presence as a shield. Slightly daunted, he nevertheless forged ahead. “Well, since you asked, I was hoping we might…put the past behind us, Eleanor. Rekindle our relationship.” Mom said nothing. “You’re the only woman I ever loved,” Dad added. His sincerity was somewhat undercut as he glanced at me and winked. Hester gagged on her wine, but he ignored her, as she was cynical and not likely to support his quixotic mission.

Mom gave him an almost fond look, sort of the way a cat looks at a baby chipmunk… Hey, thanks for entertaining me! I’m going to chew off your legs now, okay? “Do go on,” she said.

Dad, who could be run over by a tank and not notice, continued. “Well, Eleanor, we’re not getting any younger. You’ve never been with another man, according to our son, anyway—”

Fred made a strangled sound…unlike Hester and me, he never learned to keep his mouth shut when our parents milked us for information on the other.

“—and we have to start thinking about the rest of our lives. You don’t want to end up alone, do you? We have a lot of good years left.” He sat up straighter. Gave Mom the twinkly-crinkly smile. “What do say, Ellie? Shall we try again?”

Mom smiled. Fred, Hester and I leaned farther away from the imminent explosion. “Well, Tobias,” she said. “You know, I’ll think about it…wait a minute, wait a minute. I don’t have to think about because I’m…what’s the word? Sober. Yes. I’m sober. So the answer would have to be…no.”

“Why not try?” Dad suggested. “If it doesn’t work, well, at least you were open to something new.”

Again with the almost (emphasis on almost) fond smile. “Why on earth would I want to be with you again, Tobias?” she asked.

Dad shot me a nervous look. “Well,” he said, and I had to give him points for courage, “I love you, Eleanor. Despite my reprehensible behavior—” here he inserted his best George Clooney grin…yes, I’m a bad dog, but check out these attractive laugh lines! “—I’ve never stopped. These past two decades, I’ve regretted my actions deeply—” Clearly, Dad had rehearsed this “—and I’ve learned the errors of my ways.”

“I didn’t ask about what’s in it for you, Tobias,” Mom said in that smooth and icy voice that had struck fear into our young hearts. “What’s in it for me?”

Dad paused. “Companionship?” he suggested.

“I’ll get a dog,” she answered.

Dad shifted. “Well, okay, if you want me to be blunt…what about sex?”

“Siblings! Shall we go?” I suggested. “Give Mom and Dad some privacy?”

My brother and sister didn’t move. “This is better than Tool Academy,” Freddie said, taking a pull on his beer. Hester, too, seemed fascinated, though more in the way a medical examiner is fascinated by a particularly gruesome murder.

Mom, uncharacteristically, said nothing, which Dad took as encouragement. “Remember, Eleanor? It never faded, did it? The passion. The urgency.” He raised an eyebrow. “It was the best thing about our marriage.”

“Except for your three beautiful children, of course,” Freddie said.

“That had to mean something,” Dad continued, ignoring his son. “People don’t feel that for each other without it meaning something.”

“Too bad we didn’t have Republicans for parents,” I observed. “You can bet the farm they never talk like this.”

“There are no Republicans in Vermont,” Hester said. “They died out, like the Shakers. Is there any more wine?”

Mom and Dad just stared at each other. Hope, a tiny seedling, sprouted in my heart. Could it be? “He has always loved you, Mom,” I said gently.

Mom smiled. A real smile. “I’ll consider it,” she said.

“What?” Hester said. “What?”

“Holy shit,” Freddie added.

“If,” Mom said.

“If what?” Dad asked.

“If you introduce me to each of the women you slept with while I was gestating our son.”

The blood drained from my father’s face. I pictured the hopeful seedling being crushed by my mother’s sturdy shoe.

“Well, uh…women…there were only, ah…two, Eleanor,” Dad said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, okay, three,” he amended. “And, uh, I’m sure I don’t know what happened to them. I barely remember them. I think they moved. Far away. To, uh, New Zealand, I believe, and uh…France.”

“Actually, I know where they are,” Mom said. “They all live within a hundred miles of here. I’ve kept tabs on them over the years.” She glanced at her children fondly. “I just love Google.”

Hester closed her eyes and shook her head.

“So, if you’re sincere, and it’s true that you’ve always loved me and want to rekindle anything, that’s what you have to do,” Mom said smugly.

Man. She really did enjoy burying people.

WHEN DAD HAD LIMPED away and Hester and the girls had gone home, and Freddie and Noah were hiding out in the workshop sanding a canoe, Mom and I stood side by side, doing the dishes.

“So that was interesting,” I said, rinsing a wineglass. I set it on the dishrack, where Mom picked it up and began polishing it with unsettling vigor.

“It certainly was,” she answered.