The Way Life Should Be, page 16
“She was labeling them,” Matt says, his head resting on the back of the seat and the sun on his face, a satisfied smile. “It was normal for her.”
“Where is her family?” Abbie asks.
“Apparently they’ve given up,” Thomas replies.
“How sad,” Abbie says as she reaches a hand out to Thomas. Surprised by this moment of tenderness from her, he clutches her hand and says, “When you were a little girl, you never slept through the night, so we put a sleeping bag on the floor next to our bed, because your squirming little insect body in our bed kept us awake.” He laughs. “But that wasn’t enough for you. I’d have to hang my arm down to hold your hand.”
Matt glances sideways at Thomas with an upside-down smile and says, “What a good daddy-o.”
“What a needy little bitch,” Bex says, and then cackles. Abbie smacks her on the shoulder.
Brian stands up and slathers his pale body and scalp in sunblock, so that he appears as if he has been doused in white paint. He starts walking toward the ocean, not stopping when he hits the frigid water, until he is shoulder deep. They marvel over his ability to withstand the cold New England sea for over an hour. They watch children playing in the tidal pools and families setting up for the day, and then, one by one, they close their eyes, letting the wind, the sun, and the sound of the waves lull them. When Brian returns, his body red not from the sun but from the freezing water, he asks, “What’s going on with the crowd over there?”
Abbie opens her eyes and slowly inches up in her chair. There is a group of people gathered near the edge of the water. Many of them are younger—girls in bikinis, a few boys, and a tall boy whom Abbie recognizes immediately.
“Jacques!” she shouts.
The eyes of Bex, Matt, and Thomas pop open, they sit up in their chairs, and Thomas digs at his ear with an index finger, as if his eardrum has burst.
Jacques looks over his shoulder, searching for the source of his name. Abbie stands up and waves. He waves at Abbie, smiles, and motions for her to join them. When Thomas asks who he is, she says, “The most fabulous boy I work with. Let’s go see what they’re looking at.”
Thomas stands up and looks at Matt, who has opened the cooler and is eating a tuna-fish sandwich. He takes a sip from the Dunkies cup and says, “You do some reconnaissance and report back.”
Bex puts a hand up to her forehead, shielding her eyes, makes a face, and says, “Yeah, there’s way too much testosterone over there for me.”
Thomas hesitates and thinks about asking Matt if he can have a sip of his drink. He can’t decide if he needs or wants to know, but he knows, and the anger rises up. He pushes it back down and joins Abbie. Abbie and Jacques hug, and when they part, Jacques looks at Thomas. “Abbie’s dad,” Thomas says, holding out his hand.
Jacques smiles, his eyes glancing down briefly, and takes Thomas’s hand.
“Abbie didn’t mention she had such a handsome daddy.”
Thomas laughs and says, “Probably because she doesn’t have one,” and then quickly adds, “I mean the handsome part.”
“No, no,” Jacques says, holding up a finger, “that wasn’t a question,” doing his best Meryl Streep–Anna Wintour impression. Abbie shoots Jacques a look, attempting, like Betty, to label the feeling that has hit her like a rock. Is it jealousy?
She turns to look through the group of bodies and says, louder than she intended, “It’s Conor!” A tall, slim girl in front of her wearing a white bikini, about her age, looks over her shoulder at Abbie, her face filled with annoyance. Conor glances over.
Jacques notices Thomas’s puzzled expression and says, “He’s TikTok famous. The kiss-or-slap guy?” Still seeing the blank expression, he adds, “Snapchat? No? Like Instagram, you know, like reels, but not cheugy?”
Thomas nods his head slowly and asks Jacques, “Reels of what?”
But before Jacques can answer him, he feels someone take his hand and looks up. Conor is pulling him and Abbie into the middle of the circle. He holds a microphone in his hand, and another lifeguard, wearing a cowboy hat, is holding up a phone, recording them.
Conor says, “We’ve got us a good-looking daddy-and-daughter duo.”
There is applause from the group. Abbie recognizes the other lifeguard, Scott, the one she met at the Ford’s take-out window. She looks to see if Emma is in the crowd. Thomas watches Abbie, who appears to be relishing the limelight. It is a strange thing, to wear one, maybe two articles of clothing and carry on as if, in the words of Abbie, it was the most normal thing in the world. If they were back in the cottage wearing only their underwear, they would quickly duck behind a door to put on more clothes. Thomas has asked Matt to add another rule to the Cottage Rules: shirts are required. When Matt asked him why, Thomas replied, “It just feels too much like a bad porno, explaining to the neighbors that Conor is my ‘nephew’”—he used air quotes—“coming and going half-naked.”
“But he is your ‘nephew,’” Matt replied, using air quotes.
“By marriage.”
“And you are my husband by marriage.”
“I think you’re missing the point.”
“I have been missing your point,” Matt said, glancing down.
A panic alarm installed in their bedroom, with four, sometimes five additional people in 650 square feet, was not conducive to an active and freewheeling sex life. Matt had said that if you put a jelly bean in a jar every time you had sex in the first year of marriage and then took one out for each time in the following years, the jar would never be emptied. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? Not only were there the additional ears and eyes but work too had entered Thomas’s bedroom. It was right there on his nightstand. Yes, the commute was better than it had ever been, at approximately twelve inches, but how did you wind down from a stressful day by taking one step? He knew how Matt dealt with the stress, which caused Thomas to feel even more stress. Why couldn’t he just ask Matt why he was drinking so much? It had something to do with the pity he felt for him when he first saw him cry. He didn’t want Matt to feel shame, and so Thomas shoulders Matt’s secret.
Conor positions Abbie and Thomas on either side of him, holding the microphone up while looking at the smartphone Scott is holding, and asks the crowd, “Daddy or daughter?”
The crowd shouts a mixture of both daddy and daughter. Thomas looks at Abbie for clarification, but she is pulling her hair to one side, competing with the wind, and positioning her body. He has watched her do this multiple times for pictures. How did she learn how to do this? Looking at Scott and then Conor, he instinctively sucks in his stomach.
“Both?” Conor says, looking around the crowd. There is loud applause, a few yelps and whistles. Conor glances back and forth between Abbie and Thomas with a devious grin and asks, “Kiss or slap?”
Thomas looks at Jacques, who is laughing, then notices, standing next to him, Betty, wearing her dark sunglasses with a blank expression and a fanny pack around her waist. The image of her pale, exposed body screaming beneath the moonlight flashes in his mind. He experiences a feeling of déjà vu, and then another, and another. He feels as if a veil has been placed between him and the rest of the world, as if he is watching this scene play out in a dream, one that he has had before but cannot fully remember. He feels tiny next to Conor, who suddenly appears much larger, taller, like a young—Lance. Shit. Was that why his beauty terrified him? The day in Boston flashes in his mind—Nancy with her sad face, pushing the debris down the sewer. It is the awareness of feeling detached from his surroundings that makes Thomas panic. Is this what it feels like to lose your mind? Is he going insane?
The crowd is shouting.
“I’m sorry, what?” Thomas says.
“Kiss or slap?” Conor asks again.
He looks back at Jacques. Betty is no longer standing next to him, and he searches the crowd. Was she ever there? Jacques shouts, “Kiss!”
“Kiss?” Thomas asks.
Conor rubs his hands together and says, “Here we go!”
He places a hand on Thomas’s cheek to turn his face toward him and then points to his own cheek. Thomas is uncertain what to do, so Conor moves his cheek closer to his face. “Kiss him!” the crowd shouts. Conor waits. He then shrugs his shoulders and plants his lips on Thomas. He pulls back and says, “Woo daddy!” There is applause. Conor turns to Abbie, who leans in to kiss his cheek but then draws back and slaps him, perhaps harder than intended.
“Double whammy!” Conor says, rubbing his cheeks with his hands.
Abbie walks through the crowd, and Thomas follows, still feeling as if he is watching the scene from a distance and sensing that the slap Abbie delivered to Conor was meant for him. When they reach Brian, Bex, and Matt, Abbie says, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Bex is the first to sense it, the wind shifting directions, blowing the cold air back from the ocean, as if the air-conditioning has been turned on full force. She stands up and says, “I’ll go with you.” As she bends down to get the cover-up she has removed, Thomas notices the safety pin Bex has fastened cinching the waist of her bikini and the outline of her ribs pressing against her skin. He glances quickly at Matt to see if he has noticed, but he is digging through his beach bag, searching for the ringing smartphone. When he turns back to Abbie and Bex, they are already walking toward the steps.
“I’m on my way,” Matt says into the phone.
Thomas looks at him with a questioning expression.
“Pops fell again,” he says, sighing heavily. It has happened several times, and so far there have been no disastrous injuries. They have called several organizations for home health care, but there is a dearth of workers. Sorry, honey, one receptionist said, most people end up receiving care from their family, until they become incontinent. Matt told her they were already there, and she suggested a nursing home, but Annie would not hear of it. We’ll call you if we get someone.
“I’ll go with you,” Thomas says, bending down to pack up his things. “I want to talk to you about something. Did you notice Bex—”
“Stay,” he says, holding up his hand as if he is speaking to Zelda. “Wait for Bex and Abbie.”
Brian takes out his earbuds and looks at them. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Pops,” Thomas says.
But Brian is already pulling on his shirt and flip-flops. “Say, I’ll give you a hand there, Dad.”
“Are you sure, buddy?”
They leave Thomas. He stands, watching Bex and Abbie walk up the steps with Matt and Brian trailing them. He feels as if he has watched this same scene before. He glances over toward the dissipating crowd. There is a strange feeling hanging over him that he cannot shake, as if the membrane between what is real and what is not has dissolved. He pulls out his phone and presses a number for his friend Sam, in the city. He’ll know how to talk him down, always has.
On the third ring, Sam picks up and says, “Hey, buddy, I thought you died.”
“No, just been in Maine.”
“Same thing. What’s up?”
“Something doesn’t feel right.”
He can hear muffled voices, and then Sam says, “Uh, just a second. Stay there, OK?”
Thomas sits down on his chair and wraps the towel around his shoulders, suddenly feeling chilled.
“OK, buddy, tell me what’s going on.”
“Am I interrupting something—were you with someone?”
“A regular,” Sam replies. “The dude is like a puppy. He needs too much attention. What’s up?”
“Have you ever felt like everything was happening at once, like every moment of your life was taking place at the exact same time?”
“Uh, can’t say that I have. Dude, have you been smoking?”
“No, I—I just feel like I might be going insane.”
Sam considers joking that he is not going insane, he is already there, that moving out of the city to a small town in Maine with all those kids was the beginning of his madness. But he can sense that is not what his friend needs right now.
“Where are you?”
“At the beach.”
“OK, take a deep breath, tell me what you see.”
“I see the ocean.”
“What does it look like?”
Thomas begins to describe the sea, the blue-green colors and the waves with the crests of white and then the fizzy sound as the bubbles spread over the sand. He looks overhead at the sky, so blue and infinite that he feels like he might fall into it. Sam then says that wasn’t what he wanted him to describe and asks if there are any hot dudes on the beach. He wants complete details. Thomas looks around and sees Conor and his friend Scott walking up the steps. He hesitates and says, “Um, there aren’t any.”
“Liar!” Sam shouts, and he hears Thomas laugh.
It is the first time they have spoken since Matt and Thomas left the city. They’ve exchanged texts, but it’s good to hear Sam’s voice. When Sam asks him what’s new, Thomas considers the answers, but there are too many. He notices the cup that Matt has left, picks it up, takes a whiff and then a sip. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“I think things are just kind of out of control. Matt’s parents aren’t doing too well, and, you know, Abbie is here.”
“You’re a good father,” Sam replies.
Why is that everyone’s response? Nobody really knows what type of father he was or the shit that he put his kid through. She won’t even call him Dad without being forced. He notices Bex walking toward him. “Can we do one of our nights in the city soon?”
“Sure, buddy,” Sam says, and then adds, “Bring some of that homegrown Maine shit.”
Thomas laughs and asks him if he would expect anything less.
“Where are Brian and Dad?” Bex asks.
“Pops fell,” Thomas says. “Again.”
Bex sighs and looks at Thomas. He knows what she is thinking: that this cannot continue indefinitely. They have had conversations. Matt used the old standby: This is what we do. During the day, he brings his laptop to Grammy and Pops’s cottage, working from their kitchen table, making calls while breathing in the residual of Grammy’s cigarette smoke. It is unsafe not only for Matt but also for Pops—there’s the falling, the hygiene issues. Matt is bathing Pops now. Though, in a way, it is endearing. Matt playfully moving the showerhead around while Pops attempts to catch the stream. When he washes Pops’s “undercarriage,” as Matt calls it, Pops laughs and says, “That tickles.” At night, Thomas watches through the webcam as Matt pulls up the blanket, bends down, and says, “Goodnight, handsome,” kissing Pops’s forehead, and the aching beauty of it makes him crumble. Matt is a good father, the best. So what if he drinks too much?
Bex looks down at the cup in Thomas’s hand and then asks, “Is that Dad’s cup?”
Thomas nods his head.
“It’s just water. Where is Abbie? Is she OK?”
“I care for her dearly, but that girl has some issues,” Bex replies. “She’s with Conor and a group of their friends. I think Abbie might have a crush on Conor.”
“But he’s her cousin,” Thomas says.
Bex twirls a strand of hair, puts on a blank expression, and says, “But, like, he’s my first cousin. Mean Girls? No? Anyway, I’m not entirely sure what Conor is into, other than dat sweet ass,” Bex says, smacking Thomas on his behind and smiling. “Though he could just be queerbaiting.”
“Queerbaiting?”
“How do you get a bigger audience? You hint at being queer, but never deliver. But all you daddies and young gay boys are hooked. I think that’s why Abbie got so salty.”
Thomas hangs his head down and says, “I thought we were making progress. She can’t forgive me for being gay.”
Bex looks at Thomas, perplexed. Abbie couldn’t care less if her father is gay. Is he not aware of this? She considers how much to share with him without betraying Abbie’s trust.
“She doesn’t hate you for being gay.” Bex looks at his forehead and then blinks. “She hates you for leaving her.”
At that moment, Thomas suddenly feels what he desires to shield Matt from—shame. He’s been running from it his entire life, hasn’t he? He thought he left it behind in the South, along with the memory of Lance, and religion. But he also left Abbie behind too. The thing is, he never really left the shame behind. Just hid it, packed it up with his baggage, and, like Matt with his alcohol, he’s been sipping secretly from that cup of shame his entire life, sometimes taking gulps that overwhelm him.
Thomas looks up at Bex with an expression she cannot decipher. Is it shock, sadness, anger? His lip begins to quiver, and it is too much for her to handle. All this pain, children having to care for parents, having to care for brothers on the spectrum and half brothers and stepsisters who have been left behind. She reaches out to hug him, and when Thomas wraps his arms around her, he feels her ribs and his body deflates. He pulls back and says, “Bex, what about you? Are you OK?”
She sighs and looks out at the ocean as a breeze tousles her hair. She combs it with her fingers, and when she looks down, she notices a handful of hair, which she quickly closes. “I’m just so tired of rescuing everyone else.” She shakes her hand and watches the wind take the hair away, and though she thinks it, she does not say it: I need someone to rescue me.
THE COTTAGE RULES
Appliances—please do not molest the appliances! Hands go on handles, no reason to put hands anywhere else. Tongues and other body parts should never come into contact with appliances.
CHAPTER 16
Paradise
“Dude, I am so stoned.” Behind his glasses, Thomas can see that Sam’s eyes are watery and bloodshot. He laughs. Sam is a lightweight. Thomas feels nothing yet.
He sits on a barstool at a white granite kitchen counter in Sam’s fashionable south-end Boston condo smoking weed, that homegrown Maine shit. Ten years after they first met in group therapy, Thomas and Sam are still the best of friends. Still offering each other care and reclaiming splinters of time from the wreckage of their derelict youth.
