The Way Life Should Be, page 23
On this thin spit of sand and sea at marker three, where strips of white clouds race across the sky, sailboats lean and drift across the blue, and the sand is soft and warm, Matt and Thomas reach out their hands and cling to one another, and they are not seen as others. In this perfect moment, when the sun kisses their skin and the wind plays with their hair, they are two men in love, without a world of needs, without aging parents and adult children struggling to make sense of their lives and futures, without wounds that need healing and lingering painful memories.
“What a perfect day,” Thomas says, staring into the horizon.
“And you are a perfect gay,” Matt adds, looking at Thomas and smiling.
Just a year ago, they were sitting on this same beach looking forward to the summer of their lives: sunny days on the coast, zipping along Atlantic Avenue, meeting friends for drinks at sunset. After a day at the beach, they would walk to Bobby’s Aqua Lounge, a tiny ten-foot-by-ten-foot deck that cantilevers over the Ogunquit River, shoulder to shoulder with a group of summer revelers beneath the golden sun, sparkling water below, Rose Kennedys in hand. Joy was a summer day on the coast of southern Maine.
Matt turns to Thomas, points his finger at him, and says, “What are you thinking about, right now?”
Thomas starts laughing and says, “Abbie and Bex.”
Matt wags his finger back and forth.
“I know, I know we’re not supposed to talk about the kids, but when Abbie left her bra in the sunroom and Bex put her whole head into it—” He starts laughing and cannot stop. The image will not leave him.
Matt shakes his head and says, “How did her bra end up in the sunroom?”
“You know Abbie. She leaves a little bit of herself everywhere she goes.”
“Yeah, unlike Brian, who owns three items but carries them all in a brown paper bag.”
They laugh again. Is this what they have become? They’re like new parents who go on a date months after having a baby and find that the only conversation left is about their child. Thomas wants to change the subject, but as he flips through them in his mind, none of them suit. Should they discuss Pops and their struggling ability to care for him at home? This is not the time to talk to Matt about his drinking. Conor and Abbie seem to be developing a dangerous liaison, Bex still harbors so much rage, and DJ and Betty are waging a war. If she drives her car around the development again at midnight, honking the horn and blaring country music, DJ has threatened to slash her tires.
They fall into silence, watching the others around them. There is a collection of young gay guys standing up, talking, and holding what can only be described as goblets. They are ornate colored crystal, and every now and then they are stealthily refilled. One of the men, short, tan, with a shaved head and zero percent body fat, who probably weighs less than Bex, holds a towel around his waist and steps out of his Speedo swimsuit. He then pulls another one up, and when he unwraps the towel, it is a reveal. He has donned a different Speedo swimsuit, the third one they have seen on him today. Another has a towel wrapped around his head like a snood and a second wrapped around his body, below his arms, like a dress; he holds a tiny American flag in his hand and marches back and forth. He is Little Edie from Grey Gardens. He says to the others, “So, I think this is the best costume for the day, you understand. You can always take off the skirt and wear it as a cape.”
“What is it about Grey Gardens that gay men find so fascinating?” Matt asks.
“Give it to me,” Thomas says, holding out his hand, and when Matt looks at him like he is about to call him Grammy, he adds, “Give me your gay card. It’s been revoked. It is the gay Greek tragedy! Little Edie, hair falling out, living with her mother in a slowly decaying mansion in the Hamptons?”
Matt’s expression is still blank.
“For a brief glittering moment, little Edie lived her life in New York, singing, dancing, loving life, and then her mother sinks her claws into her and pulls her back home. She becomes a wounded bird with clipped wings, caring for a bed-bound mother, looking through the bars of a rusting cage at a life gone by.”
Thomas realizes that, without intending to, he is talking about one of the subjects they have said was taboo for today. “We’re not wounded birds,” Thomas says, but there is little conviction.
They lay their heads back on their chairs, closing their eyes and listening to the laughter of men, the sound of the waves, and children screaming with joy farther down the beach. A shadow flickers on their eyelids. Thomas opens his eyes and watches a group of tan young men with flawless skin, dark hair, and toned bodies set up their chairs. He glances down at his belly, curls his bicep, and thinks, Tomorrow, it’s right back to the gym. One of the young men glances over at Matt and Thomas. He taps another on the shoulder and whispers in his ear. His friend turns to look, smiles, and nods. Thomas watches this exchange and turns his head, looking over his shoulder, but there is no one sitting behind them. When he looks back, the two young men are walking toward them. Thomas sits up and sucks in his stomach. Matt sits up and looks at the two Brazilian fitness models and then back at Thomas.
“Hello, daddy,” the one with the light-blue swim briefs and the angelic face framed by soft black curls says.
When you first came in, I couldn’t stop watching you.
Annie looks at Bex, at Abbie, and then back up. “Danny,” she says, her voice cracking. She takes a sip of water and then takes a deep breath. Danny looks across the table at Bex and Abbie. Abbie sits up and brushes a hand through her hair. Bex looks at Annie, who seems to be flustered by this stranger. Annie says, “These are my nieces.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, and smiles, brushing the hair back from his forehead. Abbie sits up, smiles, and pushes her sunglasses up. Annie’s eyes are darting back and forth as she attempts to work out an exit strategy. She looks down at her phone and says, “Oh, I need to get this.” She holds the phone up to her ear and says, “Hello? Yes, yes.” She places a hand over the phone and says, “I need to get this. I’ll just be a second.” She puts the phone back to her ear and walks to the exit. When she has rounded the front of the restaurant, out of view, she peeks back. He is still standing at the table; Abbie is smiling and talking to him. She sends a text: Meet me in the front of the restaurant.
Thomas squints up at the two young men. His face is at crotch level. He clears his throat and says, “Come again?” He laughs a bit too loud, glances at Matt, and says, “No pun intended.” Matt shakes his head a little.
“Aren’t you the TikTok daddy?”
Thomas visibly exhales and stands up. Perhaps Angel does not recognize or remember him from Paradise.
“Guilty as charged. Do you guys know Conor—sorry, Conman?”
“What gay man doesn’t?” the Brazilian replies.
“Any of them over twenty-five, I would suspect,” Thomas says.
The angel from Paradise shifts his feet in the sand and says, “Would you mind if we took a picture with you?”
Matt stands up, holds out his hand, and says, “I’d be happy to take the picture. Come on, daddy, get between your boys.”
Thomas glances at Matt, who is clearly enjoying this exchange. The two men stand on either side of Thomas. Angel wraps his arm around Thomas’s waist, and Thomas wants to shift his hand up above the fat. The other man drapes his arm over Thomas’s shoulder. Matt takes picture after picture and then says, “OK, now something different.” Angel turns his head to kiss Thomas’s cheek, and the other man pretends to slap his face. Angel whispers in Thomas’s ear, “Don’t worry, daddy, your secret is safe with me.”
His tongue flicks the inside of his ear, and Thomas begins to hear a buzzing sound and then feels wave after wave of déjà vu. Is this real? The world tilts and Thomas has to grab Angel’s waist to keep from falling.
“Are you OK?” Angel asks.
“I’m fine,” Thomas says. “I think I might be a little dehydrated.”
Matt hands the phone back to Angel and then takes Thomas’s hand. When Thomas looks over his shoulder, it is Angel that he sees, but it is also Lance and then Conor. In his mind, the three have merged into one, but he also knows that this is insane, that they could not possibly be the same. Matt helps him sit back down and gives him a water bottle. Thomas says, “I think I’m losing my mind.”
When Danny reaches the host stand, he looks for her. Annie steps out from the shadows in the corner and says, “This has to end.”
Danny reaches out his hands and pulls her to him. He tries to kiss her, but Annie pulls back and says, “I’m not this type of person. Please don’t ask any questions. I’m so sorry, but none of this ever happened.”
She turns to walk back toward the table, and as she does, Danny calls out, “Annie!”
Annie stops in her tracks. Bex and Abbie look up.
Danny walks up to her, reaches out, and takes her hand. “Annie, we both knew the game we were playing all along.” He puts his lips to her ear and whispers, “Or shall I call you Jennifer, and make you wet?”
Always meeting in a hotel room, always playing the game, always pretending to be someone else. It hits her then, like a slap of cold water. “You’re still married, aren’t you?”
Oh, honey, didn’t I tell you?
“Wasn’t that the whole point? To pretend we were someone else? Didn’t you always want to steal a piece of candy from the candy store?”
Annie’s face drains of color.
“Or maybe you wanted to steal a cheeseburger?”
Annie can’t remember the moment it happened. The only thing she remembers is what came after. Bex and Abbie running to her side. Danny, prostrate on the deck and the blood running from his nose. Walking to the car with Abbie skipping beside her, saying, “Boom! Bitch went down!” and Bex saying, “Auntie, you are badass!” And, later, the purple bruises that bloom on her knuckles. But mostly what she remembers is how close she came to having an orgasm, not from the pleasure but from the pain as it left her body and entered his.
THE COTTAGE RULES
Pool / clubhouse access cards. Please remember to hang them back up in the foyer or the garage. Do not leave them in pool / beach bags.
CHAPTER 23
The River of Forgetfulness
Matt sits up in bed, grabs his phone, and watches Pops in his bed. The sunlight through the blinds casts vertical shadows across Pops’s body. Matt pinches the screen to zoom in. He lies still. Matt holds his breath and turns up the volume on his phone. Silence. Please don’t move. Please don’t move.
He recalls a conversation he had with Pops when Matt was a teenager and Matt’s grandfather was suffering with dementia. Pops told him that if he ever became like “Grampy,” he wanted Matt to take him out into the woods and shoot him. Matt told him he could never do that. Pops told him that he’d be doing them both a favor, that if he became like Grampy, he would already be gone, and the only thing left would be his shell.
“Keep the memories and forget the body. Promise me,” Pops said.
Matt didn’t reply.
Pops’s leg twitches, and Matt pulls himself up like his body is made of lead. He pulls on his shorts and a T-shirt, quietly exits the cottage, and pauses to glance out at the sea. If you could walk on water, directly across the Atlantic, over two thousand miles away lies northern Spain. A continent, a climate, a language, and a world away.
Matt walks down the steps and gets on the scooter and sighs as his shoulders drop. When he turns out of the parking lot, he makes a last-minute decision to head toward the beach instead of going directly to pick up Pops’s breakfast. He parks at the small lot and looks at the chalkboard. Build a sandcastle! It is Betty’s handwriting. He sits down on a bench and looks out at the families and couples setting up for the day on the sand, laughing and oblivious.
“I kissed him,” Thomas said after he had recovered from the episode on the beach.
“Yes,” Matt said. “I have photographic evidence; would you like to see?”
“No, I mean when Sam and I were out on the town, I met him in a bar and he kissed me and I didn’t stop him.”
“Did he grab your ass, too?”
Thomas shook his head, looking down.
“Too bad, because that ass is prime grade A beef.”
Thomas looked up and said, “I’m a bad husband.”
“Yes, you are, and you will be punished, but, sweetie, if someone didn’t try to kiss you or grab your ass, then I’d be more upset. I don’t do ugly,” Matt said.
Thomas did not tell Matt any more than that. He did not tell him he held Angel’s hand, or walked out the door with him—or that for a moment, he considered having sex with him. He desired Angel. Was that cheating? If Jimmy Carter lusted in his heart for another woman and considered that adultery, then Thomas might as well have screwed Angel on the dance floor of Paradise. How many details of a secret must be revealed before it is no longer considered a lie?
Is it a lie to hold on to the secret that Matt wishes Pops would die? It’s not the hard work of caring for him. That he can handle, though he knows soon it will be impossible, and he has already found a place for him. In what world is it more merciful to murder your father instead of keeping him alive? From the corner of his eye, Matt notices someone slip onto the bench, and then he feels a touch to his arm. He turns his head, and Abbie is smiling at him, holding out an iced coffee.
“This is service,” he says, smiling.
Abbie, who is working this morning’s shift at Ford’s, cocks her head and says, “Have you come to get a little peace and quiet far from the madding crowd?”
Matt looks at her, narrows his eyes, and says, “You are much more intelligent than you let people know.”
“So are you, though. Then there’s a pair of us. Don’t tell! They’d advertise—you know.”
Matt is not certain if the line comes from Star Trek or A Tale of Two Cities, but there is no denying the similarities between Thomas and Abbie. She puts a hand on his arm and says, “I’ve registered in the fall for classes at York County Community College. Anatomy 101.”
Matt looks at her.
“I’m going to become a doctor,” she says, and then, in the accent Bex and Thomas use, says, “I’m gonna become a lady doctor!”
Matt laughs and says, “You can do anything you put your mind to. You have the energy, God knows, and the smarts, kiddo.” He looks at her more seriously. “This isn’t exactly the summer you expected, is it?”
“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “But it’s exactly the one I needed. Probably not the one you expected either.”
Abbie looks out at the sea and then turns to look back at Matt and says, “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure. It doesn’t mean it’s going to stay a secret, though.”
“I didn’t like you at first. In fact, I hated you.”
“Oh, honey, that is not a secret,” Matt says, wrapping an arm around Abbie.
“Well, that’s not exactly the secret. You made all of these rules and called me out on my BS and I hated you for that. You changed my dad into someone I didn’t recognize anymore.”
“Wait, who did I change?”
“Dad.”
“Ah, so you can say the word. But I didn’t change anyone. He did that all on his own.”
“I know he’s changed, for the better.” Abbie leans her head on Matt’s shoulder. “And the secret is that I know he’s a better person because of you, and so am I.”
Matt takes a deep breath, kisses Abbie on the head, and turns his head away. He puts a finger to the corner of his eye and says, “Maybe you can tell him your secret, and start by calling him Dad?”
She crosses her arms, looks down, and shakes her head.
“Well, since we’re sharing secrets, I have a couple for you. One, DJ quit, and two, I found a nursing home for Pops.”
Abbie raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, like this is too much information.
“Why did DJ quit?”
“Because I didn’t agree with him. He wanted to change an association rule—silly, huh?”
“You men and your rules; how you love to make them and cling to them, without truly understanding. He didn’t quit because of a silly rule. He quit because he loves you.”
“OK, Grammy,” Matt says. “I’m confused.”
Abbie understands now why Thomas gets so angry when Matt says this to him. It’s a form of gaslighting.
“Maybe DJ doesn’t love you romantically,” she says, and then looks out at the ocean. “Though the jury is still out on that one.” She turns her head back to look at Matt and says, “You are his ideal, and you turned on him, and it shook his very foundation. Trust me on this one. He loves you and all that you have.”
“Aging parents, a house full of weird adult children, a husband experiencing panic attacks or whatever, and a sister who won’t accept that her father needs to go into a nursing home?”
“Exactly, but take away the transitory and you’re left with parents, a house full of children, a husband, and a sister who loves her father. Weird adult children? Maybe weird isn’t changeable. I suppose we’ll always be that, but normal is overrated.”
“This has been a very enlightening conversation, Dr. Abbie.”
“I’ll send you a bill.”
