To her left, my grandfather looks as stately as ever with his tall stature, thick white hair, and proud features. His chin is perpetually haughty, raised parallel to the ground. Both of them are freshly tanned, probably due to another lavish vacation they can’t afford or a trip to the tanning beds they adore.
“Here comes the gruesome twosome,” Mom mumbles to me under her breath before fixing a smile on her face.
“Lily, my dear,” says my grandfather when he reaches us. He leans down to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Looking fine as ever.” I try not to wonder if he means the statement more as an insult or a compliment. “And dear Rosie! My child, have you been working away all summer? You’re looking even paler than usual.”
Leave it to my grandfather to comment first on our appearance. It’s the greatest disappointment of his life that we look more like his late wife than we do him. At least he has Elizabeth to fulfill her duties as the great carrier of both his vanity and his genome. The two of them—tall, slender, blond, and tan—look more like twins than father-daughter.
Elizabeth’s tiny white Persian cat, named Mrs. Clay, shakes in a pink carrier. Her onyx eyes stare us down, as judgmental as its owner.
“And look who we ran into on the ferry!” says Elizabeth as she leans over to give me a hug.
My grandfather moves aside to reveal their surprise guest. The appearance is so incongruous with my every expectation of the afternoon that it takes me a few seconds to register the sight. There, standing between my grandfather and aunt, is my father.
“Surprise!” he says, jazz hands at the ready.
Chapter Twenty-TwoRose
James and I face each other in a small restaurant hallway. We’re standing with our backs to either side of the narrow passageway, waiting for the single-use bathroom door to open. I called on the way here to see if we could add one more to the reservation.
The restaurant, Brotherhood of Thieves, is a quick walk away on Broad Street, so once we put everyone’s bags into the Jeep, we didn’t have to give up our coveted parking spot. Although, we received many glares from the passing cars James kept waving away.
“You’re going to ignore me?” James says now, arms crossed. “Real mature, Rose.”
I imitate his posture. “I’m not ignoring you. Consider me stunned speechless.”
“Don’t be like this, Rose. Come on, talk to me.” He leans closer, but a waiter is passing by at the very moment, and we squeeze back to make room.
When the waiter is gone, I hiss, “What’re you doing here?”
“What? I can’t visit my own kid?”
“Not like you showed much of an interest in visiting your kid recently.”
How long has it been since we’ve seen him? I rack my brain. Two years? Three? He didn’t even attend Lottie’s funeral. We’ve seen him once since the pandemic ended, and that was for a quick dinner in which his wife lectured us on the “negative effects a child experiences when growing up in a broken home,” courtesy of her new career stint in child development. Maren is always switching interests, going back to school for different degree programs, all of which she promptly drops within three to six months. Most recently, she was a “spiritual coach” offering mental health advice online for $300 an hour. As a therapist and, more generally, as a rational member of the human race, I find it all a bit worrying.
“Rose, that’s not fair. You know, for someone who claims to despise me so much, you’ve spent an awfully long time wearing my last name.”
“It’s a good last name. It’s a good bit, that’s all. James”—I lower my voice—“seriously. What’s going on?”
“Something has to be wrong for me to visit?”
It’s strange how familiar he is to me still, like a childhood friend I can’t shake. Or maybe more like a really annoying cousin I wish would just leave me the heck alone. I know his posture: slightly slanted, always slouching. I know his hair: dark, gelled, and subtly thinning at the hairline but still full and handsome. I know his stubborn expression best of all.
“The timing is a little strange you must admit. You just happened to be on the same ferry as my dad and sister? And you didn’t think to call before you came?”
“Okay,” he sighs. “You caught me. They invited me to come. They said I could crash at their place.”
I slam my palm against the shiny wood-paneled wall. “Damn it, James, there’s always something fishy with you. Why can’t you be honest for once?”
Dad has always had a soft spot for James, by which I mean he lets him get away with absolutely everything, even impregnating his daughter and cheating. Just once I wish he would stand up for me.
I have a realization and groan again. “James, their rental isn’t big enough for you. It’s a guesthouse that can barely fit them. I had to call in a favor from a friend to even get them that much space.”
“That’s fine,” says James, but he looks dejected. “I’ll just get a hotel.”
I think about the prices this time of year, especially last minute. I don’t know why I say it, but I do. “You can stay with us.”
James smiles his winning grin, and I realize this is the problem; this is why James always gets what he wants, from me, my dad, his parents. There’s something about him that’s childishly disarming. Lily is going to be furious.
