Had Van never mentioned her? “I’m from New York. I’m a writer.”
“How exciting,” Van’s grandmother said. The word “exciting” had never sounded less so. It was like Caroline had said she was a lifestyle influencer or a Bitcoin trader, a fake job for a delusional person.
“Caroline is really accomplished,” Van chimed in. “She had a story published in the—”
“I am positively stuffed.” His grandmother exhaled dramatically. “If any of you want seconds, there is plenty of broccoli here. Let’s not let it go to waste.”
After Van’s grandmotherretreated to her own house, RJ opened up the liquor cabinet and brought a half dozen dusty bottles over to the table. “Okay, we have Tanqueray. We have peach schnapps. We have Tito’s. Oh, nice, we have vermouth.”
“I hope you have a strong stomach,” Fran whispered to Caroline.
“We’re going to do martini shots!”
“Do we have any olives?” asked Caroline. She really was hungry.
“Sorry, no olives, just those little cocktail onions,” apologized Eben. “You don’t have to take a shot.”
“I like martinis.” Caroline shrugged, and Van winked at her. Sure, Van’s friends were heavy drinkers, but Caroline had been sneaking into bars since she was a teenager and she could hold her own.
“Okay, we’re going to play Family,” announced Bailey, ripping up a piece of paper and handing out golf pencils. “Caroline, do you know how to play?”
“I feel like drinking games are more an elder millennial thing,” she demurred.
“It’s not necessarily a drinking game—” Augusta frowned.
“It is,” interrupted Colin.
“Basically, everyone writes the name of a famous person on a piece of paper and sticks it in a hat. I’ll read them all out twice. Try to remember as many as you can. Then we go around and guess who put which name into the hat,” Bailey explained.
“I always lose,” said Van glumly.
“Because he doesn’t know any celebrities.”
“And you always put too many Americans,” complained Max. “But if I put somebody French then you’ll all know it was me.”
“Right, that’s part of the strategy. Put someone unexpected. When someone guesses your name you become part of their ‘family.’ ”
“Okay, got it.” Caroline nodded.
RJ passed around the little martini shots and they all took them quickly and handed him back the glasses. He then distributed cans of Summer Ale and High Noon for the game. He, Fran, and Colin each took a weed gummy too, but the others passed.
Caroline fiddled with her pencil and thought for a moment. Maybeshe could put down the writer Palmer Preston? He was a famous person and a Greenhead celebrity? No, if she put down the name of her fellowship sponsor, then everyone would know it was hers. She wrote down the name “Timothée Chalamet” and folded the paper in half.
The game moved quickly at first, Augusta guessing that Colin was “Steve Jobs” because he had just read a biography about him, Max guessing that Eben was his childhood hero “Jane Goodall,” Fran guessing that RJ was “Tom Brady.” The couples all knew each other too well, could see the names that were bubbling around their subconscious, the magazines lying around the house, the podcasts they’d heard in the background. When it was Caroline’s turn, she guessed that Van was “Greta Thunberg,” it seemed logical he would pick someone like that, but Van shook his head and Caroline took a big drink of her beer, disappointed in herself.
“I know who you are, Vanny,” said Bailey, turning to him with a smile. “You’re ‘Steven Tyler’ from Aerosmith.”
“Ahhh, guilty.” Van got up and shuffled chairs to join Bailey’s “family.”
“You had that CD in your car for all of high school.” Bailey scooted over to make room for him, resting her hand on her belly, and Caroline took another big sip, even though it wasn’t her turn.
Fran’s phone rang and she got up to answer it, ducking into the kitchen. Caroline could hear her giving instructions on where her mother might find a specific cord for a raccoon-shaped nightlight.
“Are your kids with your parents?” Caroline asked Augusta.
“They’re with my mother,” Augusta replied curtly, and Caroline understood that she was being tacitly reprimanded for not knowing the specifics of Augusta’s family structure.
“More accurately, they are with the horse girls,” Eben interjected. “There are these middle school girls who ride at Mom’s barn who gocrazy for the chance to babysit.” Eben had seen his sister’s rudeness, and he was extending a hand to Caroline. She smiled at him gratefully.
