by Kate Jacobs
thirteen
Taking the PATH train to New Jersey was a regular weekend ritual for Lucie and Ginger. Not every weekend—that might have been a bit too much family togetherness—but often enough that Rosie’s house was familiar (and fun enough) to be bribe-worthy. How often had her daughter heard that if she only ate one more vegetable, Lucie would take her to Grandma’s for homemade spaghetti and meatballs? So it was a familiar anticipation as the two Brennans rushed around to pack up a pair of nighties and some fresh socks and panties for an overnight. They tucked it all into one roomy deep pink-and-orange felted backpack (a Peri design in which Lucie had given some input) and made sure to bring Sweetness, Ginger’s stuffed bunny, tied to the outside of the bag by his ears.
Lucie worked even longer days than usual for several days beforehand to make sure she didn’t need to put in any editing or production hours over Saturday and Sunday. It was important to her that the entire family be together before she left on her trip, especially since the scope of the project was continually being expanded.
“Looks like I’ll be in Italy for most of the summer,” she told Darwin over the phone. The two had resumed their daily chats, though they were, by necessity, brief now that the twins were liable to interrupt at any given moment. The two of them fairly flew through the ins and outs of their days, trying to stuff as much conversation into five minutes as was humanly possible, waiting to see what would be the first to bring the chitchat to a halt: work, babies, or Ginger.
“Cool,” said Darwin, as the rising crescendo of unhappy infants began to drown her out. “Gotta go.”
But as the Italian project grew larger, so did Lucie’s worries over what to do with Ginger. Summer camp was her initial thought, followed by visions of her thumbsucker calling from a pay phone, Sweetness dangling from her arm. “Mommy, I’m homesick,” she’d cry as Lucie was powerless to rescue her quickly. Besides, Ginger hadn’t even graduated to all-day-school yet; she was hardly going to last through sleepaway camp.
Her brothers, whom earlier she’d considered and rejected, grew more appealing. It was part of the reason she had encouraged Rosie to invite everyone over to the house for a big family party: she could ask if someone would be able to add another to their brood for the summer. She’d do it for them, right?
Not so much. Sure, Lucie had watched her nieces and nephews a few times over the years. But she left most of the heavy lifting in that regard to her mother, who seemed to thrive on taking care of everyone. For Lucie, having a baby in her forties meant she was completely out of step with everyone else’s family dynamic: her brothers and their wives were tantalizingly close to sending the kids to college and learning the related joys of empty-nestiness. Ginger, on the other hand, needed a bath, two stories, a sip of water, a song, and another sip of water before she settled down for the night. And that was all before nine o’clock in the evening.
The humidity wasn’t too bad for a Saturday afternoon in early June and for that Lucie was grateful. She ushered Ginger into Rosie’s spacious split-level home—the same place where she and her brothers had grown up—and made a beeline for the kitchen, even as Ginger took off in search of her very glamorous-seeming teenage cousins.
“Andi has the patience of a saint,” Lucie said to her brother Mitch, about his eldest daughter. “I’m so grateful for the break.”
Rosie was bustling around the breadbasket making sandwiches—her traditional greeting. Hellos were met with mile-highs, lazy afternoons punctuated by fruit and brownies and sometimes entire meals with meat and veg, and evenings were typically multicourse buffet-style adventures.
Lucie reached into the fridge for the fresh-brewed iced tea that was always on the shelf. “Want a glass?” she asked, her head in among the shelves. When she straightened up, her brother was no longer in the room.
“Mitchell?” she queried, walking out to the backyard, glass in hand. “Iced tea?”
“You know, you’re something else, Lucie,” he said, in the way that made her stomach drop. Oh, no, she told herself. Here it comes again. Lucie does wrong.
“What’s up?”
“How can you let Mom cook like that in there?”
“You eat the food, too.”
“Yeah, but my wife helps out,” said Mitchell.
“You could do something yourself,” she said. “She didn’t sign up to be your proxy.”
“I do plenty. I muck out the leaves, clean out the garage, take the car in to get fixed,” he said. “And what about you? Mom goes into the city several times a week to watch Ginger. She’s in her freakin’ eighties.”
“I know how old our mother is, Mitch,” said Lucie, taking a sip of the drink she’d initially offered her brother.
“Well, you sure as hell don’t act like it,” he huffed. “You come in here and act like a guest, letting my kids babysit, Mom cook, and you hold court at the dining room table yapping with your anecdotes about film shoots and rock stars. You aren’t so special, Luce. It’s not that long ago I was sending you extra money just so you could make the rent.”
She bristled. “I’ve offered to pay you back many times,” Lucie reminded him. Mitch was significantly taller than she was and she hated how she felt awkward and intimidated to be reamed out by her big brother. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her nieces and nephews observing them closely.
“I don’t need that money,” said Mitch.
No, thought Lucie, because then you couldn’t hold it over me. Wisely, she kept her mouth shut.
“So what’s the real deal here, Mitch? I don’t wash enough dishes for you?”
“She’s losing her mind, Lucie,” he said. “And you know what galls me? You’re the only single one of us and you do the least. You think it’s easy being married and holding down a job and still rushing over to take care of Mom? Where are you in this whole thing?”
“I live in the city,” said Lucie, hearing the harsh tone in her voice. Damn, she hated the way she could feel herself regressing as soon as things began to heat up at Rosie’s. Everyone played the same role time and again: Mitch would stir the pot, Charlie would try to smooth things over, Brian would side with Mitch, and Lucie would alternately feel either babied and inadequate or picked on and bullied.
She held up a hand. “I don’t think you’re saying quite what you mean to say,” she began.
“What the hell?” Mitch was angry now; before, he’d just been ticked off. “I know exactly what I want to say. You’re a slacker within the family, and it’s time for you to make an effort.”
Lucie stood there, dumbfounded. One week it was Darwin pointing out she hadn’t been so hot, now it was her brothers.
“Patsy and I have a three-week cruise planned—which you’ve known about for months,” said Mitch.
“I know,” said Lucie. “Hope you have a great time. Relax a little.”
“So we’re just going to leave Mom, then, is that it?”
“There’s Charlie and Brian in all of this,” Lucie pointed out, hazily making out her brothers through the window. The two of them were steadfastly watching a ball game on television, and even though she waved, they didn’t make a move in her direction.
“Do you know Charlie saw her drive right through a stop sign last week?” Of all of them, her middle brother had always been her favorite. He had never seemed particularly annoyed with Lucie—he was the one who taught her how to do long division and who used to come into the city to take her out for a good steak dinner when she was struggling—and it angered her that Mitch seemed to believe he had the right to speak for Charlie. He always had to be the man in charge.
“You’ve never skipped a stop sign?”
“Oh, it gets better.” Mitch wasn’t about to take any questions. “Charlie followed her for an hour as she drove around town. She got lost, parked and reparked her car multiple times at the grocery store, and then nearly hit another old lady backing up.”
What was hard was knowing part of what Mitch said was true. R
osie was getting in over her head. She couldn’t keep up with the schedule she did at one time, or do all her chores herself. It’s too much. That’s what people say. It’s too much. But the moment you finally admit it’s too much probably comes long, long after it should have.
It also bugged her that Mitch seemed to be taking out his frustrations on her.
“So we should get Rosie to cut back on her driving,” said Lucie. “Take a taxi to the grocery store.”
“She’s not going to just hand over the keys.” Mitch looked at her as though she was an imbecile. “I told her it was making a noise and that I needed to take it to the shop. I drove it around for a bit, brought it home, ripped out the spark plugs, and told her we’d have to wait for a new part to come in before it’ll work again.”
“You lied to her,” said Lucie.
“Damn straight,” said Mitch, rubbing the top of his short hair with his fingers. “This is what it’s coming down to. Mom is not going to march into old age gracefully. No one is happy to become elderly. For a smart kid, you’re pretty stupid.”
“So what now?”
“So I think we need to take turns coming out and staying with Mom, running errands, that kind of thing,” said Mitch. “And frankly, the guys and I have decided it’s your turn. You ought to skip your fancy trip to Italy and be here with your family when you’re needed.”
“‘The guys and I’? Who put you in charge?”
“God. When he decided I was going to be born first.”
“That may apply to getting your driver’s license before anyone else, but I’m sorry to tell you, Mitch, that’s not going to work here.” Lucie’s voice squeaked as she felt her frustrations build. “So you go off on a vacation, I turn down a career-making opportunity, and Brian and Charlie watch baseball and eat meatballs. What are you thinking?”
“You are not helping.”
“You want to know something?” Lucie was yelling now. Her nieces and nephews would have much to whisper about later, she guessed. “Sometimes I’m selfish. And sometimes I do what I need to do to put Ginger first. I want to go to Italy. It’s good for my career and that is good for my bank account now and my professional reputation in the future.”
“You’re her daughter,” he said. “As a girl, you should be here.”
“We’re all her kids, just the same,” said Lucie. “I’ll do my part but I’ll be damned if I’m going to buy into this guilt trip you’re serving me. There’s no rule that a daughter has to do more than a son, and there’s sure as hell no rule that single people should give up their lives so married people get a break. I’m sorry, Mitch, but within this family we are equally important. Whether I have a husband or not.”
She walked away, then spun on her heel and shouted even louder, raising her arms above her head for emphasis, “And don’t think for half a second that I’m going to run crying out of here and ruin my last weekend with Mom before my trip,” she said. “I’m going to be laughing and joking and eating spaghetti and loving every goddamn minute of this weekend, whether you like it or not.”
By the time Monday morning arrived, Lucie was still upset as the beeping of the alarm clock jolted her into consciousness. She didn’t move, just listened to the insistent noise of the machine as she ran through her mental checklist: breakfast, wake up Ginger, feed her, wash faces and teeth and hands, get her dressed, take her to day-care, and then go to work. No, wait, scratch that. She was supposed to meet Catherine to talk all things Italy. All she needed was five more minutes, she thought, as she rooted around on the nightstand with one hand, trying to smash the right button that would silence the alarm. Lucie had long suffered from recurrent bouts of insomnia and Mitch’s tirade hadn’t exactly helped her get a restful weekend.
“You look like crap,” said Catherine, waiting for Lucie inside Marty’s deli. Just below Walker and Daughter on street level, it had become a bit of a meeting place when Peri hadn’t yet opened the shop. She kept Georgia’s opening time—ten a.m.—strictly. Catherine suspected, with a healthy amount of respect, that Peri probably stayed in bed until nine-thirty. Now, hanging out at the deli lacked a certain elegance, and Catherine didn’t quite seem to fit in as she sat at a table situated not far from the refrigerated sodas, but it was central and familiar. Besides, the coffee was great.
“Nice,” replied Lucie. Catherine always made her feel as though she hadn’t quite mastered being grown up. Putting together a chic outfit. Getting a great haircut. And there was always a certain standoffishness about Catherine, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Both Anita and Catherine were significantly well off, and yet Anita managed to seem like just one of the gang. Well, the wisest one of the gang—but a member just the same as anyone else. Catherine, however, always seemed to hold herself just that little bit apart. So meeting up with her for coffee was atypical, and Lucie felt a certain reluctance as she entered the air-conditioned deli.
“I’m sorry,” said Catherine. “You do look tired but that was rude. I have a clinical inability to keep my yap shut.”
“I have a brother like that,” said Lucie, and found herself unburdening her worries. Sometimes when things are on the brain they have a tendency to just spill out and Lucie was on edge.
“All you can do is what you can do,” said Catherine. “You can’t make him feel any differently than he does.”
“I know,” said Lucie. “But that doesn’t make it any easier. I still want my brother’s approval, you know?”
Catherine shrugged. “My family doesn’t do close-knit, so no, I can’t say I relate personally,” she said. “However, we all want to be liked and appreciated.”
“I hate seeing my mother get older,” said Lucie. “She is such a firecracker. It’s weird to think my brothers have taken away her car.”
“That kind of thing is uncomfortable for a lot of people,” said Catherine. “I wouldn’t know, though. My parents died a while back. In a way, I kind of envy you, being able to make this transition with your mother. I bet it’s tough, but it also makes sense. There’s not so much ‘why why why’ going on.”
“Nah,” said Lucie. “There’s still that.”
They sipped at their coffees quietly for a few minutes until Lucie pulled out her questions about restaurants and shopping in Rome. And Catherine, who loved to share her expertise as much as the next person, obliged by revealing her favorite locations.
“There’s only one problem with my plan,” admitted Lucie. “I don’t have child care. It’s obvious I can’t leave Ginger with my mother, and I dare not ask my big brothers to mind her.”
“The downside of having children,” mused Catherine, as though ticking off an item on a mental list. “They can be inconvenient.”
“I thought of hiring a nanny but I’ve made a few inquiries and so far I haven’t found anyone I feel comfortable having with me all the time.”
“Why not take someone obvious,” said Catherine. “Someone who is available immediately, works for pretty much peanuts, and has a flexible schedule? And she knows Ginger?”
“I’m not following,” said Lucie, smoothing her hair behind her ear. “Darwin’s got the twins . . .”
“Dakota,” said Catherine triumphantly. “How perfect would that be? She could use a bit of time away from the city, I think. There’s too much temptation.”
“Huh?”
“Is Dakota a good babysitter?”
“Totally great,” said Lucie. “But it never occurred to me to take her along—I figured she’d have a summer planned out already. The shop and all.”
“Plans are made to be changed,” insisted Catherine. “You ask her and see if she doesn’t jump at the chance to go to Italy. Besides, I’ll be there, too.”
“You’re going to Italy this summer?” Lucie couldn’t quite put her finger on it at first. Could it be that she was actually a tad disappointed? Italy had felt like her special thing—she wanted to see the members of the club crowding around to look at her photos and hear her
stories—and the thought of Catherine being there, as well, left her a little . . . deflated.
“I totally need a vacay,” said Catherine now. “I’ve spent weeks just researching ideas for Anita’s wedding, and frankly, I am exhausted. She’s a lovely woman but a complete bridezilla. You never know who it’s going to happen to.”
“When’s the big day, then?”
“Oh, that’s just the thing,” said Catherine. “No one bloody well knows, least of all Anita. If we’re not off trying on hats or shoes, she’s over at the apartment searching through all the drawers. I don’t know if she lost something or she’s just under so much stress she’s gotten a bit squirrelly.”
Catherine didn’t meet Lucie’s gaze as she was talking. In fact, she’d recently come across some junk mail of Anita’s in a drawer near the register at The Phoenix. She’d clearly taken it up there by mistake. Among the circulars and real estate updates was a postcard with a stamp post-marked in March. Catherine had been so embarrassed to see it that she immediately stuffed it back in the drawer. In over a week, she hadn’t mentioned the postcard to Anita, even as they shopped and lunched and chatted almost daily. It was a weird little thing anyway, with only Anita’s San Remo address written on the left. There was no message. It was like a spy note. Maybe if she dipped it in lemon or held it up against the light . . . Catherine looked back at Lucie, who was talking quickly.
“So why not go to . . . Vienna? Or Scotland again?”
“I did both last year,” said Catherine. “Besides, with you and now Dakota in the picture, we can meet up for cappuccinos and pastries.”
“I haven’t even asked Dakota yet,” said Lucie. “I haven’t even thought about it.”
“What’s there to think about? Your choices are a stranger here or a stranger there,” said Catherine matter-of-factly. “Or you take someone you trust and you know Ginger will be looked after by someone who’s fond of her.”