Not a Happy Family

by Shari Lapena

  She looks across to her mother, but Sheila is looking down, avoiding her daughter’s eyes. So this is why all the bright chatter, Jenna thinks. She knew this was coming. Jenna feels a surge of rage. Why is he so bloody mean? Why does her mother let him get away with it?

  Catherine attempts to compose herself, but she’s not fooling anybody. “Why would you sell it? I thought you loved this house.”

  “It’s too big for just the two of us,” Fred Merton says. “We want to downsize, get something smaller. Too much upkeep on this place.”

  “What do you mean, upkeep?” Catherine says, her voice growing bolder, her anger showing. “You don’t even do any of the work yourself—you have a gardening company, a snow removal service, Irena does all the cleaning. What upkeep?”

  Her father looks at her as if he’s just now noticing her distress. “What, did you want it for yourself?”

  Jenna sees the wash of pink spread across Catherine’s fair skin.

  Catherine says, “It’s just that . . . we grew up in this house. It’s the family home.”

  “I’ve never thought of you as sentimental, Catherine,” their father says, casually refilling his wineglass.

  Catherine’s face is now an angry red. “What about Irena?” she asks, glancing at their old nanny at the other end of the table, then back at her father.

  “What about her?” He speaks as if she’s not at the table, as if she’s not in the room.

  “You’re just going to let her go?”

  Her father puts his wineglass down on the table with a clunk and says, “I imagine we’ll keep her, in a reduced capacity. But Catherine, she only comes here two days a week as it is. It’s not going to kill her.”

  “She’s part of the family!”

  Jenna sneaks a glance at Irena. She’s perfectly still, watching their father, but there’s a flash to her eyes. Catherine’s right, Jenna thinks—surely they owe her something. She practically raised them.

  “I’m sorry to upset your expectations,” their father says, not looking sorry at all. “But the decision has been made.”

  “I had none,” Catherine says tartly.

  “Good,” their father says. “Because let me tell you something about expectations. It’s better not to have them. Because you will be disappointed. Just like I expected Dan here to take over the family business someday, but I sold it rather than watch him run it into the ground.”

  Lisa gasps audibly. Dan looks at his father, his face white, his mouth set in a grim line. Their mother is shaking her head, almost imperceptibly, as if telling her husband not to go there. He ignores her, as always. She is too weak for him, she always has been, Jenna thinks. At times they have all hated her for it. For not standing up for them, for not protecting them. Even now, it’s as if their mother isn’t even there. He has made this decision without her, despite what he says. Jenna can sense Jake beside her, watching in embarrassment. His hand has dropped away from her thigh.

  But their father is just getting started. Happy Easter to all. This one will be memorable. “And Jenna here,” he says, turning his heavy gaze on her.

  She waits for it. She’s been the object of his wrath before. She will not shrink before him. He’s just a bully. A contemptible bully, and they all know it.

  “We had such high hopes for you too,” he says, leaning toward her over the table and glaring at her. “All that supposed talent—what a waste. How much longer do you expect me to support you?”

  “Art takes time,” she fires back.

  “You’ve been such a disappointment,” he says dismissively.

  She pretends to ignore it, even though it hurts to hear him say it.

  “As your parents, we had expectations too,” he says. “It cuts both ways. We expected more of our children. We wanted to be proud of you.”

  “You should be,” Catherine snaps at him. “There’s lots to be proud of. You just can’t see it. You never could.”

  He replies, his tone patronizing, “It’s true, we’re proud of you, Catherine. You’re a doctor, at least. But where are my grandsons?”

  There’s a short, shocked silence.

  “I can’t believe this,” Ted says, surprising everyone. He stands up abruptly. “We’re leaving.” He takes Catherine by the elbow and she rises beside him, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Together they leave the table and march around Fred’s back and out to the foyer.

  Fred says, “Yes, run away—that’s very mature.”

  Sheila pushes back her chair and hurries after Catherine and Ted. The others remain at the table, still stunned.

  Then Dan rises and, throwing his napkin down like a gauntlet, leaves the table as well, Lisa rushing after him.

  Jenna says, “We’re leaving too.” She gets up and Jake follows obediently. They will all miss dessert. From the entryway, Jenna glances back over her shoulder into the dining room. Irena has disappeared into the kitchen, but her father is still sitting alone at the head of the table, tossing back a long drink of wine. She despises him.

  She turns her back on him. Catherine is pulling on her coat while their mother tries to get her to wait until she can pack some pie to take home. “No, it’s okay, Mom. We don’t want any pie,” Catherine says.

  “Thank you for dinner, Sheila,” Ted says. Then Catherine and Ted are out the front door as fast as they’re able.

  Dan kisses his mother hastily on the cheek, and he and Lisa depart just as quickly. The door closes behind them. Then Irena unexpectedly comes down the hall from the kitchen, puts on her coat, and leaves without a word, as Sheila watches in surprised silence.

  And then it’s just her and Jake, alone in the house with her parents. Jenna changes her mind; she turns back to face her father.

  5

  Catherine somehow makes her way to Ted’s car in the driveway without breaking down, but as soon as she gets into the passenger seat and fastens her seat belt, the tears start to flow.

  Ted turns to her in concern. He leans over and pulls her into him to comfort her. For a moment, she presses her face against his chest. That comment—where are my grandsons?—cut her to the quick. They’ve been trying for a baby for almost two years now. It’s a sensitive subject. Her father doesn’t know that, but he might have guessed. He’s so cruel, she thinks, and so adept at finding vulnerabilities. And the house—she’s furious they’re selling it. It’s not because of the upkeep. He’s selling it so that she can’t have it. Just like he sold the business so that Dan couldn’t have it.

  She pulls away from Ted so that he can drive. He fastens his seat belt and quickly starts the car, throwing it into reverse. He turns the car around and speeds down the driveway, engine revving. For once she’s as eager to get away as he is. She takes a deep breath and says, “You’re right, I don’t know how I stand it. Although that was much worse than usual.”

  “Your father is a miserable prick. He always has been.”

  “I know.”

  “And your mother—for Christ’s sake, what’s wrong with her? Has she got no spine at all?”

  They both know the answer to that.

  “I’m sorry about the house,” he says as he calms down and the car slows. “I know how much you wanted it.”

  She stares miserably out the windshield at the road ahead. She can’t believe it’s never going to be hers.

  “Is that what she wanted to tell you?” Ted asks.

  “What?”

  “When we first arrived, your mother said there was something she wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Your family is like a fucking soap opera. What more could there be?” Ted says.

  “Maybe she’s ill,” she says. “Maybe that’s why they’re selling the house.”

  * * *

  • • •

  lisa doesn’t even want to a
sk. She’s afraid of what she might learn. But on the drive home she screws up her courage and asks Dan, “Did you get a chance to talk to your father, before—”

  “No,” he says curtly. Then he glances at her, softens his voice. “I tried, but he was in no mood. If I’d known what was coming, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  She looks out the window as her husband drives. “He’s such a shit,” she says venomously, knowing her husband is thinking the same thing. She feels sorry for Catherine—he was awful to her. But as much as she feels bad about that, some small part of her is glad—or maybe relieved—that he has turned on one of his other children for once. It’s reassuring. It makes it look less like Dan’s fault that Fred sold the family business. She’s tried to keep the faith, but lately it’s been hard. Watching her husband flounder, unemployed, without direction. He’s done something unwise with their investments. Is Dan a good businessman or not? She doesn’t really know anymore. But she has doubts.

  When she married him four years ago, he had a good position in Fred’s company, with a generous salary, bonuses, and a bright future. He was never happy there—his father made his life miserable at work—but they thought Fred would retire and that Dan would run the company someday. The world was their oyster. When Fred sold it out from under them a few months ago, it was like—it was like a death. And Dan still hasn’t gotten over the grief. She’s done her best to comfort and support him, to prop him up, to help him find a new path. But he has always struggled with depression, and since the business was sold, it has become that much worse. Some days she hardly recognizes him.

  Now she says, “That was a low blow, about the grandsons.”

  “Yup,” Dan agrees.

  “Do you think he knows that they’ve been having trouble conceiving?”

  “I doubt it. It’s not like she’d tell him. She might have told Mom, but she would have sworn her to secrecy.”

  “Catherine told me in confidence. She said she wasn’t going to tell your mother, but I wonder if she did.”

  Dan glances over at her. “She told you because you’re kind. You’re right—she wouldn’t tell them. It was probably a lucky guess.”

  She’s silent for a moment. “She wanted the house, didn’t she?”

  Dan nods. “She’s always wanted the house. I don’t care, one way or the other. The place could burn down as far as I’m concerned.” His voice turns dark. “It’s not like we have a lot of happy memories there.”

  She looks at him more closely. “Are you all right?” she asks.

  A car is coming toward them. It passes and the road is empty in front of them again.

  “I’m fine,” Dan says, rigid at the wheel.

  “Okay.” She watches him uneasily.

  What are they going to do? They’d been banking on Dan’s father loaning them some money to tide them over until Dan got himself together. But that’s not going to happen.

  6

  When Dan and Lisa arrive home they talk for a while, then Lisa retires to the den to read. Dan doesn’t join her. He can’t sit still, and he can’t focus. He hasn’t been able to focus on much of anything these days, other than his problems. He thinks about those endlessly, obsessively, but not productively. Now, after what happened at his parents’, he feels the urge to do something drastic, something final—anything to find a resolution.

  Dan keeps these thoughts to himself.

  He pours himself a whiskey in the living room and paces restlessly. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, and the room slowly grows dark.

  He can’t see his way through to a new beginning. He still feels as if he’s in shock, that he hasn’t recovered from the pain of his father telling him he was selling the business. At first, he’d hoped the new owners would keep him on, at least for a year or two. He briefly nursed a private ambition of rising in the company his dad had sold and taking it to new heights. But he’d been told his services wouldn’t be required, and that was the second blow. His father had sneered, “What did you expect?”

  Lisa hadn’t taken it well, although she’d tried valiantly to pretend otherwise. She has always been his rock.

  If he doesn’t find gainful employment soon, they will be in serious trouble. He has an MBA. He has good experience. He needs an executive position, and those aren’t so easy to come by. He can’t just go work in a car wash.

  Last fall, he’d unwisely taken a big chunk of money out of their investment portfolio—over the objections of his financial adviser—and put it in a private mortgage that guaranteed a much higher rate of return. But then his father had sold the business and he’d lost his job. And unlike his previous investments, which had some flexibility about withdrawals, he can’t get the money out until the mortgage term is up. And now his father has screwed him again—won’t even give him a short-term loan.

  There’s one thing that keeps him going, that gives him hope for the future. He’s got his inheritance to look forward to—but how long before he gets that? He needs the money now. His parents are worth a fortune. Their wills distribute the money equally among their three children. At least that’s what they’ve been led to believe, even though his parents have always played favorites, Catherine being the clear front-runner. Dan is the least favorite, and he knows it. They do a big song and dance about Jenna all the time, but he knows that she comes in second, their beautiful, “talented” daughter, despite her sometimes appalling behavior.

  If his father was a normal father and not a complete bastard, he could ask him for an advance on his inheritance now, and get it. That’s what a real dad would do. He could maybe start his own business. But he can’t even get a goddamned loan from his father. His father has ruined him, and he’s enjoyed doing it.

  Dan slumps into an armchair and sits in the dark for a long while, mulling over his shitty situation. Finally, he gets up and pops his head in the den and says to Lisa, “I’m going for a drive.” He often does this at night. It relaxes him. Some people run, he drives. It’s soothing. It feeds some need in him.

  She puts her book down. “Why don’t you go for a walk instead?” she suggests. “I can come with you.”

  “No,” he insists, shaking his head. “You read your book. You don’t need to wait up. I just want to clear my head.”

  Once he’s in the car, he turns on the ignition and turns off his cell phone.

  * * *

  • • •

  lisa listens to the front door close and turns her attention back to her novel, but soon puts it down again. She can’t concentrate. She wishes Dan wouldn’t go out for drives at night like this, especially after he’s had a drink. Why does he do it? Why does he prefer to go for long drives rather than spend his time with her? She knows it’s a habit, that it helps him wind down, but she wishes he would find some other way to deal with stress. Walking or running would be better than driving. They’ve got a perfectly good exercise bike in the basement.

  She understands his anxiety, though—she’s stressed too. If Fred doesn’t loan them money soon, they’ll be in real trouble. If only Dan had found another job, they wouldn’t be in this position. She’d gone to college, she could get a job, but when she suggested it, he seemed wounded. He didn’t like how it would look. He’s got his pride. A lot of good that’s doing them now.

  Once she starts worrying, she can’t help going down the rabbit hole. She doesn’t know how his job search is going because he doesn’t tell her, and he’s vague whenever she asks him. She knows he signed up with an executive search company—a headhunter—and they got him a couple of interviews early on, but there hasn’t been much lately. He spent weeks fiddling with his résumé upstairs in his office, but she can count on one hand the number of times he’s dressed in a suit for an interview. They’ve been “exploratory” interviews to assess fit. She doesn’t know if he’s done any follow-up interviews at all. Why isn’t he getting more calls from the headhunt
er? Are things really as slow as he says?

  She casts aside the cozy throw, gets up, and leaves the den. She climbs the stairs to the second floor and makes her way to his office at the end of the hall. This is his private space. She’s never done this before, never snooped. She knows it’s crossing a line, but she can’t help herself. She flicks on the lamp on his desk rather than the overhead light, in case he comes home suddenly.

  His laptop is closed. She opens it, but she has no idea what his password is. She quickly gives up and closes the lid. She sees his day planner on the desk and pulls it toward her. She looks at today’s date. Sunday, April 21. The pages for this past week are blank. She turns the page—nothing there for next week either. She pages forward—there are no appointments, other than one with the dentist in three weeks. Then she goes backward from today’s date. Those pages are blank too, except for a doctor’s appointment. But she was certain he had interviews, at least two of them, in March. She distinctly remembers him dressing in his steel-gray suit, looking very dapper, and going out. She recalls another day he left in his navy suit—both times were just last month, but there’s no record of either appointment in his planner. Maybe he doesn’t note things down in his diary—maybe it’s all on his phone? But there’s a dentist appointment in the diary. And that doctor’s appointment from a couple weeks ago. She goes back months. There are only two other appointments noted, both with his headhunter. She remembers how hopeful she’d been in those early days that he’d find a good job and, best of all, not with his father. She focuses on the diary again. There’s nothing since those two initial meetings with the headhunter almost six months ago.

  Her heart sinks. Has he been lying to her? Dressing up in a good suit and tie and carrying his slim, expensive attaché case to go sit and have coffee alone somewhere for a couple of hours?