The Holdout

by Laurel Osterkamp

  I pick up the shipworm and throw it at my oldest brother. It lands with a moist smack in the middle of his face. The entire room is silent and he’s motionless for a second, stunned, before he grabs a napkin and wipes off the slimy mess. When he turns to me I can see the rage shooting from his eyes.

  “What is your problem?”

  “I don’t think your joke is funny. That’s my problem. If you’re so tough, you eat the shipworm.”

  “No.” He throws the shipworm, balled up in his napkin, back at me. I duck and it falls to the floor. “I didn’t sign up to be a sideshow spectacle on national television. You did. If you can’t take some heat about that, then you’re even weaker than I thought.”

  “Ted!” Ian reprimands him. “Lighten up. She didn’t think it was funny. Let it go.”

  “Don’t bother.” I get up from the table. “I’m done.”

  I storm out, only making it as far as the kitchen before my dad catches up with me. “Robin!” he calls out.

  I turn around. “I’m too old to be scolded, Dad.”

  “I’m not here to scold you.” He limps closer to me. “Ugh. I think I might need a knee replacement.”

  I sniff, rub my eyes, and try to express sympathy even though I’m not in the mood. “That’s too bad.”

  He places his hand on my shoulder. “Hey. Don’t take it so hard. Ted doesn’t know how to talk to you, so he makes up for it with stupid jokes. He was just being defensive.”

  I move away from my father, grab a water glass from the cabinet and I fill it at the sink. “Well, I’m sick of it. And it’s not only Ted. You and Ian do it too, just not as bad.”

  I drink my water, aware that my father is staring at me. When I lower my glass I see his face, full of regret. “Sorry, Honey,” he says. “It’s just, well to be honest, none of us ever knew what to do with you. You were so young when your mother died. Of course Ted and Ian were young too, but you… you were barely even a person.”

  “I still feel like that sometimes, Dad.” I gaze at the wall. It’s covered in white and brown wallpaper, a pattern of spice shakers. I’ve always thought it was ugly, but right now it’s the only thing I can focus on.

  “I know. What you said, on the show, that you can’t let go of her?” His voice cracks. I nod my head. “I’ll always remember you then. ‘Where’s Mommy?’ you would say, over and over. And every time the front door opened your face would light up, and you’d toddle over, expecting it to be your mother. Then you’d be so confused and sad when it wasn’t her.” He comes closer and turns me to face him. “Eventually you stopped. I guess a part of you simply accepted that she wasn’t coming back, even if the other part would never understand. But Robin, Honey, that’s what we have in common. I still can’t convince myself that she’s actually gone.”

  I close my dripping eyes and hug him. “Oh, Dad. I’m sorry.”

  He holds me tight but continues to talk. “No, Honey. I’m sorry. After she died, Ian tried to make everyone happy and Ted got angry. I could deal with that, but I never knew how to make it better for you.”

  We hug each other hard. Tears are wetting my cheeks, and I feel Dad’s tears dampen my shoulder. After a minute or so, Dad sniffs and pulls away. With his shoulders squared, he leans down and looks me in the eye. “Don’t listen to Ted. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. Your mother… she would be so proud.”

  My heart is flooding. “Do you really think so?”

  Dad’s eyes are lit up, and not just because they’re watery. “Yes, I really think so.” He kisses my cheek. “Come back and eat? You’ve got to be hungry.”

  I feel a gust of cool air as the outside door opens and shuts. Someone has come in.

  “In a minute,” I tell him.

  Dad kisses me on the forehead and walks back into the dining room. I wipe my eyes and breathe deeply to calm myself. I know I can go back in and eat dinner like a rational, civilized adult, but I need another minute to get over the fact that I just acted like a child. I open the refrigerator door. Natalie stocks cherry juice for the kids as a holiday treat, and at the moment it sounds way more appealing than wine. I’m searching for the bottle when Jack walks in.

  “Hi,” he says, looking like he’s taken a beating.

  “Where’s Jessie?” I ask.

  Jack shrugs. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’re taking some time,” he says with a sigh. “I told her I had to come back here and she didn’t like that, so I guess we’re broken up.” I listen as I continue to search for the juice. “I know it’s for the best,” Jack adds. “But now, on top of everything else, I’ll have to endure some major taunting.”

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “But at least you didn’t rely on your drugged, wounded cousin to defend you, or throw a shipworm at Ted, then pitch a fit and storm out. That my friend,” I say as I scoot beer and a big cheese-ball to the side of the refrigerator, “is worthy of some taunting.”

  “Huh?”

  Behind the jug of milk I find a small, round, lidded plastic container, and I pull it out and open it. Inside are five more shipworms.

  “What’s that?” Jack asks, his face screwing up in disgust.

  “You don’t know?” Jack shakes his head. “They’re shipworms and they’re my Christmas present,” I say, suddenly feeling the holiday spirit.

  “That’s pretty disgusting,” Jack says. “Couldn’t they have just gotten you a sweater?”

  I study the shipworms coiled together in a moist, shiny lump. I raise the container to my face and take a whiff, but they have barely any odor. “You know, they’re actually not so bad.” I smile as I realize; maybe there are no do-overs in The Holdout, but at Christmas dinner? The jury is still out.

  I grin widely at Jack. “This could turn out to be best present I’ll ever get.” Jack wrinkles his forehead in confusion. “You get to eat one,” I tell him.

  “What? No thanks.”

  I grab his arm. “Come on. You have the strongest stomach of anyone I know. Remember that boat ride, when everybody else was puking over the side and you just sat there, reading your book?”

  Jack looks at me like I’m unbalanced. “I still don’t want to eat a shipworm,” he says.

  I smile crazily at my unwilling co-conspirator. “This time we’re going to win, Jack.” I tug him towards the dining room, holding the shipworm container tightly in my hand. “Come on.” When Jack and I enter the dining room conversation ceases and everybody looks up.

  “Jack, honey,” Natalie smiles. “I’m so glad you came back. Is Jessie here too?”

  Jack acts completely normal. He grabs a plate and takes a seat, speaking as he does. “Nope. Just me. How are Lucy’s fingers?”

  There’s a murmuring and a bustle as platters of food are passed to him, and I stand there, watching for a moment before I remember myself. “Jack!” I say. He looks up. “Don’t stack your plate too high. You’ll be eating a shipworm first.” I hold up the container and then I turn to Ted.

  “You bought six?”

  “I had to,” he answers, scowling. “They wouldn’t sell me just one. Half a dozen was the lowest they’d go.”

  “Well, it’s perfect.” I walk closer to the table. “Because we’re going to have a shipworm challenge. Right here, right now.”

  “I already told you I’m not eating one of those things,” Ted says, his voice rigid.

  “Fine,” I reply. “Then you forfeit and you lose. And I’ll have bragging rights from now on. We’ll stop telling the seagull story every year, and instead we’ll relive how you were too scared to eat a shipworm.” I turn to Ian. “What about you? Are you also too scared?”

  Ian’s eyes fasten with mine and I can tell he understands the gravity of the situation. “No. I’ll eat a shipworm,” he says, with just a speckle of conviction.

  I look over at Jack. “And you’re in?”

  He raises his eyebrows and his arms in resignation. “Sure. Why not? What do I get if I win?
”

  “Redemption,” I say. And just at that moment Monty comes back.

  “Nobody’s very happy right now,” he says, “so we’re heading out.”

  “Not yet,” I demand. “Lucy would want you to stay and take part in the shipworm challenge.”

  Monty frowns with a slight shake of his head. “What?”

  “Ian, Jack, and I are all going to eat one but Ted’s too scared.”

  Monty’s eyes narrow when he notices that his brother has returned. “All I have to do is eat a shipworm?”

  “Yes,” I say, “but to win you have to eat it the fastest.”

  Monty looks around at Jack, Ted, and back at me, a line of tension creasing his forehead. He’s silent for a moment, processing all the unspoken pressure that’s floating between us. “I’m in,” Monty declares, putting his hands on his hips. “I just need to let Lucy know.” He strides towards the living room. I walk over to the buffet and grab five small plates for the shipworms.

  “This is asinine,” Ted says. “And it won’t prove anything.”

  “Of course it will,” says my dad. “You said so yourself when you thought it would just be Robin eating one.”

  I place a plate with a shipworm in front of both Ian and Jack, and in the empty spots where Monty and I will be sitting. Monty comes back, occupies the chair he had abandoned, and talks to Jack. “Lucy’s parents are taking the kids back now but she’s passed out on the couch.”

  “Lucy’s still passed out from her fingers?” Jack’s voice raises an octave.

  “No, no… she just fell asleep because Mom drugged her.”

  Jack lurches towards his mother, and she responds to his shocked expression. “Not on purpose!” she exclaims. “And I didn’t know she’d be drinking wine.”

  “Anyway,” says Monty, “when we’re done I need you to drive us back.”

  “Fine,” says Jack. “But can we get this competition over with first?”

  “Natalie,” I say as I take my seat. “You’ll be the judge.”

  “Okay…” she says. “What do I have to do?”

  “Just watch, and the first person who swallows down their shipworm and shows you their tongue, wins. If they puke it up they’re automatically out.”

  The spouses and the kids who are old enough to understand all groan in disgust. Monty addresses Ted.

  “I can’t believe you’re not going to compete, when it was your idea to order the shipworms in the first place.” He shakes his head. “Lame. Really, really lame.”

  Ted makes a long, loud exhale. “Fine,” he says through clenched teeth. “I’ll do it.”

  “I thought you might change your mind,” I smile as I pass down the fifth plate of shipworm.

  “Okay,” Natalie says, imitating Joe Pine. “Hands on the table and wait for my ‘go’.” She looks around at all of us, as we sit, poised and ready to win. “Are you all ready?” We nod and murmur yes. “Go!” she yells.

  This time I don’t hesitate, I just pop the slimy, slurpy noodle-worm into my mouth, and it’s so much easier to convince myself that I’m eating overcooked pasta now that the shipworm isn’t alive.

  “Go Robin! You can do it, Honey!” My dad cheers me on. I barely have to chew, and in moments I get it all down. On my first and last monumental swallow I jump up and stick out my tongue, waving my arms and hooting in triumph.

  “Robin wins!” Natalie yells, and my father claps.

  “Yes!” I cry.

  “Second place!” Jack shouts, sticking out his tongue. “I got second!”

  I leap over to where he’s sitting and give him a high five. Ian spits out his shipworm and wipes his mouth. “Why are they still going?” he asks, gesturing to Ted and Monty, who are both struggling not to gag while they attempt to swallow.

  “Come on, Monty,” Jack bellows. “Just pretend it’s sushi.”

  Ted’s eyes swell as he looks sideways at Monty. Monty swallows roughly and gasps, sticking out his tongue in the process. “Third place!” Monty yells and Jack cheers.

  Ted gulps the last of his shipworm and takes a huge swig of wine. “Fourth place,” he says dejectedly, pointing at Ian. “At least I didn’t quit.”

  “I thought we were just going for a winner,” says Ian. “Nobody said otherwise.”

  Eddie rubs Ian’s back with a flat palm. “Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart.” But Ian hangs his head.

  “Oh, get over it,” I say, sitting back down in my spot. Now that I finally get to eat some real food, I grab my plate of cooling turkey, potatoes, and asparagus casserole. “But before we move on, I need to make one thing clear.”

  I pause, enjoying that I have the floor. With a swift inhale, I glance past the faces who are staring back at me. “The camping trip when I was eight? I’ll concede I had new shoes that gave me blisters, and I’m sorry you all had to take turns carrying me on that hike.” I paste on a sardonic smile, one like the frat-boy lawyer would wear. I even attempt his casual, assuming tone. “But the real issue here is that the seagull pooped in my hair, not in any of yours, but in mine. And you all judged me for my reaction,” I grasp my fork like it’s a gavel and lower it against the table with a thud. “Because of that, last year at this time you thought I’d be a disaster on The Holdout. While I admit I made mistakes, I think we can all agree that I would, in fact, kick all your asses.” I pause and take a moment to meet eyes with both my brothers and my cousins. “So I’ll accept your apologies now.”

  I sit back and wait for my verdict, a unanimous vote in this civil case, and the awarding of damages to the tune of “we’re sorry.”

  “You’d win over me, Robbie.”

  “I’d probably get voted out right away,” says Monty.

  “Sorry…” mumbles Ted with a sigh.

  §

  I turn to Jack. He’s eating his turkey with his head down. When he feels the silence he looks up. “What?” he demands. “I killed that ropes course. I’m thinking I might apply and get on the show. I could use a million dollars.” He smiles. “Do you think you could pull some strings for me, Robin?”

  Later I’ve gone to the bathroom, and after checking my reflection for any lingering shipworm between my teeth, I stroll back through the living room. Jack and Monty are both there, standing over a sleeping Lucy.

  “Do you need help lifting her?” Jack asks.

  Monty rolls his eyes “Of course not,” he says, clearly offended at the question. He puts on his coat, and then sits on the edge of the couch. “Sweetheart,” he says, “can you sit up and put your arm around my shoulder?” He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just hoists her up, and wraps her coat around her.

  “Who won shipworm challenge…” she murmurs.

  “Robin,” Monty replies, half of his mouth sneaking up in a grin. Lucy smiles and falls right back asleep.

  “Best Christmas ever,” he mumbles as he easily lifts Lucy into his arms. Her head nestles into the crook of his shoulder as if it’s second nature.

  Monty turns his head and notices me. “Congratulations on the shipworm challenge. I’m glad you won.”

  “Thank you.” I kiss him on the cheek and then look down at Lucy. “I hope she feels better. It’s good she trusts you so much.”

  Monty’s face wrinkles in surprise. He laughs. “I suppose. Although, right now I could be Donald Trump and she’d still let me carry her to the car.”

  Jack laughs. “Yeah, but it would be the last time she’d ever let you carry her anywhere.”

  Monty laughs too, and suddenly they’re two brothers sharing some inside joke, completely opposite of how they were hours before.

  “Merry Christmas, Robin.” Jack hugs me.

  I hug him back and whisper in his ear. “Do you need to sleep on my couch again?”

  He pulls away and shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.” He turns to Monty, who is shifting his weight. “I’ll get the door for you.”

  “Thanks,” Monty replies. “Take care, Robin. Good seeing you,” he says over his
shoulder, and then he rotates back to Jack. “So what happened with Jessie?”

  “She freaked out on me…” As Jack explains, they walk together out into the night. Only siblings can be mortal enemies one minute and allies the next, with no words of apology passed in between.

  I burp, which vacates just enough room in my stomach for dessert. I will go back for some pie but Dad’s compliment still rings in my ears. I’ve tried all my life to be brave, believing that doing so involves putting myself on the line and going it alone.

  But that’s only half of it.

  I find my purse in the back bedroom and dig for my cell phone.

  “Hello?” I hear him say. Happy anticipation rises inside me.

  “Hi,” I answer. “I’m sorry it took me so long to call.”

  Epilogue: January, 2013

  It’s amazing how quickly things can happen. The money I won has already been invested in studio space, supplies, and a web page for my clothing business, and I’m keeping myself busy and working hard. But I haven’t been too busy to figure some things out.

  For instance, I can’t go for a relationship that is based on dishonesty, or for one that began as a game. I never even called Grant to let him know I wasn’t interested. Sometimes it’s better to let lying dogs sleep by the phone, waiting for it to ring.

  But I am interested in starting something real. It’s a lot scarier, but I’ve come to a conclusion. It’s time to be brave and let go.

  New Year’s Eve we stay in. I make him dinner and we watch Twelve Angry Men. “You’re definitely the angry, judgmental one,” Nick says. “And I’m the rational one that finally sways people to do the right thing.”

  “I completely disagree.”

  He laughs, and to show me he was joking, pulls me in for a kiss. It’s warm and lingering, and my pulse races just from the feel of him. I pull away first because there’s no need to take things super-fast. We have plenty of time.

  Nick looks at his watch. “Only twenty minutes to midnight.”

  I grab his arm, bring his watch close and look at it with scrutiny. “What’s the story behind this watch?”