“Jesus Christ.” Emery stood, picked up his T-shirt, and walked away toward the water.
“Dad, come on,” Anna said. “You’re going to wake the baby.”
Buzzy lifted his head for a second, then dropped it again with a coughing series of sobs. Portia felt so bad for Emery that she had no sympathy for her father. Emery belonged to her as much as to their parents, and if she didn’t care that he was gay, why should they? And why, Portia wondered, would this extremely liberal, Democrat-voting lawyer who did pro bono work for illegal Mexican immigrants and anyone of color who dared show up in his mostly-white town cry because his son was gay?
“Dad.” Anna moved off her chair and sat on the sand next to Buzzy. She put her hand on his shoulder and rubbed it in inch-round circles.
“How could he do this?” Buzzy’s voice cracked.
“It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Anna’s voice was sweeter, slower than normal.
“What about grandchildren?”
“What do you think that is?” Anna’s sharp voice returned as she pointed at Blue. “And that!” She pointed to Portia’s belly.
“It’s a baby, Dad,” Portia said. “I’m not that fat. And ugly. And pimply.” She was ready to go tell on him to her mother. Louise would stand for none of this.
“The world will shit on him! He’ll never have a great career! No one will promote him!” Buzzy banged his forehead into his palm. Snot and tears were smeared across his face. It was such an unusual sight, so foreign, that Portia didn’t quite know how to react. Eventually, she leaned back in her chair, reached into the beach bag, and pulled out the cloth diaper Anna had brought to wipe up Blue after he nursed. Or vomited.
Buzzy took the diaper and wiped his face. He blew his nose into it.
“What the fuck is this?” Buzzy held the diaper out in front of his face.
“It’s a diaper,” Anna said.
“It’s clean, right?”
“Yeah! I don’t even use cloth diapers. I use it for a clean-up rag.”
Buzzy blew his nose again.
“Where’s your handkerchief?” Portia asked.
“I don’t carry it in my bathing suit pocket,” he said, and he stuck his hand in his pocket as if checking to see if this were true.
“You okay now, Dad?” Anna asked.
“You know he’s a genius,” Buzzy said.
“Yeah, Dad,” Portia said. “You’ve always made it quite clear that he’s smarter than us.”
“I don’t mean that,” Buzzy said. “You girls are smart, but Emery’s always had something that’s more marketable than what you girls have. He was reading at three, for God sakes!”
“We know, Dad. We were there.” Portia looked at her sister. Anna looked back with steady eyes.
“Dad,” Anna said. “Emery has a great job. He’ll be fine. There are gays all over the world who are quite successful.”
“And what about AIDS?”
“I’m sure he uses condoms,” Portia said. “And he’s in a relationship. He’s not out at some bathhouse mixing it up with a string of men.”
“Oy!” Buzzy said, and he dropped his head into his hands again and quietly cried some more. Portia turned and looked in the other direction. This was more than she could abide, confusing in that it felt completely out of character. This man was a father she’d never even met before.
“I can’t believe you’d be upset about this.” Anna’s smudge of compassion was turning to fury. “He’s a great guy, he did well in school, he has a great job. He’s never been to rehab, never been trouble, you’ve never had to bail him out of jail. He’s kind, he’s smart. He even fucking saves money! And you’re sitting here sobbing over who he has sex with?!”
“I’m crying over his future!” Buzzy said. “Over the opportunities he won’t have! The stigma.”
“His eyes are fine,” Portia said. “Astigmatism doesn’t run in our family.” No one laughed.
“Would you rather it were me, Dad? Since I’m always borrowing money from you, I’ve changed jobs three times since college, I was a drug addict for a while—”
“A sex addict, too,” Portia said, and her sister smiled.
“I had bulimia—”
“And anorexia,” Portia said.
“Yeah, and anorexia. And I’m on antidepressants right now, and if I weren’t I’d probably be pretty fucking crazy. So would you rather I got all the disappointing stuff and Emery stayed pure?”
“Well, yeah.” Buzzy lifted his head. “I mean, we’re used to this kind of shit with you.”
“What about me?” Portia asked.
“I never expected anything from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve always expected that you’d meet a nice husband. And you did. And that you’d have a baby, which you’re doing. And that you’d take care of your family.”
“Glad I could fulfill your low expectations, Dad.” Portia could feel her brain checking out, floating away the way it did when she was kid and her parents fought and she didn’t want to be there.
“Well, I’ve got more disappointing shit for you,” Anna said. “My marriage is fucked up.”
“Eh,” Buzzy raised his head. He had stopped crying. “That’s what marriage is. It’s fucked up and then it isn’t fucked up and then it’s fucked up again and then it isn’t. You just wait through the cycles.”
“Is it really fucked up?” Portia asked.
“I’m having an affair.” Anna’s tone was no different than if she’d told them she had filed her taxes.
“You have a Stinky?!” Portia could feel her mind zooming back into her body. She was suddenly fully aware.
“Oy,” Buzzy said.
“I think I love him.”
“Oy yoy yoy.” Buzzy inhaled, then exhaled as if he were blowing out smoke.
“Wow,” Portia said. “I can’t believe you’re having a real live affair.”
“Well, I think I’m going to leave your mother,” Buzzy said.
“Dad!” Portia said. “You just said that marriage is fucked up and then not fucked up and that you wait for it to get better!”
“I’ve done enough waiting,” Buzzy said. “I’m done.”
“Wait through the cycles!” Portia said. “You just said that you wait through the cycles!”
Anna seemed to have no reaction, as if Buzzy had told her all this before. Portia looked back and forth between her sister and her father; she felt poised like a spring. And then the three of them looked up, in unison, as Louise came tramping down the dune. She was barefoot, wearing a long batik skirt and a tank top. In her right hand was a pack of cigarettes with matches stuck behind the cellophane wrap.
“I decided, ‘What the fuck!’ ” Louise yelled, and she laughed.
“Did you put on a suit?” Portia asked.
“No. But I’m here, right?”
“Great, Mom,” Anna said without looking at her.
“What’s wrong?” Louise sat in Emery’s chair and looked at them, one by one. Buzzy lifted the diaper and wiped his nose with it.
“Emery told us that he’s gay, and then Anna told Dad, and Dad burst out crying. Emery walked off. I think that’s him way down there.” Portia pointed to a dot on the shoreline.
“You burst out crying in front of him?!” Louise glared at Buzzy.
“Pretty much,” Anna said.
“What a fucking asshole!” Louise leaned forward in her chair so that she could better face Buzzy beside her. “How could you do that to him? He is a wonderful person. An amazing person. And you’re going to cry because he’s gay? Who gives a fuck?!”
“You’re not upset that your son is gay?!” Buzzy leaned forward in his chair. Their faces were inches apart.
“No. Not at all. Everyone’s suspected it all along but you, Buzzy. You’re too fucking blind to see what’s right in front of your face.”
“Astigmatism,” Portia said, and her sister smiled.
“You’r
e not upset that you’re not going to have a daughter-in-law, or grandchildren?!”
Anna and Portia both lifted their arms and pointed at Blue.
“I have daughters!” Louise said. “I don’t need daughters-in-law! And who gives a fuck about grandchildren!”
“Clearly not you,” Anna said, pursing her lips in that old-lady way again.
“Where’s Emery?” Louise asked.
“I told you,” Portia said. “Down there.” She pointed to the speck again.
Louise got up from her chair and marched toward the speck. Over the last few years, her hair had turned gray. She wore it shorter than she had when she was younger, but it was still silky and swished against the top of her shoulders when she walked. She moved youthfully, with grace. Anna, Buzzy, and Portia said nothing until Louise was well out of hearing distance.
“So, have you made your final decision?” Anna asked, and Portia knew right then that her sister already knew about their father’s pending plans.
“I feel like I’m dying in this marriage,” Buzzy said. “She’s done with life. She stays in. She paints. She doesn’t even want to drive to LA to visit museums or eat at a fancy restaurant. I don’t want to finish my life like this. I mean, she won’t even go to the fucking beach!”
“Wait through the cycles!” Portia said.
“If he wants to leave he should leave.” Anna said. “It’s not like they have little kids to take care of.”
Portia glared at her sister, then pulled down her sunglasses and covered her eyes.
“Where would you go?” Anna asked. She seemed to be asking for herself, looking for permission to leave her own marriage.
“I dunno. I always wanted to live on the beach.”
“Does Mom know you’re thinking of leaving?” Portia asked. “Are you going to support her? I mean, what is she supposed to do?”
“I’ll support her, but, you know. She’s young. She could get a job. Your mother hasn’t worked our whole marriage, I’ve been supporting her since she was twenty, maybe it’s time she—”
“Dad! She was raising kids!”
“You raised yourselves, for chrissakes! The two of you raised Emery!”
“I did Emery,” Portia said. “Anna cooked.”
“I did Emery, too!” Anna said.
“But I did him more!” Portia said. “He was mine. You were cooking and busy with going to the shrink and to gymnastics.”
“You both did everything,” Buzzy said.
“I really think you should wait through the cycles,” Portia said, to Buzzy. It was as if she had run out of words and could only repeat the platitude as she had first heard it.
“I think you’ll be happier if you leave,” Anna said. “No one should stay in an unhappy marriage.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to leave Mom, and Anna’s having an affair!” Portia didn’t look at either of them. She felt queasy and hollow. Like storms were swirling in some empty cavern in her center. “And I did Emery! We didn’t both do Emery!”
“We both raised Emery, and quit fucking judging me and Dad!” Anna said. “You’ll either leave or have an affair eventually, too.”
“I don’t plan on doing either of those things.”
“You’re as flawed as we are, only in different ways!”
Anna looked at Blue to make sure he hadn’t awoken. Buzzy was staring out in the distance, toward where Louise and Emery were.
“So are you getting divorced?” Portia asked her sister.
“Not until Blue’s in college.”
“You’re going to have an affair for the next eighteen years?”
“If it lasts that long, yes.”
“Everyone has to do what works best for them,” Buzzy tuned back in, turning his head toward Anna.
It was clear they were aligning with each other in order to prove their rightness. In this crowd Portia was going to be deemed uptight, closed-minded, judgmental, limited. And maybe she was all those things. But more than anything, she was upset for her mother—that Louise would happily cook dinner for them that night, her husband included, while he was plotting an escape, planning a future for her that she would never choose. The imbalance was too great, the unfairness was too apparent. It was like not telling a dying person that they were actually dying and letting them fret about balancing their checkbook when you know they’re not going to live long enough for the next bank statement. And she was sad for Brian, too. Although Portia had hardly seen him since he and Anna married and couldn’t even imagine what it was like to live with him.
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?” Portia was curious in spite of her feelings.
“Roy. He’s Hispanic.”
Portia wanted to ask if he were dyslexic. Anna had a boyfriend in high school, James, who was dyslexic. Anna never brought James home because of the mess in the house, but one night when she had mentioned she was making spaghetti, James talked her in to having him over for dinner. Buzzy was going through a bread-making phase that year, baking a loaf every couple days. When Anna put the spaghetti on the table, Buzzy pulled from the oven a fresh loaf of his Portuguese sweet bread (the family favorite). James loved Buzzy’s bread. As soon as he finished his first hand-sized hunk, he wanted more, but the bread was at the far side of the table from where he sat.
“Buzzy,” James said (all the kids’ friends had called their parents by their first names), “can you pass me some more of that porky-cheese sweet bread?” There had been a beat of silence as the family took in James’s beautifully comical mispronunciation. And then everyone, except Anna, burst out laughing. Even James laughed. The word porky-cheese was too ridiculous not to laugh. But Anna was infuriated. She never brought James home again, and got up and left the table every time anyone asked to be passed the porky-cheese sweet bread (which they all did every time Buzzy baked it after that).
“Is he Mexican?” Portia asked.
“Nicaraguan,” Anna said defiantly. Portia wondered if Anna thought they’d react to a Nicaraguan. She said it as though Roy were an actual Contra, or at least an illegal alien. Portia thought her sister would probably love having sex with a Contra—she’d be able to feel the danger on his skin, he’d vibrate from the violence brewing in his blood.
“What does ROY do?” Portia’s voice was strained, screechy.
Anna rolled her eyes. “He drives a beer delivery truck.”
Buzzy and Portia were silent. There was an unspoken rule in the family that you could tease anyone to any degree except Anna. She took it to heart, carried it around like a bitter seed in her mouth. There could be no delivery boy taunts.
“So are you going to go out and look for a natural-born Jew?” Portia asked Buzzy. Often when he was mad at Louise he would grumble that he should have married a Jew or a black woman. Portia wasn’t sure why or how either of those would have worked out better for him, but he’d always been convinced they’d make more successful mates.
Buzzy shook his head, refusing to answer.
“Roy’s Nicaraguan,” Anna said.
“You already told us that!” Portia said. Her sister definitely wanted them to think Roy was a Contra.
“He’s got these giant size-eleven feet,” Anna said.
“Is knowing your lover’s shoe size some sort of prerequisite before you have sex?” Portia asked.
“Roy’s feet were large at birth. His nickname as a kid was Big Foot.”
“In English or Spanish?” Portia asked. “Grande . . . how do you say ‘Big Foot’ in Spanish?”
“Emery will know,” Buzzy said, and he winced and rocked his head as if someone were stepping on his toes. Portia thought he’d suddenly been reminded of Emery’s being gay and his own wet, weepy reaction. Or maybe he was reminded of Emery’s brilliance that he thought wouldn’t come to fruition now that Emery was an out gay. Emery had studied languages in school. He was fluent in five of them already, which was a great source of pride for Buzzy.
“Does it matter that he speaks
so many languages, Dad, now that he’s gay? He’s worthless now, right?” Portia asked. She was smiling. She loved catching Buzzy in this moment where he was stuck between pride and shame.
“Jesus,” Buzzy shook his head. “I’m a schmuck, aren’t I?”
“A schmegegge,” Anna said.
“A schmendrick,” Portia said.
“Not a mensch,” Anna said.
“Not like Emery,” Portia said. “He’s a mensch.”
“Roy’s a mensch, too,” Anna said.
“Don’t let Roy get you pregnant,” Portia said. Then she looked over at Blue and noticed his thick black eyelashes and his tiny pinned-back ears that resembled neither Anna’s nor Brian’s ears.
“I’m nursing,” Anna said.
Portia rolled her eyes in disgust. “Gross.” Surely her sister knew that she could still get pregnant. And, Portia wondered, who could have sex with some near-stranger when your baby’s milk was pumping out of your breasts? It seemed against the laws of nature, upside down, perverted. Plain wrong.
Anna looked toward the water. Portia and Buzzy followed her gaze. Louise and Emery were approaching. Everyone watched silently as they grew closer.
“You better apologize,” Anna whispered to Buzzy, before they were in hearing distance.
“It’s really hard for me,” Buzzy said. “It breaks my heart.”
“You’ll get over it,” Anna said.
Buzzy stood as Emery walked up. His feet clunked into the sand as he went to Emery and Louise. He hugged Emery and held him. Louise looked at them for a second, then dropped down between her daughters on a beach chair.
“I love you. I’m sorry I reacted like such a schmuck,” Buzzy said.
“It’s okay,” Emery said, and when he wiped a tear away, Louise, Anna, and Portia each started crying a bit. They all were plagued with an inability to control a sympathy cry. Portia cried once when a woman she barely knew told her, in tears, that her uncle had died. She cried when a stranger at the park in Greenwich admired her belly, then started crying because she’d been trying to get pregnant for years. Portia couldn’t be within three feet of a crying person without crying herself. Unless, of course, the crying person was being an insensitive asshole, as Buzzy had been.
Drinking Closer to Home Page 28