Twisted Family Values

by V. C. Chickering

  Grandpa Dun, a man for whom tweed was apparently created, issued the post-grace topic, as was the custom. “Marjorie”—he nodded toward his wife of forty-two years—“and daughters, this looks exquisite.” Everyone raised a crystal glass in joyful praise, chiming, “Here, here,” as clinking rang out in the air. Cat and Claire, who’d worked their butts off to make the meal appear effortless, smiled demurely like the martyrs they were. E.J. farted and blamed it on Rah. Rah squealed, “Ew, grody! That was not me,” to which Nana Miggs said, “Children,” with the gentle firmness of Mrs. Ingalls, then lifted her fork, and everyone dug in. Seemingly indifferent to the flatulence indiscretion, Grandpa Dun began his routine questioning, circling around the table for updates. “Four out of five of my exceedingly impressive grandchildren are returned from university for this familial bon repas. And one will be heading thence next year, my dearest young Sarah. What say ye all about your continuing education?” This vacillation between Olde English and French was Grandpa Dun’s idea of jocularity and tolerated by all who knew him. “Ellister Junior, let’s begin with you.” E.J.—gangly, bespectacled, born a wiseass—knew this was coming. Grandpa Dun always started with the oldest.

  “You’ll be pleased to hear, Grandfather, that the brainiacs at Hillsbury College will be cordially inviting me back to dazzle them further in business and law.”

  “Was there any question, young man, as to your return?” Grandpa Dun raised an eyebrow at Claire, who shook her head, eyes to the heavens.

  “Never,” said E.J. “The faculty is as delighted by me as you are, Grandfather.” E.J. called him Grandfather as an overt ploy of flattery. Intended to charm and disarm, it was laced with sarcasm, which everyone but Grandpa Dun was privy to.

  Claire admonished, “Watch it, smart aleck. Be respectful to your elders.”

  “Yeah, show some respect,” said Rah.

  Cat said, “‘It’s ‘yes,’ not ‘yeah.’”

  “It ain’t?” said Rah. Nana Miggs laughed. She knew Rah was teasing.

  “No, it’s not, young lady,” said Cat with a smirk.

  “She said ‘snot,’” said E.J.

  Generally thought of as the brainiest of the bunch, Rah had already been accepted early decision at Pembshire. She’d been recruited for a highly competitive spot in an exclusive accelerated mathematics program with an eye toward civil engineering. This made it something of a study in digression to see her behave with juvenile flair. The truth was she was the only one still at home and missed the others, especially her cousin E.J. E.J. shoved the corner of his napkin deep into his right nostril, then looked at Nana Miggs with a straight face and a white shock of fabric spilling forth from his nose. Rah yanked the napkin out of E.J.’s nose and rolled her eyes. Nana Miggs barely contained her delight—she loved anything and anyone who ruffled her husband’s feathers. E.J. knew it and played every gag to her.

  “That’s enough. Grow up,” hissed Claire. “Grandpa Dun, please continue.”

  “Georgia? What pearls of wisdom did you glean this first half of your second année?”

  Georgia said, “I learned that if one is contrarian enough to a slovenly roommate who also pries and snores, the roommate will request a change of venue on a phony premise, thus solving the conundrum.”

  “Major?”

  “Psychology.”

  Grandpa Dun nodded his approval like a judge hearing reason. “Cunning use of the word ‘conundrum,’ Georgia. Keep up your studies,” he said warmly.

  “Thank you, Grandpa Dun,” said Georgia, and returned his smile in earnest. She appreciated how fully her stepfamily had embraced her as one of their own. Even though her dad broke up Cat’s marriage, she never heard the family lay blame. It was a brutal transition: a new household at a miserable time—middle school—and right when Georgia’s mom’s alcoholism was ramping up to a dish-breaking pitch. Their Thornden customs and asinine nicknames needed some getting used to, but her father seemed much happier now, relaxed and less on edge. After all those years of her mom’s childish shrieking, who could blame him for leaving her? And knowing he and Cat had both betrayed their spouses gave Georgia comfort in their fallibility. Now she’d never have to aim for perfection, and could permit herself to angle for Choo.

  “Charles? What do you report?” asked Grandpa Dun.

  Charlie straightened to attention. “I still haven’t met my roommate due to a rousing case of mono.”

  “You basically have a single?” Georgia asked with a sideways glance.

  “Your studies, young man?” Grandpa Dun continued.

  “I’m at Finley College, also in Boston. Economics with a minor in film studies.” Nana Miggs beamed at her Choo. She loved the closeted artists in her family and rooted for them to drop the charade of whatever banking or law career was expected of them. She’d had many artist friends in her day who’d ended up in finance—and eventual soul-sucking emotional depravity.

  “Capital, young man,” said Grandpa Dun. “And should that not work out for you?”

  “Finance,” said Charlie with a measure of vacancy in his eyes.

  There it was, thought Nana Miggs, his inevitable fallback and road to existential ruin. Aloud she said, “I hope you’ll show us whatever films you make, young man.”

  “Of course, Nana Miggs. I always do.”

  “Atta boy.” Charlie was warmed by his grandmother’s remark. He’d always felt that besides Biz, Nana Miggs was the only one who supported him without a trace of judgment. Grandpa Dun cleared his throat to resume control of the proceedings. “And have you been a source of support and familial comfort for your sister, Georgia, and cousin, Elizabeth, embedded with you there in Boston?” He often referred to Biz as Elizabeth. He was the only one.

  “I have,” said Charlie. Georgia had a curious expression of doubt on her face, which both Charlie and Biz picked up on. “Well, Georgia’s at Garrick, which is about forty-five minutes outside of Boston.” He wasn’t about to let the guilt of not visiting Georgia yet take hold. “More like thirty,” Georgia cut in, but Charlie plowed through. “And Biz is at Seldon, Grandpa Dun, about six stops from Finley on the T. I’ve helped her settle in a bit. We’ve been to the movies, and I’ve escorted her to mixers.” Charlie knew his grandfather would like hearing the term “mixer” again. He also felt it was his job to prove to his grandfather—and the rest of his family—that he wasn’t the heartless jackass his father was. E.J. mouthed “suck-up” to Charlie as Grandpa Dun beamed approvingly. “Now, Elizabeth, are you comporting yourself appropriately at these mixers?”

  “I am indeed, Grandpa,” said Biz with a corny thumbs-up.

  “And you’re studying…”

  “Art history.”

  “Fine choice for a young lady.” The women’s revolution hadn’t made it to Firth, nor had it made a dent in Grandpa Dun’s psyche.

  Nana Miggs interjected, “No fashion design courses for you? What about all those wonderful costumes you create?”

  Biz said, “Oh, those are just for fun, Nana Miggs. Mom decided I should focus on something more practical. She said my life goal should be more than getting on Letterman.”

  “Yes,” said Claire, “she can’t possibly make a career out of such nonsense.” Biz rolled her eyes. Only Charlie caught it. He mouthed “awesome nonsense” to her. Claire peered down to the middle of the table and said to her daughter and nephew, “I thought I gathered from Parents’ Weekend you two weren’t seeing much of each other.” Cat wondered where this was going. “We aren’t,” Biz jumped in a little too quickly, then caught Charlie’s eye and realized she would need to nimbly dig herself out of the hole she’d just tripped herself into. Grandpa Dun looked confused. Biz continued, “Except for when we do. Which is rare, but often enough.” E.J. coughed, but it was no ordinary cough. He had perfected the “bullshit” cough from Animal House with such nuanced subtlety only his cousins heard it. Biz ignored him. Claire bristled. Cat listened, fully alert. Claire said, “So are you or are you not spendin
g time with each other up in Boston? Why don’t you see if you can give me a more definitive answer, Choo.”

  Charlie began, “Sure, Aunt Claire. I’d be happy to. Biz and I—” Biz interrupted again, saving Charlie from having to lie. “Of course we hang out. We have other friends, too, Mom. My roommate is totally bitchin’. I hang with her a lot.”

  Claire balked. “I beg your pardon, young lady, but don’t try to tell me for one minute that you spend an ounce of time with that nitwit Taffy.”

  “Tindy.”

  “Taffy’s better,” said Charlie under his breath.

  Biz looked to the end of the table for support. “Nana Miggs, you’ve always said life is short and we should surround ourselves with the people who appreciate us and make us feel good about ourselves when we’re with them.”

  Nana Miggs nodded. “I have. It’s imperative you stay true to who you are. It’s the only way you’ll attract real friends and honest love. I also say that life is long, so take your time.”

  Biz said, “Charlie and I just—” then stopped herself. “I mean, Choo and I do normal things.” She hesitated. “In groups. With other friends. Outside.”

  “Quit while you’re behind,” said E.J.

  “Museums and art openings, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds tedious,” Georgia said under her breath.

  “Sounds dubious,” chimed E.J.

  “Back up,” said Claire. Something clicked in her mind, and both Cat and Biz knew the conversation was about to turn. “Did you just call him Charlie?” Claire glared at Biz. “Taffy told us you were seeing someone named Charlie.” No one in the family had perfected the art of diffusing one of Claire’s laserlike glares, though many had tried. Cat tried to quell the rising tide of accusation, but Claire brushed her off and repeated the question.

  “Uh-oh,” said E.J., who was focused on this new twist with wide eyes and rapt attention. “This is getting interesting.”

  Rah came back from the bathroom. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

  “You should tune in,” said E.J. dryly, “it’s better than Dallas.”

  “I—” Biz said, then stopped abruptly. Her mind was a dusty blank. She’d always been a lousy liar but wanted to be better—smooth like a Bond girl—which is why she kept going. But she was a fumbler. She could feel perspiration gathering beneath the underwire of her bra. Charlie was better at squirreling his way around the truth. He’d had ample chances evading his father’s wrath. Biz looked over to him with a trace of pleading. Charlie took over with casual confidence. “She is dating someone named Charlie. I’ve met him. He’s a decent guy. But she made me keep it a secret because she doesn’t want to jinx it. So leave it alone. Let her do her thing.” Charlie looked over at Biz as she drew an imaginary zipper across her mouth. Georgia said, “Sounds fun. You’ll have to tell us if it develops into something more.”

  Biz said, “Don’t worry, I won’t,” and smiled broadly at her family.

  Charlie added, “Coincidentally, I decided to start introducing myself around school as Charlie. I felt Choo was too Mister Rogers, so I’m trying Charlie on for size. I didn’t tell you all because I didn’t want to have to put up with the hazing.”

  E.J. said, “Things are tough enough at the chocolate factory, are they?”

  “Case in point,” said Charlie. “And yes, there are lots of Charlies at school. I’ve already met two others. I was even thinking for simplicity’s sake that perhaps I should switch to Chet or Chaz, but Charlie’s already stuck.”

  “What about Charo?” said E.J.

  “Or Cheesey,” said Georgia. “People like cheese.”

  Charlie ignored them both but Rah knew the way to her big brother’s heart. “How about Chewie?” she said.

  “I’d contemplated that,” said Charlie, “but then I’d have to wear Biz’s Chewbacca costume, and it gets wicked hot.”

  “Plus the shedding—” said Biz.

  “And pesky stormtroopers,” added E.J.

  “Exactly,” said Charlie.

  Biz knew her moment of possible discovery had passed and felt emboldened. “And I’ve decided to be Biz. I thought Betsy might be fun, but I kept forgetting to use it when I met all my new friends, Mom.” She said it emphatically, with champagne bravery, turning her head toward Claire. “And by October I realized it was too late to change it again. So I’m Biz now.” She punctuated her declaration with a raised glass and wide smile in hopes that this new tidbit would deflect from the original insinuation.

  E.J. said, “I hear there’s no biz like show biz.”

  “Honestly, will you please go die?” said Biz.

  “Mo-om,” E.J. said with mock affront.

  “Enough,” said Claire, unamused.

  “Well done, everyone,” said Grandpa Dun. “I couldn’t be more proud of every last one of you. Let us raise a glass to doing your Thornden best.” And with that he raised a glass to his handsome brood, and they responded enthusiastically, “To doing our Thornden best.” Some rolled their eyes, some smirked at the mantra, but regardless, it was ingrained since childhood. Claire looked over at the only empty chair at the table. Les had slipped out of the room ten minutes before and had yet to return.

  After the toast, Cat covered for her sister’s embarrassment. “What about us, Father? Don’t you want to hear how Claire and I moved the garden club’s spring flower show venue? Or how Ned’s latest textbook edit is coming along?”

  Claire joined in. “We cleaned out your garage.”

  E.J. said, “You and Dad? Where is Dad?”

  “No, me and Cat. I’m sure your father will return soon.”

  Everyone looked around. A few said, “Where’s Les?” E.J. stage-whispered to his cousins, “We should do a shot every time someone says, ‘Where’s Les?’” They nodded and chuckled. Rah said, “Yeah, totally,” to which all of her cousins chanted in unison, “‘Yes,’ not ‘yeah’!” Rah blew the table a rousing raspberry, and any mounting tension floated into the ether.

  Cat visibly relaxed now that Claire’s third-degree session had passed. She knew Biz and Charlie were lying and probably spending loads of time together. But how much legitimate trouble could they honestly get into? Nothing would ever change the fact they weren’t blood related. Let Claire think what she wants, she thought, as long as my Choo feels like family. That would always be Cat’s chief priority.

  * * *

  “Fuck them,” Biz said to Charlie as they hurled their duffel bags onto Amtrak’s overhead luggage rack. “I fucking hate the scrutiny. How can they not trust us. We were twelve, for godssake.” “Hey, pipe down,” Charlie admonished. “There’s no one here,” Biz spat back. They’d made up a bullshit excuse about having to train back early in order to miss the dreaded carpool up to Boston with lecherous Georgia and her nattering friend. The Saturday-night-of-Thanksgiving train was pretty dead. Charlie stepped aside so Biz could have the window seat of the very last row of the last train car. Once settled, Charlie said, “Look, your mom is always going to be suspicious, probably because of that night. And my mom will be suspicious because she cheated on my dad, so she’s predisposed to see it in others. Ignore them all.” He lit a cigarette he knew they would share. Wordlessly, Biz took it from him and let a slipstream of smoke hover, trapped, over their heads like a forest mist.

  Rah had sent them off with turkey sandwiches, Nutter Butters, and deviled eggs, of course, and two Sunkist sodas. Biz set out their late-night picnic, then pulled out a flask. “What’s that?” asked Charlie.

  “Tequila and OJ,” Biz answered, and took a long swig, appearing relieved.

  “Ugh,” he said, and took the flask from her. “What are you, still fourteen?” His swig was shorter. He made a face. “You couldn’t have pilfered the Macallan?”

  “Who said I didn’t?” she said with a wink, and took it back from him. “Trust me.” Her lengthy pull took him aback.

  “Whoa, Nellie,” he said. Biz was determined to get drunk.

&n
bsp; “What else are we going to do on this godforsaken five-hour ride?” Biz looked out the window. Her left leg jostled at the knee. She had a truckload of pent-up energy after being with her family for the weekend and wanted to cut loose a little. She was pissed at them and needed to remind herself she was in charge of her life and they could no longer tell her what to do. I’m in college, for chrissake, she thought. I’m going to do what I want, live dangerously. Screw Mom’s expectations. Biz pressed PLAY on her Sony Walkman and turned it up so that “My Sharona” leaked from the headphones. She took another swig. “You know, I’ve never much liked the name Sharona, but I love this song. Should we dance? We’re practically alone in here.” She bopped her head and shimmied her shoulders—her hips jerked rhythmically as she closed her eyes, succumbing to the Knack’s take-no-prisoners percussive engine. Charlie was concerned where her drinking might lead. She was a fun drunk, for sure, but sometimes her uninhibited streak led in dubious directions. “I brought cards,” he said. “Let’s play Rummy 500.”

  “Yay,” she said, “deal,” and cleaned up the waxed paper wrappers from their sandwiches.

  “You’re not really hanging out with Tindy, are you?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “I didn’t think so. And you’re not really dating anyone, either.” He shuffled the deck.

  “Who says I’m not?”

  “I say you’re not. I can tell.” He was pretty sure, but he was also bluffing. He couldn’t really tell and wondered if he was losing her to the world, her independence, and herself.

  “Can you?” Biz said, and stretched as she arched her back, then took another sip. She whipped her head back and forth in time to the music. God, this song is sexy, she thought. Ever since Biz had started to notice the attention her body was getting, she’d worked on honing its power for good. She was aware she turned heads—stunning in a healthy all-American way like the teens in a Sears catalogue or Seventeen magazine. She was tall, fit, and lean but not skinny or hungry-looking, with a shapely ass and legs like a Nordic athlete’s. Her modest breasts looked fetching in a boy’s Brooks Brothers oxford, where the middle button fastened at the beckoning of her cleavage. She was enjoying the new sexiness she transmitted to the world—that loose, powerful energy that made strangers bend to her will. Ornery waiters, DMV employees, and even humorless cops—no one was immune to her dimpled wiles. Charlie had always been like a brother or best friend to her; she wondered what he was to her now.