Twisted Family Values

by V. C. Chickering

  “All the prairie drag queens. I know. Listen, you’re getting off track, but okay, sure.” Muriel settled in for the long haul—she was used to these frenetic tirades Biz’s drinking caused. She said, “You can do all those things now, and since when do you care about respect? I didn’t think you gave any fucks.”

  “I still have a few to give.”

  Muriel paused, lit a cigarette, and offered one to Biz. They knew it was a no-no, but their lives had become so predictable that this little rebellion felt reasonably anarchistic. Plus the ventilation system at Bernie’s had been updated and was top-notch so they indulged. Biz watched the long plume of smoke trail from her pursed lips. Muriel reached behind her without looking and grabbed a plastic to-go lid for ashing.

  Biz said, “How the hell am I supposed to have sex if I can’t have it in my own business?”

  “Most people do that sort of thing in their bedrooms.”

  “I have a daughter whose bedroom is right next to mine!” Biz didn’t mean to raise her voice, and Muriel knew it wasn’t personal.

  “So do most people. What is this really about?”

  Biz jumped up and paced the room while Muriel routinely affixed Bernadetta’s labels to brown paper bags. “I’ll tell you. You and everyone else in this town got married right out of college, and you’ve all totally forgotten what it’s like to be single. You have zero awareness of what it’s like to always be stuck sitting at the end of a long rectangle table full of couples and an empty chair across from you. It’s a literal reminder that I have no date even when I’m out with other people trying to forget I’m alone. It’s like having a neon sign around your neck blinking ‘unlovable.’ It’s awful!”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “But I grin and bear it. Because people don’t mean to be cruel. And no one likes a sourpuss. Then, finally, an attractive, STD-free, straight man walks through the door with a well-maintained hard-on and wants to put it in my vagina. But there’s only cardboard on the floor, so we make do, but my daughter gets hysterical, and the cops come, and my employee demotes me!”

  “Sucks for you. Did you use our cake boxes to—”

  “It’s bad enough I have to make do with flattened boxes when everyone I know has a husband and a soft bed.” Tears were beginning to well. “I just wanted to have a little sex.”

  “I know, honey. And people are busy with their own lives, and no one’s thinking about yours.”

  “No shit!”

  “And maybe next time say, ‘Hey, can I sit in the middle?’”

  “I do! But sometimes I’m the last to arrive!”

  “Well then, get there early. And John Waters and Bette Midler moved to big cities.”

  “But I don’t want to move to a big city because I like raising my kid in the suburbs, and I would miss the bakery too much, and I would miss you.” Biz valued Muriel dearly and bet she was a phenomenal teacher in her day.

  “Are we almost finished? You’ve hit your tantrum quota for the month.”

  Biz chuckled. “Okay, fine. I’m done.”

  “Fabulous. Nice speech. I’ve got to get upstairs. Why don’t you recycle those boxes—and watch your step, I hear the floor may be sticky.”

  “Hardy-har.”

  “How was Finn? We never got to him. Do you think you’ll see him again?”

  “Ha. Yes, I like him. He’s a train wreck but great in the sack, and, oh yeah, he’s on his way back to Ireland, and PS, I almost got him arrested. Do you think I’ll ever see him again?”

  Muriel said, “Salient point. I’m really sorry about your grandfather. Now splash your face, get some coffee, get to work, and don’t go near the counter.” She left Biz standing in the basement alone, angered and frustrated by so many things she’d already forgotten where to start.

  * * *

  The intimate wooden-shingled church was not as packed as Claire anticipated, but Grandpa Dun’s old golf buddies and bridge friends arrived early and sat in the front. Rah was chosen to read something she’d written to represent the grandchildren, and Claire and Cat spoke in tandem about being raised with good manners and sense. They agreed the great-grandchildren—“the Greats,” as they were lumped together—were too young for the responsibility of speaking in front of the crowd and that funerals were adult affairs, though they were allowed to attend as long as they remained quiet.

  E.J. wanted to speak, but the family wouldn’t allow it. A funeral was “not the time nor the place” for him to try out new material. It was bad enough he’d quit a top-tier law firm to become a stand-up comic; he would not be using his grandfather’s funeral to do a quick set. “I promise not to work blue,” he pleaded, “obviously, Jesus. Who do you think I am? It’ll all be very tasteful, life affirming, what’s-it-like-on-the-other-side stuff.” But his mother, sister, aunt, and cousins were unified in their answer. There was no need to take a vote.

  The minister deferred to Marjorie Thornden’s wishes by allowing the church choir to lead the congregants in singing “What a Wonderful World,” and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The reception was at the golf club, where she’d insisted on a live jazz trio, much to Claire’s chagrin. They played Thornden family favorites: Cole Porter and the Gershwin fellows, as Dunny used to say time and again. And after a stiff old fashioned, Nana Miggs demanded Charlie fox-trot her around to “Easy to Love” or be cut from the will. Claire was livid about the impropriety, but once others joined in she gave up and poured herself another chardonnay. Sissy Bickers danced with her husband, and Muriel brought the ladies from Bernadetta’s, who danced with each other like in black-and-white wartime photos. “Dr. Rebekah” aka Becky from Fall Festival weekend was there. After college she became a pediatrician. She and Biz had reconnected recently and become fast friends when she relocated to Firth with her second husband, who was, at last, Jewish.

  Charlie would’ve danced with Piper, but she no longer liked to dance. He wanted to dance with Biz but knew he shouldn’t. Instead, he focused on his grandmother and how she lit up in his arms. Her cheeks still formed tiny apples when she grinned. He was proud of how she’d held up and wondered if he’d be as lucky with Piper at the end of his days. He looked for his wife in the crowd and found her glowering back at him as if she, too, were annoyed there was live music at a memorial. He wished he could please her. He usually fell short. But Piper was the mother of his children.

  Biz knew she was drinking too much and didn’t care. The service unexpectedly served to amplify her loneliness. All that damn soul-mate talk sent her into a funk, so she treated herself to a craft beer, two cosmos, and a chardonnay. Rebekah tried her best to distract her from the bar, Muriel even took a glass out of her hand. And Sissy pretended not to notice Biz’s slurring, unaware that she was wobbling herself. Watching Charlie dance with Nana Miggs didn’t help matters; Biz missed dancing with him terribly. She told the girls how when she and Charlie were little they memorized all the fast musical numbers from Grease. They also made up elaborate choreography to George Michael’s “Faith” and an epic dance/mime odyssey to Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall. They danced up stairs and leaped off patio furniture like Fred and Ginger—though Charlie insisted they were Fred Flintstone and Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Rebekah said she thought it permissible if they shared one dance, though Sissy advised against it with a shake of her head. Muriel told her that not only should they get out there and dance together but she would tell the jazz trio to play “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough.” Biz laughed, but even drunk, she knew that was a bad idea, though to her, she and Charlie would always be a team.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Biz caught the sight of Hugh Billings winding his way toward her. “You should dance with Hugh,” encouraged Sissy. “You should definitely not dance with Hugh,” said Muriel, and Rebekah laughed in agreement. Hugh was the local widower, bookstore owner, and perfect gentleman. Biz had known him and his wife, Adele, for years as the most graceful couple in town, seemingly older than their e
arly forties. They brought calm and dignity to every committee meeting they attended and were the sort of couple one couldn’t possibly imagine having sex. But Biz appreciated Hugh’s breadth of intellect, good posture, and steady demeanor. So when he asked permission to kiss her at the end of their first date, she stood on tiptoe and planted a warm one on his lips. Hugh recoiled slightly, shocked by her forwardness, and set her gently back down. Biz smiled thinly, said good night, then went upstairs to pleasure herself. She politely declined a second date.

  But tonight she was too desperately lonesome to turn Hugh down and wept as he shuffled her awkwardly around in a stiff two-step. He gallantly offered her a handkerchief from his breast pocket, but what she really wanted was for him to make her laugh. Meanwhile, Charlie led Nana Miggs around the club’s parquet floor in elegant gliding sweeps. Biz watched them with a mix of morose envy and joy. When Charlie passed her, she silently begged him to cut in on Hugh and take her in his arms, but it was no use. She suspected Charlie could no longer read her mind. The thought fueled more tears, and her cheeks glistened.

  Claire marched up to Cat, incensed. “This dancing really should end soon.”

  “Come on, Claire, no one cares. They’re actually having fun. Grandpa would—”

  “It’s inappropriate and flip. It’s crass and simply not done.”

  Cat took a large swig of her club soda and lime. Ever since breast cancer, her tolerance for petty bullshit had dwindled. She squared her shoulders and looked up at her sister. “I don’t just mean no one cares what we do today, I mean no one cares what we do ever. No one cares whether we do the right thing anymore because they no longer care about us. When will you accept that? I would have thought it was painfully obvious to you based on the attendance at the church earlier. The forty-seven people in this room right now are the only ones left who give a crap about our family, and in another fifteen years it will shrink to twenty. And that’s going to be fine with me because I’m tired of caring what others think, Claire, and I would think you’d be exhausted, too.”

  “I think you’re being ridiculous,” Claire said, but she didn’t storm off.

  “Stop. Caring. I mean it,” said Cat, then turned to face the dance floor. “Our family is imploding bit by bit, because that’s what families do. People try and fail, and hopefully they learn. Nothing gold can stay. Our children are jailbirds, comics, alcoholics, and sexual deviants, and we’re going to have to be okay with that. No one family can hold on to a social hegemony forever—it goes against the law of averages—and who would want to? It’s too much pressure. Families are too multifaceted to remain on a controlled trajectory indefinitely. Even the royals are a friggin’ mess. Perfection is unattainable, Claire. The sooner you—”

  “I never said—”

  “You didn’t have to. We’ve all felt it for years, the oppression of perfection. You got it from Dad. Stop it. He’s gone, and there’s no one left to impress. Worry about your inebriated daughter and your fatherless granddaughter. Give E.J. some love, for godssake, before he’s so ornery and misanthropic that no one will ever love him, and let these miserable people have a moment of joy on an incredibly sad day.”

  Claire had never imagined her family was miserable. To this, she had no reply.

  E.J. and Georgia walked up. “Hey, who’s that tall old dude with the white ponytail and the Hawaiian shirt?”

  “Ah, case in point,” Cat said, eyeing Claire. “That’s Gordon. He’s Nana Miggs’s watercolor-landscape instructor and special friend.” There was a brief pause as E.J. and Georgia registered what Cat was insinuating. Devastation slowly bloomed on Claire’s face. She hissed, “Mom brought a date to Dad’s funeral?!”

  E.J. said, “Gives new meaning to ‘Doing your Thornden best,’ don’t ya think?”

  Biz and Rah sauntered up. “What did we miss?”

  Georgia said, “Nana Miggs invited her side piece to the funeral.”

  “What?!” they said in unison.

  Cat ignored them and continued, “It would appear so. And I would advise you all to roll with it. The woman’s just lost her husband, and we are in no place to judge.” E.J. giggled and said, “Oh, shit.” Claire pinched her son on the shoulder. E.J. said, “Ow!” then clapped once and said, “This is gonna be great.”

  “Don’t use this,” Rah said to E.J. “This isn’t fodder for your dumb jokes.”

  “Yeah, off-limits” and “Really, E.J.,” layered Georgia and Biz.

  “You can’t tell me what I can’t use. It’s all material. Whatever happens to me in my life is mine. And you’re not the boss of me.” He was still grinning like a bastard.

  Claire said, “Our personal family business has no place in your comedy routine. I forbid it.”

  “You know, Mom, you can’t forbid me from anything. I’m an adult and a working comic. It’s my job, so it’s fair game.”

  “What’s fair game?” said Charlie, just joining them.

  “Define ‘job,’” said Rah.

  “Shut up, lesbitch,” said E.J.

  “Fuck you, you hack.”

  Biz blurted out a laugh and Charlie elbowed her in the ribs. Ned spoke to the motley crew in a stern yet reasoned tone. “Your language and attitude has no place at this event. Show some grace and respect or help yourself to the door.”

  “Yeah, c’mon, man,” said Charlie.

  E.J. shot him a searing look. “Said the guy fucking his cousin for the entirety of our childhood.” Everyone erupted at E.J., horrified and incensed. Charlie lunged at him. Biz seized in panic; she’d seen him that way before. Claire shouted, “Enough! Everyone go home and go to bed. Now!”

  Cat said, “And stop drinking, for crying out loud, all of you, before you say something you’ll regret. That goes especially for you, E.J. Move it. Charlie, take a chill pill. Let’s go.”

  Cat had Ned run Biz and Ruby home and escort them all the way into their apartment. She told him to make sure Biz got up the long flight of stairs safely. Ruby carried her mother’s purse and unlocked the door.

  “Thanks, Uncle Ned,” Biz slurred.

  Ruby said, “Just dump her on her bed. She can sleep in her clothes, she’s done it a million times.”

  “If you say so, champ,” said Ned, and deposited her as directed. When he returned a moment later, Ruby was brushing her teeth. “You all set, young lady?”

  “I gah dis,” Ruby said with a mouth full of toothpaste. Ned waved good-bye over his shoulder so as not to make Ruby feel more embarrassed than she might already be and let himself out. Ruby yanked off her mother’s shoes and folded her into the bedspread like a burrito. It was only 7:30 P.M.

  Ned stopped off at Dickbird’s to have a quiet beer. It had been a long day of Thorndens and he needed a break. As he waited for the foam to settle on his Guinness, he noticed Charlie nursing a Brooklyn Lager by himself in the back. He slid into the booth across from him and let a long silence go by. He wanted to see if Charlie had anything to get off his chest first before he set the tone for the conversation they may or might not have. Ned finally spoke. “There are so many things I’m probably supposed to say. Do you want to hear any of them?”

  Charlie responded without looking up, “Not really.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Ned. He watched Charlie’s face working hard to conceal his conflict. “You’ve been a great stepson, you know.”

  Charlie knew he’d been as lucky with his second dad as he’d been unlucky with Dick, his first. Ned had a kind heart that radiated patience and empathy. “And you’ve been a terrific stepdad. I mean it.”

  Ned continued with great delicacy. “If there’s ever anything…” He trailed off and waited. He knew from what Cat had shared with him that it must be painful for Charlie to see Biz so unhappy while being only marginally content with Piper himself. And there was the notion of Ruby’s paternity. Ned worked hard to remain open-minded. He was forgiving in the way someone who’s been imperfect can be.

  Charlie stared at the thin grooves
in his beer mug. His mind was fixed on regrets and desires. He felt at fault for Biz’s current situation, for attacking her in his dorm room, then bolting and leaving the country. She’d never had the opportunity to be angry with him to his face, to process her pain and rage. That couldn’t have been healthy. It wasn’t fair to abandon her so abruptly, leaving her with no best friend, no other friends, really, for support. She’d clearly ramped up her drinking while he’d been gone; who knows how many men she’d slept with. Then there was that one night in the tree house, right before he got married, then took off again, this time with Piper. He’d abandoned Biz again, though he knew it was to save himself one last time. Then Biz’s and Piper’s daughters were born weeks apart. He’d always wondered, and though she never told him he always felt he knew. She kept saying not to worry about it and to focus on Piper—that in the long run, they were all still family.

  Charlie spoke hesitantly. “There’s something I want to fix very badly, because … I’m pretty sure I’m to blame. But I also know we’re not supposed to try to fix other people…”

  Ned considered this. “That’s true.” He had years of sobriety under his belt and as many in 12-step programs.

  Charlie continued, “We’re supposed to let people fix themselves.”

  “If they want to be fixed, yes. Someone’s been to therapy.” Ned grinned.

  Charlie tried to grin back but labored. “Turns out I’m pretty broken.”

  “We all are to some degree. Awareness is the first step. You’re well on your way.”

  “Jesus, I hope so.”

  Charlie wanted Biz to be happy, so much so it was breaking his heart. Was he happy? He grew quiet thinking about his own marriage. There were things he still wished for and things he was working on no longer wishing for. “Manage your expectations,” Nana Miggs reminded her grandchildren over and over, “then get rid of them.” So he did. He decided things between him and Piper were probably as good as they were going to get, which wasn’t great but good enough after thirteen years. Theirs was an ergonomic love with stalwart systems in place. The sex was consistent and they communicated well enough, though he often felt Piper was disappointed in a thousand little ways. She’d been an unforgiving but reliable mother to their son and daughter, and understood the tapestry and expectations of his world. She was willing to take on his family and his past, which had counted for a lot at the time he married her. But now there was no spark when they looked at each other, no excitement for the future. He’d given up on that long ago—had traded it in for fidelity and a warm hearth.