Family and Other Catastrophes

by Alexandra Borowitz

  “I thought you were here to help. You’re just making me anxious.”

  “Sorry. These places make me anxious. Did I tell you about the time I got PTSD when Mom made me wear makeup for cousin Alyssa’s bat mitzvah? Speaking of which, was Alyssa invited?”

  “No. Nick and Susan probably think our entire family is dead.”

  “Whatever, Alyssa voted for Obama twice—I don’t need her in my life.”

  Emily turned to look at Lauren and raised an eyebrow, wondering whether she should even bother addressing that comment. Finally, she gave in. “Are you a Republican now?”

  “No. I only vote third-party. The lesser of two evils is still evil.”

  “Okay.” She paused for a second, remembering the overwhelming smell of perfume in the store. “Wait, Lauren, is perfume really going to kill my baby?”

  “It’s not a baby, Emily, it’s a fetus. Don’t buy into anti-choice propaganda.” She fiddled with a Kat Von D black lipstick for a second before getting bored and moving on to a blue eyebrow pencil.

  “Yeah, but I’m keeping it!” Emily watched as a middle-aged woman with her teenage daughter rubbernecked at their conversation. Emily lowered her voice. “Can we put the politics aside for one second? I’m about to get married, I’m pregnant and nobody knows, and you just told me that perfume could kill the baby!”

  “It won’t kill it,” she angrily whispered back. “I’m just saying, it’s not healthy. In fact, I’d be suspicious of makeup in general. All the parabens.”

  “What? I’ve been wearing makeup daily and God knows how long I’ve been pregnant. Oh fuck, this baby is definitely messed up now.”

  “Calm down, you’re probably fine. But if you’re actually concerned about all this, just stop wearing makeup. It’s not like you need it.”

  “I need it more than anyone, Lauren. I’m one of the few people in this cruel world whose acne phase and onset of aging manage to coexist. Fuck, now my own vanity is going to kill my kid!” Emily felt her heart rate increasing, her hairline sweating. At this point, she didn’t care who stared at her or laughed at her. This was just like the time she saw a man at the airport using a laptop next to an outlet without charging it. Only a suicide bomber, in her estimation, wouldn’t take advantage of a scarce airport outlet. She had frantically called the airport police, completely unconcerned about how crazy she might have seemed. She was saving lives! Who cared that he turned out to be a harmless businessman? On some level she was at least raising awareness.

  “Hello, ladies.” Emily turned around and saw a young, heavyset makeup artist wearing the all-black Sephora ensemble. Her beige face was matte and completely drawn on. She had dark hair pulled back in a shiny top knot, and highly arched eyebrows that made her look like the love child of Kim Kardashian and Ursula from The Little Mermaid.

  “Hey,” Lauren said. “We’re in kind of a hurry, so—”

  “I just wanted to let you know we are offering free makeovers today. What are you two looking for?”

  “Makeup for my rehearsal dinner tonight,” Emily said. “And then for my wedding tomorrow. I accidentally dropped all my makeup in the toilet, and things are just—” She couldn’t help it. She started to tear up. She tried to breathe deeply to postpone the tears, but she could feel them rolling down her cheeks. “This whole week has been so messed up. My parents are probably getting divorced, and I’m pregnant and the father doesn’t know yet, and the baby is going to die because I’ve been wearing all these parabens.”

  The woman looked slightly aghast, then rearranged her face into a smile. “Look, honey,” she said. “No shame in drama. We all have drama. Just the other day my fourteen-year-old half sister started cyberbullying me on Twitter, and up until then I didn’t even know she existed.”

  Lauren turned to Emily and began rubbing her back. “Calm down about the parabens. Just relax and get the free makeover. It’ll save time.”

  “We can do a free makeover for both of you, by the way,” the makeup artist said.

  Emily shrugged. “May as well. Lauren, you okay with this?”

  “I guess. I could always use the experience for a blog post. Seems like they’re looking for more obvious, easy-to-digest feminism over at Cunt.”

  “Excuse me?” the makeup artist asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. “Let me get Eddie to do her makeup and I’ll do yours. What’s your name?”

  “Lauren.”

  “I’m Dominique.”

  Dominique instructed Lauren to sit on a black canvas director’s chair while Eddie came over to do Emily’s makeup. He smiled and placed his hands on either side of her face. “I am going to make you look hot!”

  “I just want something that covers up my blemishes. I don’t want to look too crazy.”

  “No worries, girl. I get what you’re saying. Mature skin tends to look best with a liquid foundation as opposed to powder, so I hope you don’t mind if I stick to that. When I’m done with you, you won’t look a day over thirty. Now close your eyes.”

  With her eyes closed, Emily began to feel her anxiety crawling back into her brain. “Say, you wouldn’t know anything about the chemicals in makeup, would you?”

  “Uh...maybe, why?”

  “I’m pregnant and I’m just not sure what makeup is safe to use...you know, for the baby.” That question was innocent enough. Nobody could conclude that she was doing anything but being reasonably cautious.

  “Oh, girl, I don’t know. How far along are you?”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t know.”

  “Girl, go to a doctor! You need to know!”

  “Why? Why do I need to know?” She was sweating again.

  “You want to make sure it doesn’t have any birth defects, obvs. If you’ve been drinking—”

  “I have been drinking! What, are you trying to tell me I’ve killed the baby?”

  “I think we’re done here,” Lauren said.

  * * *

  “Girls, you’re going to be late!” Marla called upstairs. Emily and Lauren came down the stairs, dressed for the rehearsal dinner. “My God, what happened to your faces?”

  “We got makeovers at Sephora,” Emily said.

  “You wouldn’t need all that eyebrow powder if you didn’t overpluck so much.”

  The front door opened. It was Steven.

  “Don’t mind me,” he said sullenly. “I just need to get my suit.”

  “Oh yes, Steven,” Marla said. “Tell us not to ‘mind you’ when you come in here unannounced looking like a hobo. The least you can do is trim your beard. Photos are forever.”

  “Hey, Dad,” Jason said. “Stay for a beer. We can all head over together.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m just going to get my suit.”

  “This is classic you, Steven,” Marla said. “Avoiding criticism even when it’s long overdue.” Her bracelets jingled against each other as she made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

  Steven stopped on his way to the stairs. “Can you elaborate on what criticism is so ‘overdue’?”

  “Well, obviously, your narcissistic tantrum needs to be addressed. You’ve completely humiliated Emily on her wedding week.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Emily said. “I mean, Dad, I wish you were staying in the house, but I get why you left.”

  “Marla, don’t involve the children in this,” he said, ignoring Emily. “They’re too young to process any of this.”

  “I’m twenty-eight, Dad.”

  “Yes, Emily, I’m aware, but your brain technically only reached maturity three years ago. And this situation is a lot more complicated than you think.”

  “Mom cheated on you with Dr. Leibowitz. That’s pretty much it, right?”

  Marla sighed. “Emily, it’s more complicated than that. I have a lot of unr
esolved anger toward my father and Aunt Lisa, and I can’t say I completely dealt with...never mind.”

  “Never dealt with what?”

  “The Cold War.”

  “What?”

  “You of all people should understand. Knowing that Khrushchev was ready to destroy us every second of the day really impacted me in my formative years. It’s no wonder that years later I subconsciously sought out a strong, masculine presence who reminded me of my own distant father, while I was married to someone who—no offense, Steven, I’m sure even you would agree with this—is extremely passive.”

  “I’m done with this,” Emily said, throwing her hands up and seconds later realizing she had adopted that tic from Marla. “Nobody in this house takes responsibility for anything.”

  Lauren pulled Ariel onto her lap. “Emily, you are the last person who should be criticizing anyone right now. We literally just went through this.”

  “Okay, fine. I take it back. Leave me out of this.”

  “What is she talking about, Emily?” Marla asked. “Lauren, what are you talking about?”

  Lauren shook her head. “I’m not going to say shit. Because I’m a decent person who respects what other women do with their bodies.”

  “Holy crap!” Jason said, putting his beer down on the counter. “Emily, did you spermjack David?”

  “No,” Emily said. “Let’s just drop it.”

  “I have no clue what’s going on anymore,” Steven said. “I’m getting my suit.”

  “You’re not really here to get your clothing,” Marla said. “You’re here to make a big, passive-aggressive scene. So you know what? You got your scene. Are you happy? Emily is completely humiliated right now.”

  “You know what? Forget it,” he said. “I’ll just wear this to the dinner.” He motioned to his short-sleeve collared shirt and khakis, then went to the door to leave. “See you at the rehearsal dinner, kids.”

  He left, slamming the door behind him. Or trying to. The door didn’t close properly and swung back open a few inches. Moments later, Steven reached in awkwardly and closed it.

  “Okay, I’m calling a therapy session,” Marla said. “You kids have barely even been trying. So I have to take this even more into my own hands. It’s therapy time.”

  “You can’t do that,” Emily said.

  “Yes, I can. I’m paying for your wedding and God forbid I also give you free therapy, I really am horrible, aren’t I?”

  “It’s not free therapy, it’s just your new way of being able to lecture and guilt us without criticism.”

  “Without criticism? Ha! I’ve been getting nothing but criticism this whole week! That’s what I get for raising you kids to be outspoken. Maybe I get what I deserve after all.” She looked at the floor sullenly.

  “Okay, fine,” Emily said. “You want therapy, Mom? Well, I resent that you cheated on Dad and had an unethical relationship with my psychiatrist that confirms my suspicion that I can never trust anyone.”

  “That comment carries racial undertones,” Lauren said. “If you use the ‘I can’t trust anyone’ excuse as a way to perpetuate your inherent biases, then—”

  “Oh, shut up, Lauren.”

  “Mom,” Jason said. “I have a slightly different take on you cucking Dad.”

  Marla looked perplexed. “Jason, I don’t know why that should bother you, and I think your father would argue I didn’t do that nearly enough. That was a big problem in the beginning of our marriage. Very mismatched sex drives, and styles.”

  “Oh my God, Mom,” Jason said, covering his face with his hands. “I didn’t say fucking, I said cucking.”

  “Well, I have no clue what that is. I don’t have time to keep up with all your idiotic start-up lingo.”

  “He’s talking about cuckolding,” Emily said.

  “That’s actually a valid kink for a lot of people,” Lauren said. “And queening.”

  Emily shot daggers at her. “Yes, because that’s totally the subject we’re on.”

  “You know what?” Marla shouted, silencing all three of her children. “First of all, all of you need to start taking responsibility for how messed up you are. Perhaps it was my fault to introduce you to the world of psychology so young. It made you all completely incapable of taking responsibility for your own hang-ups. You’re all officially far too old to be blaming your mother for your problems, and definitely far too old to be blaming each other.”

  “But you still blame Aunt Lisa for—” Lauren started.

  “I wasn’t finished, and Aunt Lisa is hereby a banned topic because you have no insight into how toxic she is. As for Abe, I was wrong to have an affair. Yes, I was wrong. But until you three have been married to your father and dealt with his constant condescension and aggressive boredom, you can’t talk. Do you realize how many times I had to listen to him going on and on about Samurai culture while simultaneously giving zero credit to my own academic and professional achievements? Jason, you yourself admitted you cheated on Christina solely because she aged and you were bored. And Lauren, I think we all see how little you respect Matt. I’d be shocked if you made love to him even once a month. I may have cheated on your father but at least I love him, in my own way, and I do respect him both as a husband and as an academic. And Emily—you mean to tell me you have no secrets with David? If you don’t yet, you will.”

  Emily stared into her mother’s glassy brown eyes and couldn’t bear to imagine how transparent she must have looked in that moment. If Marla didn’t know about the pregnancy, she at least knew Emily was the type of person who would hide something that important. Which made her no better than her mother.

  “I think I made some good points today,” Marla said, with the casual tone of a therapist wrapping up a normal session. “These sessions have been so helpful for all of us, don’t you think? Anyway, are we all ready for dinner?”

  NIGHT 6

  Emily

  “WELCOME TO SCALLION,” said a bored young woman in a red kimono. She wore a bun with two metal chopsticks through it. “Follow me.”

  The rehearsal dinner was in the back room. There were two long black-lacquered tables low to the ground, with little red cushions to sit on. The four parents and David’s aunt and uncle were seated at one table, while Emily and David’s generation sat at the other. Ariel was on Lauren’s lap, wearing a shiny blue Frozen princess dress and a pair of glow-in-the-dark sneakers.

  “Your son is adorable,” Jennifer said to Lauren. “And so well behaved.”

  “He loves restaurants because he has such a sophisticated palate. When he was two, the other kids at his preschool were having Cheerios and he was requesting tempeh, coconut water and heirloom tomatoes.”

  “I’m starting with a drink,” David said to Emily. “What are you going to have?”

  “Oh, um...nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Yeah, detox before the wedding.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. I just gained a little weight and I want to fit into my dress.”

  “Yeah, Em, but the wedding is tomorrow.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I wasn’t hungover on our wedding day? I’ll just have water.”

  The waitress came by. “Have we decided?”

  Lauren attempted to order as Ariel struggled on her lap, trying to take off his dress. “I’m a boy. I’m a boy princess,” he chanted.

  “My child and I will have the tofu stir-frybulous,” she said, reading the menu.

  “I don’t want this!” Ariel shouted. “I want grilled cheese!”

  “He’s testing,” Lauren said. “He loves Asian food.”

  “Hate hate hate hate hate hate,” Ariel said, kicking Lauren.

  “We’ve been encouraging him to express himself,” she explained to Jennifer. “This is so healthy.” She picked him up and carri
ed him, screaming, out of the room.

  “I want to be boy Elsa!” he cried.

  David’s drink arrived. It was a girly-looking margarita with a pink fan. He discarded the fan and took a sip. “Oh, fuck,” he said. “Nathan.”

  At the far end of the table, Nathan had gotten out of his seat and was kneeling in front of one of the waitresses. She was in her late teens, thin with a chubby face and braces, wearing a pair of Converses with her ill-fitting knee-length kimono. Nathan, his fedora tipped over one eye, stroked her palm.

  “Milady, your palm says you have an old soul. This means you would be better off betrothing thyself to an older gentleman...perhaps one between the ages of twenty-four and thirty.”

  “Nathan!” David gave his brother a stare. Nathan smiled devilishly at the waitress and released her hand.

  “We shall meet again, milady...when you arrive with the edamame.”

  Lauren

  Lauren sat on a bench outside the restaurant with Ariel on her lap. She felt tears in her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to cry in public. Looking at Ariel made it worse.

  “Mommy, I want grilled cheese!”

  “This restaurant doesn’t have it. You’re going to have to compromise. Besides, vegans aren’t supposed to eat cheese. How do you even know what it tastes like?”

  “But I want it!”

  Jason emerged from the restaurant, looking for Lauren. He spotted her and came over.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Ariel is just throwing a tantrum over grilled cheese.”

  “They have grilled cheese? Awesome!”

  “No. He wants grilled cheese and they don’t have it.”

  “Why are you in such a shitty mood?”

  “I don’t want to get into it.”

  “It’s the rehearsal dinner, Lauren. David’s dad is paying—don’t you want to go ape shit and order some Shanghai Shooters on him? Take some body shots off Nathan? Come on, it’ll be fun!”

  “I said no,” she snapped. “When will everyone just leave me the fuck alone?”