The Loose Ends List

by Carrie Firestone

  Gram climbs out of the limo and wipes her eyes with a handkerchief. Titi sticks her arm out the window to wave.

  “What are Titi and Joe going to do now that Titi’s not her housekeeper?” Janie asks Wes. We watch Gram blow kisses at the limo as it disappears down the deserted street.

  “She’s sending them to Hawaii. That’s Titi’s prize for putting up with Assy all those years. The woman’s a saint.”

  “Titi loves Gram,” I say.

  “Assy loves Titi more,” Wes says.

  Mustache Guy introduces himself as Eddie and steps forward with an announcement.

  “Okay, listen up, everybody. As confidentiality is of utmost importance to the Wishwell guests and crew, we ask that you relinquish all electronic devices, including phones.” We literally gasp. “Don’t worry, you will get them back. We promise to keep your equipment in a safe until you’ve completed your journey. If you need to make a call or text, you have fifteen minutes to do so now. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Wes and Uncle Billy nearly drop Aunt Rose into the crack between the landing and the sludgy water. “What the hell?” Uncle Billy throws up his hands. “How can they do this?”

  Wes runs to the end of the dock and back like a lost ostrich and frantically starts texting and tweeting. Uncle Billy calls their catering assistant, Donna, and yells at her to wake the hell up, it’s an emergency.

  Nobody takes the time to argue with Eddie. We all realize that would be wasting the last precious moments of our contact with the civilized world.

  Mom calls Aunt Mary, because Janie refuses to waste time on her mother. Dad calls Bev. Janie and Jeb sit on the cold walkway and text furiously. It’s a symphony of words silent and spoken propelling into cyberspace: No signal. Won’t be able to talk. Text me so I get your texts as soon as I get back. Going to exotic places. Just found out no cell service.

  “Don’t worry, Mary, we’ll take good care of her.” Mom pauses and hands the phone to Gram. She talks in whispers to her firstborn daughter. I only hope Aunt Mary is being nice.

  It’s the middle of the night, although my family doesn’t seem to mind waking up the entire East Coast. I lose time trying to figure out which of the E’s to call so I decide to group text them all. Urgent. We just found out the cruise doesn’t have cell service OR an Internet café. I won’t be able to contact you until I get back. I love you all so so so much. Please don’t forget about me. This is so hard. OMG. I LOVE YOU. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Ha Ha. XOXO

  I pull up my various accounts and post a simple sentence: Going on a world cruise with the fam. No service. Have a good summer, suckers. I immediately regret using the word suckers, but it’s not worth changing at this point.

  Bob Johns is on the phone with one of his kids. “I love you, too, sweetheart. Give the little ones kisses. I’ll see you in LA.”

  The only ones not irritated by the device abandonment order are Gram, because she clearly already knew and didn’t tell us, and Aunt Rose, who just keeps saying, “Somebody call my doorman and tell him to feed Weebles.”

  “Rose, Weebles died in 1973. He’s fine,” Gram insists.

  I get instant replies. Love you too. Life will come to a halt until you get back. (Remy) I’ve already done everything you wouldn’t do and plan to do more. Love you so much. (Lizzie) Try to make out with a waiter so we can be even. (Abby, who never misses a chance to bring up her hookup with a waiter on her cruise.)

  Rachel’s text comes at the last minute. “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”—Spock (fitting Star Trek quote)

  And then it’s over, like a ripped-off Band-Aid that pulls hairy patches of skin with it. One by one, Eddie collects our most prized possessions.

  “Don’t worry, we have thousands of books and DVDs on board,” he says, as if books and DVDs will make up for our collective loss. Stupid, stupid Eddie the mustache guy.

  Two men hoist our embarrassing volume of luggage onto the ship.

  Eddie leads us through security down a long hallway. I’ve been on a few cruises with my parents. I’m expecting the typical glitz and over-the-top gold-plated everything. But the ship’s lobby isn’t like that at all. It’s a tropical paradise, all fresh and clean and vibrant. There’s a tranquil waterfall, surrounded by trees and flowers and clusters of bamboo swings. Looking up, I can see all the way through the curved glass ceiling to the sky.

  I want to sit on a swing and take in the cool mist of the waterfall, but Gram tells Eddie to show us around. “We’ll rest when we’re dead,” she says.

  Eddie leads us into a ballroom with lush red velvet drapes and a handful of tables covered in off-white tablecloths. A mural showing a row of conga line dancers dressed in vintage clothing spans the entire length of the inside wall. Eddie sees me staring at the words above the mural. AND STILL WE DANCE. “It’s our motto,” he says. “Nice, huh?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, studying the happy faces of the conga line dancers.

  Uncle Billy makes a beeline to the grand piano sitting between the side of a stage and an expanse of windows overlooking the sea.

  “Play ‘Heaven,’ because that’s where we are,” Wes says. “Check out the chandeliers. They’re modern and vintage at the same time. Look how they’ve hung them at different heights. Genius.”

  “Can we get something to eat?” Jeb says.

  “In a minute, Jebby. Come on.” Gram motions us to follow her. She’s full of energy and excitement like an elf taking us through Santa’s workshop.

  “This is the café, our most popular hangout spot, other than poolside,” Eddie says. The café is filled with patchwork chairs and rustic tables and a thousand books on floor-to-ceiling shelves.

  A family sits in the corner eating waffles. I’m surprised to see a baby in a high chair.

  The family turns and waves. There’s a very cute couple, obviously the parents of the baby, and then an older man and lady who both look haggard and sick. The baby slams her hands on the tray and Cheerios go flying all over the place. The cute mom with the blond pixie cut leans down to clean up.

  Mustache Guy leads us over to the counter and opens a cabinet. He pulls out small tablets in yellow cases and gives one to Jeb. “I know we’ve asked a lot of you, especially the young people here, by confiscating your electronic devices.” The mom gives the baby a bottle, and she bangs it on the tray. “We call these bees because they’re yellow and they buzz.”

  He hands each of us a bee and keeps talking. “Each bee has been programmed for you individually. This is your upgraded smartphone.”

  My bee’s MADDIE O’NEILL LEVINE screensaver is obnoxiously flashing my high school yearbook picture. I hit the SHIP icon. Arcade. Art Studio. Bingo. Café. Chapel. Chemotherapy Lounge.

  “Every guest is programmed in. Crew goes by title, for example, waitstaff, concierge, emergency nurse, cabin attendant.”

  Dance Instruction. Grief Room. Ice Cream Parlor.

  “Of course, there’s no outside contact, but we make things very easy on board.”

  Massage. Memorial Planning. Movie Theater. Patients-Only Floor. Pool Deck. Radiation. Side Excursions. Yoga.

  “This is so cool.” Janie scrolls down the music list.

  “Where’s the casino?” Dad calls out in his abnormally loud tourist voice.

  “We ended up replacing it with the patients-only floor, but we have an arcade and a nice card room.” Dad scowls. In addition to science and useless trivia, Dad loves the craps table.

  Aunt Rose looks a little dazed. She’s sitting in an oversized chair with her head drooped to one side.

  “Hey, Janie,” I whisper. “Do you want to hit the pool deck or the chemotherapy lounge first?”

  “How about we meet in the middle and go to bingo?” she says.

  We continue touring the main floor of the ship. The old-school arcade will be fun. The good news is there are lots of places to hide from my family if they annoy me.

  Our eyes move from our bees to the
view from inside the glass elevators.

  “I cannot wait for you kids to see your cabins. I’ve been working on this for a long time,” Gram says.

  “Astrid, you just found out you were sick. How have you been working on this for a long time?” Dad says.

  “I found out I was sick last month. I’ve known I’m old for a while now. I started planning my trip as soon as I got home from seeing Ruth off. I just kept hoping not to get hit by a bus or murdered before I could do this.”

  “You’ve always been a planner, Mother,” Mom says as the door opens.

  “Here we are, babies.” Gram steps out first. “Bobby and I need some alone time. Don’t bother us until tonight.”

  Our cabin is straight out of the best episode of a home decorating show, only with better linens. Gram stocked the room with our favorite toiletries and candy and issues of Vogue stacked next to issues of Scientific American.

  “Look, Janie, we can figure out obscure patterns in the universe by analyzing changing fashion trends,” I say.

  She stares at me. “Or not,” she says blankly.

  I pick up the silver framed picture on my nightstand of Gram and me watching fireworks in Bermuda when I was three years old. Gram’s pressing her face into my mess of curls, and I’m laughing up at the sky. That is how I will always remember us.

  Janie and I sit on the bamboo swing on our very own balcony and watch the newest arrivals learn they won’t be able to use cell phones. This family is huge. There must be more than twenty of them. They are all dark-haired and stubby, running around and making sweeping arm movements.

  We watch the stubby family follow Eddie onto the ship, and decide to unpack while we’re still running on adrenaline. I fling open the closet and find a treasure trove, a bounty fit for a Vogue editor. The colors and textures blend like a bouquet in size four for Janie, size eight for me.

  “Of course Gram has to label the outfits,” Janie says, pointing out the tags looped around each hanger. “Can you say control freak?”

  “Ooh. This one’s for the Latin night. That could be fun.” I pull out a flouncy electric-blue dress.

  Somebody pounds on the door. We both jump.

  Jeb is standing outside with a dumb-ass grin on his face.

  “Come see my room.”

  “No, Jeb. We’re busy,” I say, closing the door.

  He pushes the door open. “Just come, assholes.”

  We follow him next door. I figured Jeb would use this trip as an opportunity to sit in a chair and masturbate to his crazy music while playing with his piercings and thinking about how dark and gloomy life is. He opens the door, and we discover a Jeb oasis.

  Jeb’s room is an instrument, freshly tuned and ready to make art. There’s a blank canvas stretched from floor to ceiling on every wall and tables filled with art supplies. I’m hoping this will cheer up my bummer-faced brother, who gets irritable and kicks us out after Janie tries to mess with the easel on his balcony.

  We’re suddenly exhausted. We nap for hours in our cozy little nest and wake to the jarring sensation of the ship’s engines gearing up to leave port. My bee wakes me with a welcome text from Francesca, the Wishwell’s founder, inviting us to a forties-themed opening dinner.

  Then Gram texts, We’re off! Join us for hors d’oeuvres at six in Trish and Aaron’s cabin. Come dressed for dinner.

  We try to maintain our footing as the ship lurches clumsily. The crew is shouting outside, pulling up the ramps, and getting ready to set sail.

  “It looks like they’ve finally loaded all the people and supplies,” I say.

  “Great,” Janie says, chugging a bottle of water. “There’s no backing out now.”

  “At least we’re in it together.”

  I put on the designated Forties Night outfit, a vintage lavender dress and stunning T-strap heels. Janie comes out of the bathroom in a red dress with matching lips. I pin one side of my hair with a jeweled clip and work on creating Janie’s updo. At six o’clock sharp, we find my parents’ cabin at the end of the hallway.

  Mom answers the door, smiling in blue polka dots.

  My parents’ cabin is peaceful and elegant, with a collage of black-and-white family photos above a sitting area facing a jumbo-screen TV hooked up to a computer.

  “Your dad is so excited he actually kissed Gram on the lips,” Mom says, gesturing to a massive telescope out on the balcony. “And come see my closet.”

  Mom shows us her own treasure trove. “Mother even set up a cookbook library, you know, because she wants me to cultivate my baking gift.” Mom chokes on those words a little. She always wanted to be a professional baker, but our school activities and house stuff and sipping gin with Bev got in the way.

  Gram and Dad are on the massive balcony in front of the telescope. He’s pointing out something on shore. She looks through the lens and punches him. “They’re not humping, you fool,” Gram says. Dad laughs.

  “Girlies, come out. Hey, Jebby.” Jeb is behind us in high-waisted pants and suspenders. “So, do you like?” Gram says.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” Janie hugs Gram. Even tiny Janie makes Gram look like a hobbit.

  “We love it all. You are the best grandma in the entire universe,” I say.

  “The art stuff is cool, but I really don’t want to wear this shit,” Jeb says, snapping a suspender.

  “Oh, come on. Just humor your gram and wear the suit. You look sharp. You are very handsome under all that metal and ink, Jebby.” Jeb got two neck tattoos before the trip. He snuck them in while Mom and Dad were distracted and distraught.

  I’m ravenous. I go back to the sitting area and stuff three mini quesadillas into my mouth, chasing the hardened globs of tortilla and cheese with alternating mouthfuls of guacamole and salsa.

  “Astrid, I saw a documentary about abuse of cruise ship workers, and—”

  “Aaron, stop.” Gram holds up her hand. “You and your documentaries.”

  “Well, it’s a valid point. These people are paid something like sixteen dollars a month,” Dad says.

  “This isn’t a regular cruise ship, Aaron.” Gram puts her hands on her hips.

  “Every single crewmember is an intern, and their hearts and minds are with the movement. Some are doctors or nurses. Many have been on the ship with a loved one, and all are well educated and informed, even the damn dishwashers and galley hands.”

  “Well, that’s good to know.” Dad turns back toward the telescope.

  “Francesca pays well, trust me,” Gram says. Dad’s already looking for distant planets, even though the summer sun has not yet set.

  I sink into a lounge chair and stare at Gram in her teal swing dress and pearls as she does all her normal Gram things, like berating Dad and eating canapés and criticizing Mom’s lipstick color. She doesn’t seem like she’s reaching her expiration date. It’s not as if her expiration date is stamped on her bottom like a metal can.

  A horn blows. “We’re off,” Gram yells. “Come on, everybody.”

  Wes and Uncle Billy escort Aunt Rose, aptly wearing a rose-colored drop-waist dress and her diamond earrings. Dad pops open a bottle of champagne. I pour myself a seltzer on ice. Bob Johns rushes out to the balcony and grabs a glass. His hair is tied back, and he’s sporting a burgundy zoot suit and a cane.

  “Just in time for our bon voyage toast, Bobby,” Gram says. “I’m not going to get mushy. I just want to say thank you all for dropping everything to join me on this journey. It means the world to me. This is going to be a hoot. Now, let’s go make some friends.” We stand in a circle and hold our glasses together for a brief moment. “Cheers, dears, and farewell, my beloved Bermuda, land of a million memories.”

  As we glide toward the open sea, Bermuda is a smudge on the horizon. I focus on the guacamole. It’s the best I’ve ever had.

  SIX

  THE PARTY IS about to start. When we get there, I’m going to see them: the disfigured, the dying. How will I be able to eat around them? How will I make it thr
ough a whole summer of this?

  Gram slaps my arm, hard. “Get rid of scrunch face.”

  Mom pulls me aside just as we’re leaving. I assume she’s about to give me a pep talk.

  “Honey, that’s an adorable dress, but it’s a bit clingy. Why don’t you try this?” She opens a drawer and pulls out nude Spanx.

  “Really, Mom? You want me to squeeze my body into Spanx to hang out with old people?”

  “It’ll smooth you out. Come on, do it for your wacky mom.” She gives me her pout face.

  “Fine, Mom. But you are ridiculous, you know that?”

  “Thank you, honey. I’ll see you down there.”

  I kick off the shoes and pull the Spanx up. I can barely get them on. My mother never lets me leave the house without tweaking me in some absurd way. I can’t get air, but I head to the elevator anyway, dreading what lies ahead.

  I’m reaching up under my dress to yank at the Spanx just as the doors open. A guy is standing in the elevator, staring at his bee. I quickly remove my hands from deep under my lavender dress and walk into the elevator as he looks up. My God. He’s gorgeous.

  He nods hello, and the doors close. They open again two floors down, and he nods again before he gets off. I barely smile. It all happens so fast.

  I take a minute to collect myself. Clearly the guy isn’t going to the reception. I can’t tell if the tightness in my throat is from the two-second encounter with the ridiculously hot guy or the party I’m about to attend. I try to take a yoga breath, but my torso circulation has been cut off.

  People are gathered in the ballroom bar. I recognize the stubby family. Even close up, they all look alike.

  I make a beeline for Wes just as Gram rushes over to hug an old man with tubes in his nose lugging around an oxygen tank. “Vito,” she gushes.