The Smart One

by JENNIFER CLOSE

  Weezy kept reaching up to push her hair out of her face. She looked hot and annoyed. Cathy, Ruth, and Maureen had arrived and all crowded themselves into the kitchen. They were chatting away, believing themselves to be kind in keeping Weezy company, but Claire knew that all Weezy wanted was for them to get the hell out of her kitchen so that she could spill and curse and cook in peace.

  Will and Bets were in the living room, watching the TV in silence. They both seemed happy. Will just wanted to watch the football game, and Bets was probably just gauging the blackness of the NFL players on this screen as opposed to her own.

  Max and Cleo were in the basement. They’d been kind of quiet all weekend, and she thought they might have had a fight of some kind. Poor Max. It wasn’t easy to deal with a significant other in this household.

  Martha was at the stove, stirring apples and cranberries and looking worried. She’d made this dish every year for the past ten years, and still every time she fretted about it and tasted it, apologizing to everyone that it wasn’t quite right, until people praised it so much that she smiled down at her plate and said, “It’s not that hard.”

  When Claire walked into the kitchen, Weezy was arranging appetizers on a platter and Cathy was eating crackers and talking about her job, which had something to do with computer programming. Ruth saw Claire and gave her a hug. “Hi!” she said, like they hadn’t just seen each other the night before. Claire always liked Ruth, and sometimes wanted to pull her aside and say, “You know you can do better than Cathy, right? You’re way nicer.”

  “Okay then,” Weezy said. She clapped her hands and then held them together like she was praying, which maybe she was, for strength to make it through the day. “Ruth? Would you take these out to the family room and then why doesn’t everyone head out that way to spend some time with Bets.”

  Ruth nodded and picked up the tray of cheese and crackers. Cathy followed behind her, still talking about her job—something about a man named Brett, and why he was responsible for spreading a virus throughout the company.

  “What can I do to help?” Maureen asked.

  “Nothing. Really, we’re all set. You can go relax.”

  “I think I forgot to add cinnamon,” Martha said. “Oh shoot!” The mixture boiled and spit a little bit, and Martha jumped back to avoid it.

  “I can stay in here,” Maureen said. But Weezy just shook her head, and Maureen got up and headed out, looking like she was being punished. During Thanksgiving, Maureen ended up sulking and smoking in corners of the backyard, looking like a teenage version of herself.

  “I’ll go see if people need drinks,” Claire said. She took orders in the family room—white wine spritzer for Bets, beer for Cathy, white wine for Ruth, and for Maureen “anything with vodka.”

  “Do you want some help?” Will asked, but his eyes were still on the game.

  “I’m good.”

  Claire went to the bar and first made herself a large Bloody Mary with olives. After a few sips of that, she took the drinks to the family room and delivered them to each person with a napkin. She took her drink and walked down to the basement, knocking on the doorframe.

  “You guys? Are you in there?”

  “Hey,” Max said. He sounded tired. Claire peered around the side of the door and saw both of them sitting on the bed. Cleo’s eyes looked a little red. They were definitely fighting.

  “You should come up soon,” Claire said. “Cathy’s talking about her job, which is fascinating, and Bets is getting ready to tell us all why we’re a disappointment. You don’t want to miss it.”

  “We’ll be up in a minute,” Max said. He didn’t smile.

  Claire felt bad for them. Once, during a trip with Doug’s family, she and Doug had gotten into a fight about the cable bill. It was so stupid, but at the time she was so mad she thought she was going to scream at him, right in front of his parents. She’d found the bill and saw that he’d added this crazy football package that basically doubled the price.

  “We split this bill,” she’d hissed at him in their room. “And you didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me about it? To ask me?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Doug said. “I’ll pay for it.” Then he tried to shush her, which she hated.

  “Don’t you shush me,” she’d said. “Don’t you dare shush me.”

  The Winkleplecks were a quiet family. They never yelled. At dinner, if someone accidentally interrupted another person, they’d say, “Oh, I’m sorry. Go on.” There was no talking over anyone else. When someone started telling a story, the whole family turned and gave that one person their total attention. It made Claire feel very nervous to ever talk around them.

  She knew Doug was scared that his parents were going to hear them fighting. “Shhh,” he kept saying. “It’s fine. I’ll pay for it, okay?”

  “That’s not the point,” Claire had said. But she couldn’t quite say what the point was, exactly. Just that she was so mad at him that she wanted to scream, and she wanted him to scream back. But they couldn’t, and that made it worse. And Mr. and Mrs. Winklepleck were always there, quietly reading or watching TV at a very low volume. There was nowhere to go, and Claire stayed mad at him the whole trip.

  And now it looked like poor Max was in the same situation. “Okay, guys,” Claire said. “See you up there. You want me to bring some drinks down here for you?”

  “No, thanks,” Max said. “We’ll be up soon.” Claire left them down there, wondering what it was that they could be fighting about.

  CLAIRE FRESHENED HER BLOODY MARY, and sat down next to Cathy on the couch. She reached forward and grabbed some slices of cheese. The worst part is almost over, she told herself.

  Cathy turned to her and lowered her voice. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I’m really sorry. About Doug and everything.”

  “Thanks,” Claire said.

  “I really mean it,” she went on. “I know how sometimes news can be worse when everyone else gets ahold of it. You forget how you even feel about it. But just remember that however you feel about it is fine.”

  “Thanks,” Claire said again. But this time her eyes watered a little bit and Cathy squeezed her arm. Maybe being with Ruth had made Cathy a nicer person. And maybe Claire should ease up on the Bloody Marys a little bit.

  LAST NIGHT, FRAN HAD TOLD HER that she was “D-runk.” That’s how he’d said it, pronouncing the D and the runk, as if they were two different words. She’d protested, telling him she was just tipsy. And then, as they walked into the kitchen to look for snacks, she’d tripped on her heel and ended up facedown on the kitchen floor.

  “I’ve fallen,” she said, “and I can’t get up.”

  “Come on,” Fran said. He lifted her up and brushed the front of her, like she was a little kid that had fallen in dirt. “Time to go home.”

  “No, I was just kidding,” she said. “Don’t you remember that commercial? I was just pretending.”

  Fran had walked her across the street and down the block to her front door. “I should get home anyway,” he said. “People are coming over early tomorrow. Why do people eat so early on Thanksgiving anyway? Who wants to eat mashed potatoes at noon?”

  “We don’t eat until late,” Claire said. “Like six o’clock, usually.” She sat on the front cement steps and rested her head on her knees.

  “Okay, then,” Fran said. He knelt down. “Do you want to go inside?”

  “I think I’m just going to sit here for a while.”

  “What?”

  Claire lifted her head. “I said, I’m just going to sit here for a while.”

  “Do you want me to wait with you?”

  Claire shook her head. “No, you can go home.” She put her head back on her knees and waved her arm. “Go, I’m serious.”

  “I’d feel better if you were inside,” he said.

  Claire stood up and walked down the steps. “Okay, I’ll go in the back door, then.”

  She waved good-bye to him as he wa
lked down the driveway and the sidewalk, and then when he turned the corner, she walked across the street and back to Lainie’s.

  Almost everyone had gone home, but Lainie’s two younger sisters were still there, and they cheered when she walked in. “You’re back,” Lainie said. “Yay!”

  They sat on the back patio and smoked cigarettes, until Claire started feeling like it was going to make her puke. Lainie smoked only when she was drunk, but she didn’t like to smoke in the front of the house, in case any of her clients walked by. “Pilates people do not smoke,” she always said.

  They talked about Fran, and Claire re-created her “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” scene for Lainie, who loved it.

  “What do you want with Fran?” Lainie asked. Claire shrugged. She really didn’t know.

  “I don’t think I want anything,” she said. “Or maybe just a little something. I don’t know.”

  She barely remembered their moving back inside the house, and vaguely remembered sitting on the couch and then just laying her body down sideways to sleep. Then the next thing she remembered was waking up to Jack calling her out on sleeping in her clothes.

  “RUTH, AREN’T YOU GOING TO HAVE any turkey?” Bets asked.

  “Bets, Ruth is a vegan,” Cathy said.

  Bets sniffed. “Right, I forgot.” She asked the same question every year, and Claire was pretty sure that she put “Vegan” right along with “Alcoholic” on her list of things she didn’t believe in.

  “Martha, how’s the job going?” Maureen asked.

  “Fine. I mean, good. It’s going well.”

  “You must be the only white caretaker out there,” Bets said. “All of ours are foreign, probably illegals. You’ll be in high demand.” She smiled at Martha.

  “Mom,” Weezy said. Bets just shrugged and held up her hands, like, What do you want me to do?

  “Should we say grace?” Will asked. They all bowed their heads, and afterward Will raised his glass and said, “Let’s eat!”

  Claire noticed that Cleo was just poking her food around on her plate. “Are you okay?” she asked her quietly, but everyone heard her anyway.

  “What’s the matter, Cleo? Are you not feeling well?” Weezy asked.

  “There was a bug going around the retirement community last week,” Bets offered. “Four people died.”

  Claire and Ruth caught each other’s eye and smiled, then looked down at their plates. It wasn’t funny, of course, that four people had died. It was just that the first time Ruth met Bets, she’d been going on and on about all of her friends that had died. Ruth had very nicely asked Claire later, “Does your grandmother talk about death a lot?” and Claire had laughed so hard she’d peed a little bit. Ever since then, the two of them were in serious danger of getting the giggles when Bets announced that another bridge partner had dropped dead.

  “The sweet potatoes are wonderful,” Will said. “And so are the apples and cranberries. Martha, you’ve outdone yourself.”

  Martha smiled as everyone chimed in, “Yes, they’re amazing, they really are. So tasty.”

  Claire had moved on to white wine and she finished her glass and refilled it from the bottle at the table. Thankfully, it was making her headache go away. There would be another one tomorrow, she knew, but for the moment it was worth it to get through this dinner.

  “We’ll call Drew after dinner,” Weezy said.

  “Where is Drew?” Bets asked. They’d told her maybe ten times already.

  “Drew stayed in California. He’s having Thanksgiving with some coworkers,” Maureen said.

  “Well, that sounds downright depressing,” Bets said.

  “I think it sounds nice,” Max offered. “To be someplace where it’s warm, I mean.” He got up and returned with another beer. On his way back to his seat, he patted Cleo’s shoulder. The table got quiet and all Claire could hear was chewing and forks hitting the plates.

  “Do you like train travel?” Bets directed this question at Ruth, who looked as surprised as the rest of them.

  “Um, yes, I do. I haven’t done much of it, but I do like it.”

  Claire saw Weezy and Maureen give each other a meaningful look across the table. They were always on the lookout for signs that Bets was losing it, and bringing up train travel out of the blue was a bit strange.

  “Should we go around and say what we’re thankful for?” Weezy suggested. It was something they’d done when they were little, and every so often, when conversation was lacking, they did it again. One year, Drew said he was thankful for the dirt bike that he’d gotten for his birthday, and Bets tried to make him choose something else. He’d refused, telling her that really was what he was most thankful for. Bets got mad and told Maureen that she’d raised materialistic children. Weezy had come to her defense, and all the kids went upstairs to play and listen to their mothers fight with their grandmother. Will had gone into the kitchen to clean, which was more desirable than staying at the table and fighting over a dirt bike.

  Now, when they went around the table to say what they were thankful for, everyone gave up and just said “Family” and “Health” as their answers. Weezy was about to start, when Cathy interrupted her.

  “Well, actually, I have an announcement to make,” she said. She looked around the table and smiled, looking a little nervous. “Last night I asked Ruth to marry me, and she said yes!”

  Claire thought she felt time stop. Bets had her fork in her hand and she held it right above her plate, a strange little smile on her face. Everyone else stared at Cathy, as though it would take a minute to understand what she had said. Finally, Martha squealed and jumped up to run around the table and hug Cathy and Ruth. Once she moved, everyone seemed to get unfrozen.

  “This is so exciting,” Martha said over and over.

  “Will you be my maid of honor?” Cathy asked. Martha started to cry and Claire rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.

  “Of course,” Martha said.

  “Well,” Maureen said. “What a surprise. Well. What a happy Thanksgiving.”

  “To the engaged couple,” Will said, holding up his glass. Claire knew he would repeat the story later, to friends and coworkers, saying, “You can’t pick who you love, you know. As long as they’re happy, we’re happy.”

  They all raised their glasses and clinked them to the right, to the left, and the center. Now Claire knew why Cathy had mentioned Doug. She really did feel bad that she was going to announce her engagement so soon after Claire’s ended. That’s why it was sincere.

  Cathy turned to Claire. “Will you be my bridesmaid?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Claire said. “I’d be honored.” She took a sip of wine.

  LATER, AFTER THE TABLE WAS CLEARED and the dishes were stacked, and the dishwasher was started, they all rested in the family room. It would probably be two days before the kitchen was really clean again. It never seemed worth it to Claire, to make all that mess for one meal. But then again, Thanksgiving was not her favorite holiday.

  Someone suggested playing a game, but no one really wanted to, so they just sat around for a while. Will fell asleep in his chair and started snoring loudly. Claire leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Maureen, Cathy, and Ruth were getting ready to leave.

  Everyone hugged, and Bets went up to bed. Will stood up and stretched, pretended that he hadn’t been sleeping and said that he was heading to bed as well. The house smelled like turkey grease, which made Claire feel a little sick.

  Claire and Martha unloaded the dishwasher and got another group of dishes in, and then they started washing the china and crystal by hand. “Oh, thanks, girls,” Weezy said. She was on the couch with her feet up. “You don’t have to do all that. I’ll be there in just a minute.” But her eyes were closed, and she looked like she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.

  Martha kept talking about Cathy’s wedding. “I’ll have to give a speech,” she said. She almost dropped the wineglass
she was drying. “What will I say? Oh, I’m already nervous. What do you think she’ll want us to wear?”

  “Burlap sacks,” Claire said.

  “Very funny. Ruth has a great sense of style.”

  “Yes, but we’re Cathy’s bridesmaids. I think she’ll be the one picking out the dresses.”

  “Oh, well, we can suggest some things. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not.”

  They finished the second round of cleaning, and Claire went upstairs to get ready for bed. Martha came up a little while later, when she was already under the covers.

  “I tried to get Mom to go to bed, but she’s still on the couch. She kept saying, ‘I’ll get up in a minute.’ ”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Claire said. She was half-asleep.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” Martha whispered.

  CLAIRE WOKE UP WITH A START, in the middle of a nightmare where she was falling off of a balcony. She sat up to steady herself, and saw Martha squatting by the door, which was cracked open.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Shhhh,” Martha said. She motioned for Claire to come next to her.

  “What?” Claire said. But she got up and went to the door. She could hear her mom’s voice, but couldn’t quite hear what she was saying. Then she heard Max, who sounded like he was crying.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Martha.

  Martha turned, her eyes wide. “I think Cleo’s pregnant,” she said.

  “No—did you really hear that?”

  “I think so. It’s kind of hard to hear.”

  “No way. Max is probably just failing a class or something.” But even as she said it, Claire knew that she was wrong. She couldn’t hear what Max was saying, but she knew he was upset. And not much upset Max. In fact, almost nothing upset him. Claire tried to ignore the excited look in Martha’s eyes.

  Claire never understood the way that Martha got almost giddy when there was tragedy or drama. She fed off of it. She could find a problem in any situation, even the most pleasant. But when there was a real problem, like this, that’s where she really thrived. She got involved, she talked about it constantly. It was like being a part of the drama made her feel included and important.