“I figured the next time we went out it would be for the wedding. We’d stay at the Old Sloop Inn and then head out on our honeymoon. It’s closer to JFK from there anyway.”
I’m speechless, and I’m not even sure why. I may have thought that Jack’s wanting to get married out there was a buy-in to the whole summer-at-the-beach thing. I may have even thought it was a buy-in to the complete picture of who my family is.
Jack puts his arm around me as we walk. “Listen, you know I love your parents. But them, out there, letting their freak flags fly, that’s a once-a-summer thing for me. Can we make decisions over FaceTime?”
“We could. But it’s our wedding. We’re only doing this once. I’d like to taste the cake, feel the napkins, you know?”
Jack laughs. “Well, if you really need to taste the cake. You’ll miss the US Open.”
I’ve never been able to convey to Jack how little I care about tennis. I’ve probably never even tried, but you’d think he would have noticed that I’m the only person in the stadium not leaning forward in her chair with rapt attention.
“That’s fine. You can take Elliot.”
“That’s a great idea,” he says. “See how good we are at getting married?”
* * *
I take the train out to Long Island on Thursday night to avoid the Labor Day rush. Jack has parking passes to the US Open, so he didn’t want me taking his car. I like the feeling of boarding the train by myself with everything I need stashed in my backpack. There’s a little kid sitting behind me singing Christmas carols, and I know Wyatt would have something funny to say about that. I think it’s okay to think that because we’re friends now.
I text him: I think it’s good that we’re friends
There’s no response. The train starts moving and soon we’re out of the city, chugging along past neighborhoods containing families with dramas all their own. I know there is a way to make my life something lighter. My parents are free spirits, and they’ve built a life that supports everything they want to do and be. Travis seems to be doing the same. I wonder what it would be like to be an adult who followed her spirit around, who just up and quit her well-paying job to start over as an art teacher. What if I could spend my time showing kids how to make things, how to access that part of your brain that is uniquely you and then use it to create something that people can see? Creating art is about being vulnerable enough to invite people to spend time in your skin. I can’t think of a better skill to teach.
It occurs to me that Jack is a person whose skin I can’t quite wear. I try to imagine his satisfaction at working his muscles so hard. I try to imagine his caring for patients he kind of resents. I try to feel how he feels about me, and I settle on hopeful. He loves me, and he seems hopeful that I’ll figure out a way to get focused again. My phone vibrates.
Wyatt: We’re friends? This seems so sudden
Me: Haha. I know, we’ve only known each other 25 years
Wyatt: Okay, well as long as you’re sure you’re not in love with me anymore
Me: I’m good.
There’s no reply. I don’t really like what I’ve said. It feels short and wrong. But then again, I am on my way to pick out wedding cake for when I marry someone else. I decide to double down.
Me: I’m on the train headed to Long Island. Going to spend the weekend with my parents picking out tablecloths and tasting wedding cake
Wyatt: Did you decide to get married outside?
Me: Jack doesn’t like the idea. It could rain
Wyatt: Let’s hope he picks a good cake
Me: He’s not coming. He had stuff to do, so I’m going to decide
There’s no reply, not that that was anything important to reply to. I am a little disappointed, having thought maybe I was going to spend this whole train ride shooting the breeze with Wyatt. I’d really like to laugh. It’s five o’clock in the afternoon in LA; maybe he’s working? Or surfing? After twenty minutes, I get a text:
Wyatt: Well, I’ll see you there. Coming for the long weekend to check on a few things for my mom. I’m taking the red eye, get in tomorrow morning
Me: Wow, okay. Meet me at the beach
That was a loaded thing to say. As soon as I send it, I feel embarrassed. We are trying to have an adult friendship, and here I am dragging up the past. He doesn’t reply. My heart is racing a little and I try to breathe my way through it. My friend Wyatt is going to be there this weekend. What a nice coincidence. My mind immediately goes to what it’s going to feel like when I hug him hello, burrowing my face into his neck. Maybe he’ll write a song about it. These thoughts terrify me as they move throughout my body. What a nice coincidence.
48
Travis picks me up at the train. “Did you know Wyatt’s coming out for the weekend?” I ask, like I’m just making conversation.
Travis smiles at the steering wheel. “I did not know that.”
“He gets in tomorrow morning.”
“Ah,” he says.
“What?” There’s really no one in the world who can use silence to convey as much ironic disapproval as a sibling. All that unspoken history fills the space.
“Nothing. Just interesting that he’s turning up here. And you’ve somehow managed to leave Jack behind.”
“Oh come on. Jack didn’t want to come. He hates it out here.” I’ve exaggerated, of course, but somehow I feel like I need to defend myself. It’s not like I planned a weekend with Wyatt.
“He does?” Travis has dropped his edge. “What’s there to hate?”
“?‘Hate’ is the wrong word. He just prefers Mom and Dad in the city, where they’re a little more standard. Out here, the wacky house and all the stuff is a little much for him.”
“That’s who they are, Sam. That’s like the best, happiest part of them. Jack’s going to have to embrace it. And as much as you act like a tight-ass, it’s a big part of who you are too.”
We’re on West Main Street now. Flags left over from Fourth of July are getting a second chance for Labor Day. A couple stumbles out of the Old Sloop Inn. We turn onto Saltaire Lane and pass Wyatt’s house; no lights are on. Everything feels different than it did a few weeks ago, like without Jack as a buffer it’s an actual step back in time.
We let ourselves in through the front door, and I allow myself to feel, maybe all the way down to a cellular level, how good it feels to be home. Everyone’s asleep, and I smell garlic roasted potatoes that were likely burned a few hours ago. On the table by the front door is the usual assortment of mason jars, now with one full of rubber bands in different colors. I smile to myself, wondering if they’re for a tie-dye experiment or for securing braids. With this crew, it could really be anything.
My mom’s moved the dining room table back into the dining room, but it’s still covered with driftwood and large pieces of peeled-off bark. There’s a basket with a collection of sticks perched on a wingback chair. Travis finds me standing there, staring.
“You new around here?” he asks.
I laugh. “It looked like so much crazy garbage last time I was here. Now it just looks so happy.”
Travis finds an open bottle of red wine on the counter next to a bowl of nuts and we take it all out onto the porch.
“Hugh can’t stand it either, if that makes you feel better,” he says.
“The house?”
“The stuff. He wants to kidnap them and take every last random piece of garbage and throw it out. He thinks that if Dad lived in a minimalist house, he’d be painting again. He daydreams about it.”
“Clean lines?” I ask.
“Oh my God, it’s all he talks about.” We laugh.
“I like how they know what makes them happy,” I say.
We’re quiet for a bit, listening to the waves break. I’ve never been able to decide if the waves sound different at night or if there’s just less noise to compete with them.
Travis says, “I feel like I should apologize for not telling you about Wyatt, but I’m not really sorry. It was hard for me, the thing with Mom and Dad and then seeing you totally fall apart. It was such a nightmare, and I was away at school, totally useless to you. By the time that song came out and Wyatt’s life had changed course, you were finally okay.”
“So you thought I’d fall apart again if I knew.”
“I was afraid. And I waited two extra years to come out, waiting for you to feel normal again. That was a really hard time for me, and I figured telling you would start all the drama again. Maybe selfish in retrospect.”
“I’m sorry.” I never really thought much about how my falling apart affected Travis. I always pictured him having a big time in college, having escaped at the exact right moment. But I do remember all the calls to Mom to check in, the texts to me about absolutely nothing. He was taking our family’s temperature and biding his time.
“But it’s okay seeing him now, right? Like, it’s good that you know all that before you marry Jack and move on with your mostly functional life.”
“Mostly functional.” I raise my glass to that. “Do you think Missy McGee knows she’s singing about Wyatt’s old girlfriend all the time?”
“I’m guessing no.”
* * *