Now, Babs went out of her way to show everyone that she was completely fine with a Jewish daughter-in-law. Sometimes when she gave a toast at dinner, she’d say, “Mazel,” and raise her glass toward Rebecca. More than once someone burst out laughing, and everyone had to yell “Cheers” and clink glasses loudly to cover it up. It was no surprise that Rebecca often opted out of Sunday dinners, and sent Jonah to the house with Patrick, claiming she had a migraine.
Rebecca also had seasonal affective disorder, which she talked about all the time. It was the third thing she told me about herself when we met. She spent two months a year in Florida, sometimes more. Jonah was an only child (which upset Babs greatly), and Rebecca and Patrick were almost always following him around and trying to get him to eat, as though he was going to starve right there. It wasn’t at all unusual to see one of them crawling on their knees after Jonah, holding a banana or a cereal bar out, saying, “Do you want a ’nana? Take a bite of the ’nana. Take a bite. Try a bite. Just one bite.” And then they’d shake their heads at each other, like they couldn’t believe he wasn’t eating. Being around them for more than an hour made you consider never having children, just in case there was a small chance you’d turn into them.
We walked into the kitchen and found Babs talking to the housekeeper, Rosie, about the dinner. Babs never really cooked, just gave instructions, but from the way she talked, you’d think she prepared it all herself. Rosie had worked for the Kellys for more than twenty years, and I often wondered how she managed to listen to Babs talk without screaming.
When Babs saw us, she put her palm up to Rosie in a “stop talking” motion, even though Rosie hadn’t been the one talking. “There you are,” Babs said. “I was wondering why you were so late. I was beginning to worry.”
“Sorry,” Matt said, “traffic was bad,” at the same time I said, “It was my fault.”
“I figured,” Babs said, and I had a feeling it was me she was answering. She held my arms and kissed my cheek. “The girls are out back,” she said, which meant, leave the kitchen. “There’s some wine open on the bar.”
I headed over to pour myself a glass of white wine, and watched as Babs pulled Matt toward her. “How’s the job?” she was saying. “How’s it going? Tell me everything.” She made it no secret that Matt was her favorite. His brothers called him the Golden Child or sometimes the Chosen One. At first, I thought this was kind of mean, but then I heard Babs talk for fifteen minutes about how Matt once loaded the dishwasher without her asking, and I totally got it.
“It’s just because I’m the youngest,” Matt said once.
“You’re not the youngest,” I said. Meg was the youngest by far—almost ten years younger than Matt.
“You know what I mean,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal he’d just disregarded his sister’s existence. “The youngest boy.”
I carried my wine out to the patio, where Jenny and Nellie (who were married to Matt’s brothers, Michael and Will, respectively) were sitting on wicker chairs, drinking their own glasses of wine. Behind them, their husbands were throwing a football around with their boys, and their daughters, Grace and Lily, were sitting cross-legged on the ground a little ways away, braiding friendship bracelets. It was a rule at the Kellys’ that none of the kids were allowed to have any screen time, and the girls almost always had a craft with them.
“Aunt Beth, look.” Grace held up the bracelet so that I could see. I walked over to them and squatted down.
“Oh, I like that one,” I said. “I love the blues and greens and how it’s on an angle like that. I used to know how to do that.”
Lily put her hand on my arm. She was seven, a year younger than Grace. “Grace can teach you. She’s teaching me.”
Grace nodded in a businesslike way. “She’s doing a good job, too.”
“Girls, don’t monopolize Beth,” Jenny called. “Let her breathe.”
“I’ll be back,” I told the girls, running my hand down Grace’s hair.
I adored my nieces. They were probably my favorite members of the whole Kelly family. When I first married Matt, I often felt awkward around everyone, not sure where I belonged. Grace and Lily were a great distraction—if I was holding a baby or chasing around a toddler, it gave me something to do and made me feel useful. They were the greatest buffer anyone could have asked for.
Jenny and Nellie were always grateful to have me take a baby from them—Babs wasn’t the kind of grandmother who gave bottles or offered to change diapers—and I was always eager to do it. The first time I went on vacation with all of the Kellys, I shared a room with Grace, who was just a baby. (We weren’t married yet, so there was no chance of me sharing a room with Matt.) I still remember the relief of waking up to her little smiling face staring at me, how she offered her spitty hand to me through the bars of the crib, and laughed when I held it in mine. I remember thinking that at least one person in the family really liked me.