In a Holidaze

I pull my eyebrows back onto my forehead. “I’m sorry, what?”

He nods. “You think that wasn’t messy?”

There is so much here that requires mental realignment, the only thing I can think to say is “Benny had a girlfriend? And she was Lisa?”

Ricky laughs. “He did.”

“But—you guys are still so close.”

He stares at me in tender wonder. “Of course we are, honey. That was thirty-plus years ago. When the friendship is worth it, people work through things. Like with your parents. We’ve survived that because of how much we truly value each other’s friendships.”

“So what happened?” I ask. “Back in college?”

He sips his coffee as he thinks. “The specifics are pretty fuzzy, but if I remember right, Benny was more upset that we weren’t honest about it than anything else. It was a month or two, maybe, of him hanging out with some other friends, but he came back around. We were meant to be family.”

The timing is perfect—or maybe it’s terrible. The back door creaks open, boots stomp in the mudroom, and then Andrew steps into the kitchen.

“Mornin’, Drew.” Ricky brings his mug to his lips and winks at me. I’d smile back, but keeping my face from crumpling is currently requiring all my focus.

Andrew pours a cup of coffee and looks like he’s going to turn back and return to the Boathouse. But his father stops him.

“Come sit with us.”

I close my eyes and try to pretend I’m invisible.

Andrew looks over his shoulder, giving a warning “Dad.”

“Well, at least say ‘Good morning.’ ”

“Good morning.” With a flicker of pain in his eyes that I know is a conflicted blend of guilt and anger, Andrew ducks back outside.

Ricky rumbles a sigh into his coffee. “It’ll be okay. Things always look worse from the inside.”

• • •

No matter how much I want Ricky to be right—that I haven’t ruined everything, that it will all be okay—I can’t see how we get there from here. Theo absorbs himself in video game talk with Miles over breakfast so he doesn’t have to speak to me. Mom tries to catch my eye whenever she passes me a plate, which means she’s constantly trying to hand me food and unfortunately, there’s no room inside my stomach with this ball of regret in the way. I can only wonder what Dad or Benny said to her because strangely, she doesn’t push. When Andrew finally comes in—long after breakfast—it isn’t just awkward as hell, it’s painful. He passes straight through the kitchen, mutters something to Lisa in the hallway, walks out of the house, and climbs into his 4Runner.

For several loaded seconds, those of us in the kitchen— Mom, Aaron, Kyle, Benny, Dad, and me—fall into a perceptive hush. The only sound is Andrew’s truck roaring to life and pulling out down the gravel driveway. Once he’s clearly gone, we return to whatever we were doing before—namely ignoring the giant elephant in the room—but the mood has definitely dropped.

It’s discordant for the vibe to be so dark. Normally we’re all crammed in the kitchen together. Music is blasting, we’re dancing and tasting as we cook, telling stories, teasing each other. Not this time; it’s lifeless in here. Not even Aaron’s fitted metallic joggers and giant Gucci belt bag are absurd enough to lift the mood.

The only sound is the wet, squishy squelch of Mom stirring her homemade macaroni and cheese. All I can think is how much it sounds like the zombies eating on The Walking Dead. I can’t even laugh at this. It’s like a laugh has dried up in my chest, turned dusty.

No one says anything to me directly, but the weight of the silence seems to drift steadily my way, landing squarely on my shoulders.

Ricky walks in from outside, where he’d been shoveling the back walkway. “Heard the 4Runner start up. Where’d Drew go?”

We all make vague sounds, and he walks into the living room to ask Lisa. In the kitchen, we fall silent again, leaning slightly to eavesdrop on her answer.

“I don’t know,” her voice filters down the hall. “Just said he wanted to get out of the house for a bit.”

The volume of everyone’s silent question What the hell is going on? turns shrill. I collect a few dirty dishes to be washed and move to the sink.

Benny follows. “Hey, you.”

Turning on the faucet to warm water, I mutter, “I am the human equivalent of a fart that clears a room.”

Unfortunately, I’ve said it loud enough for others to hear, and Benny unsuccessfully fights a laugh. With relieved exhales, they all take the burst of levity to come over to me, hug me, assure me in overlapping voices that everything is going to be okay, that they’re sure I did nothing wrong. I know they don’t know the specifics of what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter to them. They love me, they love Andrew. Whatever is happening is a blip, just like Ricky said.