Apples Never Fall

“Was it all the pressure you put on yourself with that damned clinic?” Now she was accidentally giving away her hatred of the clinic. She was getting this all wrong. This was becoming one of those pivotal life moments she would wish she could go back and do again so she could say all the right things. She put her fingertips to her hairline. She was sweating. Food poisoning? Savannah’s roast chicken had been so wonderfully tender! Was this the price you had to pay for tender chicken? It was too high a price!

“I should have helped out more at the clinic,” she said to Brooke. She should have! Grant probably felt neglected. “I should have insisted.”

“Oh, Mum,” said Brooke wearily.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” said Amy.

“Can we not make it about you, Amy?” said Brooke.

Amy’s face crumpled. “I just meant I could have helped you.”

“Okay, well, thank you, I’m fine.” Brooke massaged tiny circles in her forehead with her fingertips. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. I thought we might … work it out. Nobody needs to get upset.”

Savannah had folded her napkin into a neat square, concealing her mostly uneaten brownies. What must she think of them all? It was embarrassing to remember how she’d worried that Savannah would be envious of Joy’s loving, stable family.

“Well!” Joy said to Savannah. “I hope this isn’t too awkward for you. All these upsetting announcements on Father’s Day!”

“Sorry, Dad,” said Logan remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to ruin Father’s Day.”

“Neither did I,” said Brooke. “Sorry, Dad.”

“No one needs to be sorry,” said Stan. He looked at the balloon floating above his head, grabbed for the end of the string, and pulled it down. He clutched the balloon like a child in a stroller being pushed around a fairground.

“What are you doing?” Joy asked him.

“Holding my balloon,” said Stan.

“Do you actually need me to give you all some privacy?” asked Savannah. “I could go to my room—” She corrected herself in a sudden fluster and glanced at Amy. “Not my room.”

“We don’t need privacy,” said Stan. “We’re fine. These things happen. It’s no one’s fault.”

“Of course it’s no one’s fault,” said Joy doubtfully, although she’d quite like to ascertain where the fault did lie in each of these breakups.

“Does anyone need—” began Savannah.

“We’re fine,” Stan cut her off.

There was silence for a moment. Stan kept idiotically clutching his balloon. Joy didn’t know if it was fury or nausea rising in her belly. Was she about to vomit or yell, faint or cry? All of them seemed like possibilities.

Troy said, “Seeing as the curveballs are coming from every direction, I might throw one more.”

“Fabulous,” said Joy through gritted teeth. “You do that, Troy. Throw us another curveball. You throw it right at me, darling.”

“Right, well, okay then, Mum,” said Troy. He actually looked nervous. It couldn’t be another breakup. He wouldn’t bother telling them. He was in and out of relationships all the time. “I was considering keeping it a secret, but to hell with it. I could do with your advice.” He moved his glass to one side, sloshing red wine onto the white tablecloth. Was he drunk? Was Joy herself drunk? She really did feel very strange indeed.

He said, “So, you remember Claire?”

“Well, for goodness’ sake, Troy, yes, we remember Claire,” said Joy.

Claire was Troy’s ex-wife, once a much-loved member of the family, just like Indira and, to a lesser extent, Grant. It was like a death each time her children broke up with someone, and over the years there had been many, many deaths.

(She would write that in her memoir: When I look back over the last decade, it’s like looking at a battlefield strewn with the corpses of all the perfectly lovely young men and women who have been in unsuccessful relationships with my annoying, ungrateful children. What would the little innocent teacher think of that? She did say to try to be colorful.)

Troy said, “So, I saw Claire when I was in the States—”

“Are you getting back together?” Amy’s face was full of foolish hope.

“Of course they’re not getting back together,” said Joy, to conceal her own foolish hope. Surely not. Hadn’t Claire gone off to Texas or somewhere like that—somewhere that made you think of cowboys—and married an American cardiologist? A friend of a friend from when Troy and Claire lived together in the US?