by Lian Dolan
Maggie knew she was making some mischief by inviting Gray and not telling Liza, but that was the point of the whole evening: unexpected fireworks. Cap was set to swing by for drinks with Anders. They were a maybe for dinner, but Maggie was certain that once they saw the lobsters and Tim on the grill, the two gentlemen would stay and be there for her announcement.
Maggie cranked up the music, and it blasted through the house as she started to set the table with her mother’s silver that she had also unearthed in the attic. Whatever her father was trying to hide, Maggie was determined to set free.
“What the hell, Maggie?”
Liza had pulled her into the library, away from the ears of the other guests who were mingling on the patio. About a dozen people in various shades of red, white, and blue sipped sangria and ate the complicated cucumber-and-crabmeat canapés courtesy of Connor and David, who had taken over Liza’s kitchen while she was at the gallery doing last-minute prep for the show opening the next day. She’d stopped at home and changed into a white halter jumpsuit she’d bought on a whim, getting a toast of approval from her houseguests (“Here’s to our own Julianne Moore!”). Liza was thrilled David and Connor’s summer rental in Westport had fallen through at the last minute, thanks to a burst pipe and a flooded basement. They jumped at the chance to spend a few weeks in Southport, unsuspecting of the true reason for Liza’s invitation: diverting conversation and chaperones. With the two of them around, she wouldn’t slip up and beg Whit to come home or Gray to come over.
Liza arrived at Willow Lane in a decent mood, determined to enjoy a relaxing night with family and friends, one that she didn’t have to plan, a tiny miracle. Then Gray showed up, in jeans and a blue shirt, undeterred by their conversation the other day at the gallery. He walked straight over to Liza, giving her a kiss on the cheek while the others watched. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.
Liza was not amused and was ready to blame Maggie for her sudden turn of mood. “Why did you invite Gray?”
“Because, because he had nothing to do.”
“Why is that our problem? He’s a grown man. He can entertain himself. Honestly, Mags, it’s hard enough on the Fourth without the kids and Whit. And Dad. The stress of the show tomorrow. I’m down already. I can’t deal with Gray. Why are you even in touch with him?”
“He’s an old friend and he’s lonely.”
Liza didn’t believe that was the only reason. She sensed that Maggie was interested in Gray herself because he was exactly the sort of man Maggie attracted: handsome, damaged, and selfish. Throw in “involved with another woman” and that sweetened the pot for her. In this case, the involvement was years ago, but still, it was textbook Maggie. Her attention to detail, from her outfit to the place cards on the table, made it clear that she had something up her sleeve.
Liza also believed that Serena was a factor. Maggie’s Open-Heart Policy, as Tricia had been calling it behind her back, was taking off in unexpected directions. It was Liza and Serena who had spent nearly all of the last forty-eight hours together, getting the gallery ready for the show, writing the press releases and artist statements, finalizing the guests, and reaching out to a whole new list of people who Serena suggested. Liza had welcomed her help and found that as she got to know Serena, her admiration, maybe even affection, for her had deepened.
It was Serena whom she told about Whit, the separation, his affair or whatever he might call it with his colleague. She confessed about the moment she nearly texted Gray, but instead texted Connor and David to come to Connecticut for the month to act as her minders. She had confided all this to Serena, not Maggie, not Tricia. Serena seemed like a clean slate, somehow, who had a connection to her, but not any baggage. Had Maggie noticed? Was she jealous? Was that really why she had invited Gray?
“Are you interested in Gray? Or is this some type of payback?”
“Payback? No. And why would I have Tim here if I was interested in Gray?” Maggie lied.
“I don’t understand why you would do this to me. Gray hurt me. And that pain changed my life. Is that clear? He’s not some cute guy I used to make out with in the old rowboat and now that memory has faded into ‘great to see you at the reunion’ status. Gray nearly destroyed me. I’m not happy to see him for old times’ sake. Please stop with the ‘healing.’” Liza even used Maggie’s signature air quotes. “This is not something I want healed.”
Liza was wrong. Maggie had done some growing up. If she hadn’t, the conversation in the library would have become a confrontation with yelling, stomping, and a fuselage of accusations and grievances from the past. But not tonight. Maggie was in control and wanted to stay that way. “My mistake. I didn’t realize it was still that raw for you. I get that now.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I ask you to make it through one night with Gray so I don’t have to throw him out like Dad did? I’ll be your best friend.” Maggie resorted to a childhood phrase to evoke Liza’s cooperation.
Liza shook her head. “You make me crazy, Mags.”
“You could use some crazy.” The two sisters headed back to the party, temporary truce in place. “Oh my God, did you see Tricia’s potato salad? It looks disgusting.”
Serena wandered around through the crowd refilling sangria glasses and introducing herself to new faces as “the former neighbor.” She hadn’t been in Connecticut in quite a while for the Fourth and she had forgotten how the town embraced the holiday. Fourth of July was Southport’s Super Bowl. The day had been a picture-perfect Fourth, warm and humid with cotton-ball clouds in the sky and a breeze all day, so the shoreline teemed with sea kayaks, paddleboarders, windsurfers, and small fishing boats. Sailboats, big and small, streamed out and back into the harbor after a day of regattas. The annual bike parade through the Village to the library featured well-groomed children in red, white and blue madras shorts or sundresses riding scooters or bicycles decorated with streamers and balloons. Dogs wore star-spangled bandanas. There were flags on every flagpole, even patriotic bunting on a number of houses. The first of the hydrangeas and roses were in bloom. There was a decorative wreath on every door. Fathers were organizing the legal fireworks they’d bought from stands along the Post Road and the illegal ones they purchased in Chinatown on their way out of the city. Inside the houses, the matrons of Southport were preparing the Fourth of July feasts with blueberry muffins and a haul of steamed lobsters that would be carted to the beach or the boat, complete with tablecloths, centerpieces, and citronella votives, in anticipation of fireworks later that night.
Standing on the patio, Serena could hear the band from the country club across the water playing a classic Stones song and the shouts of children on the beach in an organized Capture the Flag game. It brought back vivid memories of her own childhood, memories that didn’t involve the Sweeneys at all.
For the past few weeks, Serena had been focused on the parallel lives she and the sisters had led and what she had missed out on. So much so that she’d almost forgotten the best moments of her own upbringing, like the long, sweet, salty Fourths when she’d spend all day at the country club, playing in the family tennis tournament, competing in the pool games like Greased Watermelon, and then changing into her blue-and-white sundress for dinner on the beach, fireworks, and maybe a game of hide-and-seek in the lockers with Pierce Janssen or that cute Teague Palmer. She wondered if she would ever be able to square the fact that she was both Serena Tucker and Serena Sweeney.
Over the past few days, Serena experienced what it was like to have sisters, to be a sister. Helping Liza at the gallery became two days of intense bonding. No one was more surprised than Serena when Liza confirmed what Lucy Winthrop had said. Liza and Whit were separated and prospects were very hazy, if not grim. “He waited fifteen years to tell me he didn’t like my family. I wanted to scream that sometimes I don’t like them, either. But I was too tired to argue,” Liza told her.
“I’m sorry.” Serena had focused on listening to Liza rather than adv
ising her. What advice did she have to give, after all? Liza had been holding the truth in for years—about her feelings for Whit, about the burden of caregiving for Bill Sweeney, about the pressure to keep up in a town where keeping up was important, about pushing Vivi and Fitz to be high performers, about proving her worth through work. Liza had a lot to unload and Serena had learned over the years through her work that when someone wants to talk, you let them. Listen, ask questions that help them tell their story, and wait for the good stuff.
“I married Whit for the wrong reasons and I thought I was stuck. But Whit unstuck us; he walked away. I didn’t think he had it in him. I didn’t.”
“Now what will you do?”
“What I want, I guess. I’ve done what other people wanted for such a long time. Be there for the kids, run the gallery which I love. Move to a smaller house, maybe, and not care so much about stains on the couch and dog hair on the rugs. Hide from society for a little bit after this opening because I’m embarrassed that it looks like I couldn’t even hold onto Whit Jones. I’ll be fine.”
Serena saw a lot of herself in Liza, especially the benefits of being the oldest girl in a family. And the burden of expectations. Serena had shed those expectations the minute she headed to DC instead of the Today show, but Liza had managed to live up to most of them. No wonder she was exhausted, drawn, in her own words, “depleted.” For Serena, the role as confidante was new, at least in her personal life.
Even Tricia was starting to come around. They had met up on a run one morning by accident and now it had become a daily ritual, heading out for four miles after coffee. With Tricia, there was no soul-baring, no emotional truth telling. They talked about work. Clearly Tricia was a news junkie, well informed, and had done her own research into Serena’s history, which Serena found flattering. Tricia peppered Serena with questions about articles she’d written, reporters she’d worked with, interviews she’d done with the likes of Malala and Madonna on the subject of human rights. Serena did the same, interested in Tricia’s work life, how she’d settled on commercial litigation, what life was like inside a big New York City law firm. They’d swapped stories on bias and barriers, both real and imagined. Serena saw the same focus and diligence in Tricia that she had. They were both grinders—talented grinders, but grinders nonetheless.
Maggie was a texter, the emoji queen, the type to send a link to a Lady Gaga video or a goofy GIF in the middle of the day and caption it “thinking of you” or simply “LOL.” It would be easy to dismiss Maggie as the crazy sister, truly a “mad Maggie” who amused herself with boy toys and sound baths and made her way in the world by sheer luck, not design. But Maggie’s artistic talent was undeniable. She had inherited the creativity gene, either from her father or mother, or maybe both. If only she’d had Tricia’s work discipline or Liza’s organizational skills, Maggie might be a household name. Instead, she floated along, sometimes on top of the current, sometimes below, and occasionally she needed a life preserver.
In a few weeks’ time, Serena began to see the role she might play in this sisterhood. A loyal friend to Liza. A workplace sounding board to Tricia. A source of support to Maggie. There is a place for me here, Serena thought, looking around the patio at the small crowd of attractive people, chatting, drinking, and laughing, comfortable in each other’s company, a family by birth and by choice. I can be one of them.
“I wanted to say a few words before we finish our beautiful meal and the fireworks start,” Maggie said, standing at the head of the table and tapping the side of her glass of rosé for attention. The lively dinner conversation ceased, all eyes on her. Liza, at one end of the long table, and Tricia, at the other, exchanged glances and then they both looked at Cap, who shook his head. This was an unannounced Maggie Sweeney performance.
“Thank you all for being here tonight. We all have our own memories of Willow Lane and what it means to us. Some have deep memories and some are relatively new. Cheers to Raj and Nina and Devon. We’re so glad you’re here.” All raised a glass to the trio of academics, delighted to be anywhere with a sea breeze and very good wine.
Maggie continued, “This is a special place and it’s our pleasure to share it with you for one last Fourth of July. A big thanks to Tim for the fantastic job on the grill.” Maggie winked at poor Tim, who was in over his head conversationally with the Ph.D.s but had really nailed the perfect medium rare on the tri-tip. “And to Connor and David for the lobsters and the crabmeat. Can you come back on Labor Day?” There was general laughter and some light applause. It had been a delicious dinner.
“As you know, Liza, Tricia, and I recently lost our father. He was a man of many words and many, many stories, but there is one story he never told us in his lifetime, so I thought I’d tell it tonight.” Maggie stepped away from the head of the table, freeing herself from any constraints. Tricia looked at Liza in a panic and mouthed, Please, no.
“Tonight, I would like to introduce you all to a new family member that we’ve gained. Turns out the girl who lived next door was not only a neighbor, she’s our sister. Our half-sister, to be precise, because I know Tricia loves precision, but our sister nonetheless. That, of course, is Serena Tucker. Serena, please stand. We welcome Serena to the family.”
The moment could not have been more awkward. The last thing Serena Tucker wanted to do was stand and hug Maggie in this choreographed announcement, but she did so because Maggie was lifting her out of her seat with strong arms and hope on her face. There was stunned silence and then low murmuring amongst the guests, until Tim the Line Cook blurted out what everyone was thinking: “Wait, what?”
Tricia stood up, because it seemed the thing to do, explaining in the most saccharine voice she could manage, “Thanks to the magic of over-the-counter DNA tests, we’ve recently discovered that there is a fourth Sweeney sister. It’s been a delight to get to know Serena. If you’ve ever been to a party here at Willow Lane, you know that ‘the more the merrier’ is a philosophy our family embraces. And we thank you for your discretion in this matter in terms of sharing this information. When we are ready to share this news with the world, we will.”
“Well, you won’t have to wait long! Look what I found!” Maggie reached under the table that was serving as the bar. She pulled out several handled bags, hidden behind the blue tablecloth. Tucked inside the bags were what looked like reams of paper. It was the memoir. “I was searching the attic looking for this fabulous patchwork skirt my mother used to wear on the Fourth. I thought it might be in the attic, in a trunk where we kept our dress-up clothes. When I opened the trunk, there was the memoir right on top. Oh, and I found the skirt in the cedar closet with the mothballs. We can all read the full story here.”
Cap leapt up to intercept what he imagined would be the distribution of the manuscript like gift bags at a gala. That could not happen.
“Maggie, I have to step in here. As your father’s lawyer, a reminder that we do not own the rights to the book; the publisher does. We would be in breach of contract if it was distributed to the public. Why don’t you let me take a look at this first and then all these lovely people can pay full price a year from now when it’s published?” Cap deftly collected the bags of paper and carried them into the house. Anders put his arm around Maggie’s shoulders, in part comfort, in part restraint, and led her back to her seat. Then he deflected the conversation. It all happened so quickly that Maggie couldn’t protest. “Tell us more about the attic, Maggie.”
As Maggie rolled into her material on finding the skirt in an antique chest of drawers tucked under an eave, Liza and Tricia followed Cap into the house. Serena was the only person left standing as the fireworks started from the beach club across the water. She turned to the guests, a table filled with complete strangers, and said, “Should we go watch the fireworks from the dock?”
Connor leaned over and whispered to David, “I think we already did.”
“What the hell was she thinking? She knows better than to hand out copies of
the manuscript. She’s not that clueless,” Liza asked out loud to Cap and Tricia as they stood in the library, fireworks booming in the background. “She literally has no sense of propriety at all. Did you see Serena’s face?”
“Poor Serena. Welcome to the family! Now she knows what it’s really like to have Maggie as a sister. She may want to go back to being an only child,” Tricia said.
“That is terrible,” Liza scolded, but she had been thinking the exact same thing. Being Maggie’s sister was a lifelong roller-coaster ride. One day, dancing in bare feet and a flower crown in the VIP section of Coachella; the next day, having to bail her out of credit card debt so she could charge her airplane ticket home. And the whole time, everything that went right was her doing and everything that went wrong was someone else’s fault.
Cap agreed, “Serena’s been so discreet with this information for months. To her credit.”
Tricia nodded. “And then Maggie gets ahold of a few specialty cocktails and announces it to the world.”
“Only David and Connor seemed to be enjoying the moment because they appreciate family drama,” Liza said. “I hope they don’t call the dozen journalists they know with the scoop. I’ll talk to them.”
“At least she found the memoir,” Tricia said, flipping through a copy to make sure it was genuine. “How many copies did she make?”
Cap did a quick count. “Ten.”
Liza and Tricia started to laugh. None of this was funny, but it was a relief. “She was going to hand them out like candy, consequences be damned. Let’s hope that Nina or Devon haven’t already tweeted this out on literary Twitter, despite Cap’s plea.”
“Yes, I was going to hand them out.” Maggie appeared at the door. “I don’t understand why this has to be some big secret.”
