Family and Other Catastrophes

by Alexandra Borowitz

  That was when he saw her: the famed jailbait. Was it jailbait if they were eighteen? He had heard that David had a much younger stepsister, and there she was in all her slender, tanned glory. She was hanging around Nick’s porch looking bored, as if she were afraid some friends at school would make fun of her for being too enthusiastic around her family. He had heard that girls her age—no, women her age, she was legal—absolutely loved older men because they saw them as confident, distinguished provider types. Jason wasn’t at the sugar-daddy level quite yet, but that hardly mattered when it came to a one-night stand. The only problem was where they would do it. Certainly her room would be full of creepy childhood items, like teddy bears that said “I wuv you” when you pressed them, ballet participation certificates from elementary school, posters featuring those douchebags from One Direction and old haunted-looking Barbie dolls with tangled hair and rubbed-off eyes. Not to mention her bedroom was under the roof of her inevitably protective stepfather. Jason’s room wasn’t much better as it was under Marla and Steven’s roof, with Lauren, the self-appointed Cockblocker-in-Chief, across the hall. He did have a car, though.

  “Hello,” he said, sidling up to Maddyson. She looked up from her phone, which displayed the Snapchat app. She met his stare, her eyes widening slightly. Either she was intimidated by his confidence and swagger, or creeped out. He was inclined to believe the former.

  “Hey,” she said, looking bored again. “Sorry, I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “What’s with the pink streak of hair?” Jason asked. “Is that a wig? You’d look better if you were Asian.”

  “Are you a friend of my dad’s or something?”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he said with a smirk. He could never let comments like that get to him. Then he would be just as emotional and self-centered as Christina, or any other woman for that matter. He had to remain stone-cold and keep his alpha game tight.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just trying to get through this party without having to talk to anyone.”

  “This attitude is going to stop being cute when you’re older.” He had to keep the smile on his face or else he’d just seem mean. The goal was to be cheeky—rude, maybe even arrogant and slimy, but never antagonistic. He felt a tap on his shoulder and a man’s voice. “I implore you to leave her alone, good sir.” The accent was vaguely British, like the generic old-fashioned accent used in gladiator movies.

  He turned and saw an overweight man in his early twenties. He looked as if he were in a community theater production of The Matrix, complete with a shiny black trench coat lightly coated in sweat and giving off the fishy, chemical smell of synthetic leather.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I am Nathan, good sir, brother of the groom.”

  “Wait, I heard about you. Are you the one who got banned from the live-action role-playing group for scaring those women with your sword?”

  “Even LARPers can’t always appreciate true historic accuracy,” he said a little defensively. “In bygone days, females appreciated valiant warriors, and I never intended to fight a lady. In fact, I wasn’t fighting anyone—merely displaying my sword-fighting skills for the womenfolk to behold. My plan was to throw my handkerchief to the most beautiful one once my performance was done...but next thing I knew, the police were there, and I was being asked not to return. Chivalry is dying in this society, verily.”

  “Damn,” Jason said, taking another sip of beer. “You couldn’t just talk to the girls?”

  “Good sir. Do not try to debate me on the importance of chivalry. I implore you to step away from the lady.”

  Jason almost laughed but then realized he wasn’t joking. “I’m sorry, I’m a friendly guy. I was just chatting with her.”

  “I am the protector of her innocence.”

  “Nathan,” Maddyson groaned. “For the last time, I’m not a virgin! Both of you, go away!”

  “Nonsense, milady.” He turned to Jason. “You, sir. Be gone, unless you desire a duel in the arena of intellect. Care to discuss Descartes?”

  “I don’t want any trouble, buddy.” He paused. An idea. “See that woman over there, man?”

  He pointed to Christina, who had moved on from Joss and was now sipping some sauvignon blanc with Susan, laughing as she plopped a plastic ice cube into her glass. He could only hope she wasn’t talking about him and his “constant infidelity” or “alcoholism.” Women would complain to anyone who would listen, and Susan seemed like enough of a chump to fall for Christina’s whole self-pitying routine.

  “Yes,” Nathan said. “The fair blonde lass.”

  “You want to intellectually duel someone? Duel her. She loves being told when she’s wrong. Makes her hot.”

  Nathan smiled smugly, as if Jason had just made an embarrassingly basic grammar mistake.

  “What?” Jason asked. “What is it now?”

  “A gentleman cannot duel a lady. For if he did, he would no longer be a gentleman.”

  “Oh, brother. How about this? I promise to leave your sister alone if you—”

  “Stepsister.”

  “Okay. I promise to leave her alone for the entire night, if you go and talk to that blonde lass. I hereby beseech you to flirt with her, serenade her and defend her honor.”

  “But why? I don’t know her.”

  “Look. I know her. She loves guys like you who are romantic and old-fashioned and whatnot. So if you’re looking for a girlfriend, go talk to her.”

  “Intriguing.” Nathan nodded and tipped his fedora. Then, with a whoosh of his trench coat, he headed for Christina. Jason sat back on one of the patio chairs, put his beer to his lips and prepared to enjoy the show.

  Nathan

  Nathan took a deep breath as he approached her. The closer he got, the older she looked, but she was still pretty. She reminded him of how he always imagined a miller’s wife or tavern wench would look in the books he read—a bit weathered compared to her much more attractive eighteen-year-old counterparts, but comely still with clear blue eyes and flaxen locks. Below her loose-fitting top he could make out a relatively ample bosom.

  With all the aplomb he could muster, he bowed deeply, removing the fedora from his head with an elaborate flourish. “Milady...” he said, staring at her feet. After sufficient time, he straightened himself and made eye contact. She looked frightened. Perhaps she had never met a true gentleman before.

  “Um...hello,” she said. His stepmother had vanished. For all her faults, she always knew when to make herself scarce.

  “What is your name, sweet lass?” he asked, taking her hand. She had a dry, freckled palm like a farmhand, but her fingers were small and delicate.

  “Christina,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m the mother of the flower girl. And you are...?”

  “Nathan Porter. Best man and second in line to the country seat of Portershire.”

  She looked past him to where Jason was sitting. “Okay. Be honest with me. Did my jackass of an ex-husband tell you to come over here?”

  “I know not the man of whom you speak.”

  “Okay. That’s what I thought. Go back and tell Jason this shit isn’t funny, and if he wants to see his daughter at all this week he’s going to need to act like an adult.”

  “Milady, is it so difficult to believe that a gentleman of my age would be interested in you? I value more than just looks, you know, and besides, you’re like a seven at least.”

  She sighed. “Go away. Tell Jason to quit it. Bye, Nathan.”

  He marched back to Jason, fixing his stare on the balding slob, who was drinking beer before sundown like a tavern drunkard. Nathan stood before him and put his hands on his hips. “Jason,” he said. “That woman is your ex-wife!”

  “Yeah, guess I left that out. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”

 
“She knew you sent me over. You have disrespected me in mine own home. Now prepare for that duel.”

  Jason began to laugh. “Take it easy, buddy. I just wanted to have some fun. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was trying to mess with her, not you.”

  That was more of an apology than Nathan had expected. Back in high school, the popular boys would play similar pranks on him, like the time they told him there was a sword fight tournament being hosted in Gym A, and Nathan didn’t realize that was where the Womyn’s Empowerment Club was having their “safe space” sexual assault discussion group. He was the one who got suspended for a week after that, all because he arrived brandishing a sword and wearing a Guy Fawkes mask. Some people took political correctness much too far.

  “I appreciate your apology, good sir,” Nathan said. “But I need assurance that you will not exploit me for your merriment again.”

  Jason got up from his seat, wobbling slightly. “Sorry if I took advantage of you. It was just such a perfect opportunity to piss off the ex. You know how it is.”

  Nathan nodded. He had never had a girlfriend, but that had not stopped him from plotting his revenge on other women. Already he had made one of his female tormentors cry on Twitter by calling her an imbecile for misspelling lavender. He smiled serenely to himself at the memory of that triumph.

  “So you respect me?” Nathan asked.

  “Sure. As much as I can respect a guy in a tweed fedora and sneakers.”

  “Do I have your gentleman’s word?”

  Jason threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah. My gentleman’s word.”

  Emily

  The air smelled of slightly burnt hot dogs, a childhood smell that filled Emily with nostalgia. She looked around and saw that the two families appeared to be mixing nicely, or at least being polite to each other. Marla and Susan were still talking. Marla was looking ever so slightly over Susan’s head, her chin tilted upward, a very full glass of pinot noir in her hand. Emily heard Susan exclaim “So you’ve actually been to Madison Square Garden? In the Big Apple?”

  Meanwhile, her father had cornered Nick by the grill. “I don’t want to bore you with this, but the brutality of the Han Dynasty has been exaggerated by popular media. It was a topic I covered in one of my more famous articles. I’m not sure I would recommend it to you. If you’re not in the field, you might consider it a bit dry.”

  “There you are, Emily!” She saw Marla waltzing over to her, her palazzo pants rippling in the wind. “I was looking all over for you. I’m calling a small family meeting outside. Wipe under your eyes, by the way, your mascara is melting.”

  “Calling a family meeting at another family’s home?” Emily asked. “Come on, that’s pretty rude.”

  Marla feigned pearl-clutching, which actually consisted of clutching her amber necklace, and appeared less satirical than she intended. “Oh no, Emily! Maybe they’ll tell David not to marry you! The horror!”

  “That’s not—” Emily paused. She wouldn’t pick this battle.

  “If you must know, Emily, I’m doing this here because I fear you and your siblings would lash out at me if we were in private. Discussing this in a public setting makes it more likely that you’ll all behave appropriately.”

  Emily wondered how Marla defined appropriate, but she decided not to say anything about it. Having done many “inappropriate” things in her childhood, which Marla still held up as examples of her missed social cues, she wanted to avoid having any of these failures paraded again. One incident in particular was a tantrum she threw at the age of eight when her mother refused to let her get a second candy bag at FAO Schweetz. She’d thought that, twenty years later, such a story would be merely funny or forgettable, but it still embarrassed her deeply, since Marla always made a point to relate all her modern-day anxieties to this one moment and harp on the fact that she was “much too old” to be getting so upset in public. “This is just like that time at FAO Schweetz,” Marla would say, as Emily cried to her on the phone about a fear or hang-up that had nothing to do with candy. “You have problems handling a lack of control.”

  Emily followed Marla to a handmade wooden bench at the far end of the patio, where Lauren and Jason were already sitting. Matt sat at the end of the bench, looking like a startled deer. Marla glared at him.

  “Matt,” she said sharply, “this is a family meeting.”

  Matt nodded and slunk away. Emily took his seat on the bench.

  “Mom, you didn’t have to be so mean to Matt,” Lauren said.

  “He needs to stop following you everywhere. He’s worse than Ariel.”

  “Actually, Ariel is profoundly independent. We still do skin-on-skin bonding, but he doesn’t insist on it.”

  “I see.” Marla turned to face the group. “Okay, I’m just going to say it. I want us to work together on what I think you’ll all agree are some troubling issues facing our family.”

  “What issues?” Jason asked.

  “It’s no surprise that we aren’t exactly close. As I get older, I want to spend time with my children, and while both you and Lauren live within driving distance, or a quick train ride on Metro-North, I rarely see you. And Emily, I know you live all the way in California, but we haven’t seen you since two Christmases ago. I can’t even remember the last time we saw you for Thanksgiving.”

  “You and Dad always go to the Vineyard on Thanksgiving.”

  “Yes, but only because we anticipate that you won’t want to come home. Meanwhile, Lauren doesn’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s because it should be called National Genocide Day,” Lauren said. “Although to be fair, that’s every day of American history.” She leaned back as if waiting to collect high-fives.

  “Look, I’m not here to blame any of you kids. It’s not your fault that we aren’t as close as we should be. I take full responsibility for being too trusting. I was silly to assume you would all want to stay in touch with me as I got old.”

  “Mom, don’t do this,” Emily said. “We just have our own lives—it doesn’t mean we don’t want to see you.”

  “Anyway,” she continued, “since we’re all together this week, I’ve decided that we should do a special family exercise. I think it will help us repair what has gone wrong.”

  “What is it, Mom?” Emily asked. She feared some kind of competitive team-building exercise, like the trip to Six Flags that ClearDrop organized, where everyone had to go on rides together in a group of thirty, and nobody could separate. But no, Marla was too cultured for something like that. Emily still recalled the disdain in her mother’s voice when she found out that her friend Naomi’s daughter got married at Disneyland with some guy dressed as the genie from Aladdin officiating.

  “Well,” Marla said, her voice cracking theatrically, “I sometimes feel that I have failed you as a mother, considering how none of you are particularly close. Lauren, when you were born, I was hoping you would become a best friend for Jason, and Emily...”

  “I know I was an accident, Mom.”

  “Well, I did tell your father that the antibiotics I was taking might interfere with my birth control, but when he gets in the mood...anyway. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that we need to bring this family together before the wedding. If we’ve fought this much only a few hours in, just imagine how this week will be. This might be the last time we all see each other before I die.”

  “Are you sick, Mom?” Emily asked. Her throat tensed up.

  “I could be,” said Marla. “Many cancers are asymptomatic. But in terms of actual diagnoses, no. Nothing that I know of.”

  Lauren groaned. “Mom, you can’t just say something like that to Emily.”

  “I apologize, Emily,” Marla said. “But death is a reality, and I will die someday. And I don’t want that to happen before we have all come to terms with our problems.”

  “So
what’s the plan?” Jason asked, frowning at his empty beer bottle.

  Marla took a deep breath. “Family therapy.”

  Lauren looked incredulous. “Dad actually agreed to this?”

  “Dad won’t be involved. Just me. This is about you kids, not him.”

  “Then why would you be there?” Lauren asked.

  “Because I’m going to be the therapist,” Marla said triumphantly, as if revealing a stunning M. Night Shyamalan twist.

  “You can’t be the therapist for your own children,” said Emily. “That’s unethical.”

  “Ethics are important up to a point, but it’s also important not to be too rigid about them,” she said. That, at least, was true. Marla bravely resisted societal pressure to be ethical. “Frankly, Emily, when you call me unethical I think you’re projecting. What you really fear is that your own moral flaws will be uncovered. Don’t be afraid of that. This is for personal growth.”

  “And if I don’t want to go to this?”

  “Then I will cancel your wedding.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious.”

  Emily had a feeling she wasn’t serious—after all, too many deposits had already been put down, the guests were all set to arrive, it would be a massive embarrassment—but why argue? If she didn’t say yes to the therapy, she would have to deal with constant unpleasantness for the next six days. And perhaps it would be a good outlet to tell Jason and Lauren about all the times they had wronged her. She enjoyed complaining about other people, and if she could do it in an environment where nobody was allowed to yell at her for it, that would be even better.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” she finally said.

  She turned to Lauren and Jason, who both reluctantly nodded. At first she wondered why they didn’t put up more of a fight, and then she remembered that her parents paid for Lauren’s rent and Jason’s divorce lawyer.

  NIGHT 1

  Emily

  “WHAT KIND OF bars even exist in Westchester?” David’s feet dangled from the tiny bed in Emily’s childhood bedroom. Emily was curling her hair with a thick pink-handled curling iron. She wore a formfitting white dress and a gold key pendant necklace that he had given her for her birthday the previous year.