by Tracy Ewens
It was past time for a drink. Walking outside onto the patio, or terrace as her mother liked to call it, Ella noticed hundreds of people milling around on the grass. Tiny glass plates in hand and vibrant spring fashion everywhere. She made her way to the bar and ordered a club soda. She wanted a drink, but the need subsided at the thought of not being at her full wits to deal with the Twilight Zone episode that was guaranteed to unfold.
“E, I didn’t even know you were here,” she heard Becca’s voice before her eyes adjusted to the sunlight and registered her figure gliding across the impeccable green of the lawn.
And… showtime.
Ella took her drink and squared her shoulders as her sister, in a pink linen dress and wedge sandals, stopped in front of her. Fingers and toes matching, the same Cartier diamond earrings she’d worn since her husband gave them to her as a “push present,” and her hair pulled back from her once-beautiful face that was now barely on the right side of Botox and chemical peels. She was too thin. Even back when they were teenagers, Ella wanted to make her sister a sandwich. A big one, with cheese, because she was convinced the woman subsisted on little more than a heaping bowl of steam and a few Tic Tacs.
“Are you drinking already? It’s barely noon and I need you steady today.”
“Club soda,” she held up her glass and leaned in for the double-cheek kiss that had become their adult greeting.
“You look tired.” That was Becca speak for “you look awful.”
“Thank you?”
“How are things at your new job?”
“Good. Great.”
“Oh, honey. You don’t need to lie to me. I’m your sister.”
Thank you for the reminder.
“Becca, I’m good. I saw Mom when I came in, but where’s Dad?”
She pivoted and scanned the yard. “Oh, I think they’re both still in the library showing the new anniversary portrait to the Hirschfelds.” Becca swayed just enough to confirm for Ella that her big sister was still mixing up the medication cocktails.
“Where do they find the wall space?” she responded with her best boarding school demeanor.
Her sister should have laughed but didn’t. Instead, they stood shoulder to shoulder watching one more of their parents’ parties. Christ, would there ever be room for their own lives out from under the giant clutches of Dr. and Mrs. Walters? At least they weren’t in party dresses and patent leather shoes anymore.
Ella was given a horse for her eighth birthday. A warmblood named Good Vibes. He was fifteen hands and had a friendly face. She remembered wanting to jump right on, so excited and bewildered that an animal that size could be owned by anyone. She ran into her room to strip off her party dress and get her breeches on as quickly as she could.
“What are you doing, young lady?” her mother asked, standing in the doorway of her room.
Ella remembered running to her, wrapping arms around her legs, and squeezing as if she could generate enough love for them both.
“Thank you so much. I love him. I’m going to put on my breeches and I’ll—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not getting on that animal right now. He’s being brought to the stables and then in the morning he’ll be driven to Exeter. You’ll see him there during your lessons and free time.”
Ella had protested, thrown a fit, and been made to stay in her room for the rest of the party. Except when her mother sent one of the maids up to wipe her eyes and bring her down to cut the cake. After all, there were photographers, and all their friends would wonder where the birthday girl had gotten off to. Other than cutting into a chocolate almond birthday cake—Ella hated almonds—she spent the afternoon and early evening watching the party from her window.
Standing next to her sister now more than twenty-five years later, the festivities and characters still presented the same. Barely out of reach like a garden gathering scene trapped in one of those snow globes their grandparents used to bring home from their travels. Flawless and utterly cold at the same time. That way nothing got messed up, tantrums were contained behind closed doors, and no one ever actually touched. Ella suddenly felt sick at the difference between the life she used to know and the one of her own making. Even if it was only going to be one kiss with Boyd, there was more sensation in her times with Mason than she’d experienced in her whole life. Her friends, and the people she took care of in their community, stood in such contrast to the present chill. She wanted to run.
“How is it possible for a child to even survive in this?” she said, intending for it to be a thought.
Becca glanced over at her. “Are you talking about Margaret’s children? I know. So rude, the invitation specifically said, ‘an afternoon among adults.’ Then again, I bet she didn’t even read the invitation. She and her husband are constantly—”
“Not what I was talking about,” Ella said as the crowd began to stir and her parents magically emerged from their ice castle and out onto the patio. Surrounded by enamored neighbors and acquaintances they’d known all their lives yet never knew at all, stood Dr. Langston Walters and his adoring wife Carolynn.
What felt like an eternity but was probably more like an hour passed and the guests gathered around so the happy couple could cut their cake. Her father’s indifferent gaze skimmed the gift table to the left.
“Dear, I think I’d like to open our daughters’ gifts before the cake,” he said, kissing her mother on the neck.
Ella fought back the vomit and recognized the look in her father’s face. This was a challenge in front of all their so-called friends. He was a master at putting people, especially his children, on the spot. She assumed he must have been tortured all those years ago in his residency, and since torturing countless sets of quivering residents was clearly not enough for a man of such self-imposed importance, he needed to bring that bravado home.
Their mother, demure and accommodating to the watchful eye, smiled and nodded in agreement. The photographer moved into place and Becca rushed to offer up her paper and ribbons first. Her gift was the size of a hat box. Somewhere deep inside Ella’s adolescent mind, she told herself she would win this one easy. Books trumped everything else in the Walters home.
“Well, what can this be?” her father said with animated glee.
Ella sipped her champagne. She may or may not have started gulping at this point.
Her father lifted the lid on the box and gestured for his loving wife of forty-five years to do the honors. Her mother reached into the box and pulled out a silk envelope about the size of a… book. Ella glanced over at Becca, who smiled and looked right at her. Her sister clearly had no idea how screwed up this whole scene was. Only children opened gifts in front of guests. Scratch that, children and cruel parents.
“Oh my,” her mother said as she pulled out a book and turned it to their captive audience. “A first edition of Doctor Zhivago. The first movie Lang took me to see our freshman year in college. It’s lovely, Rebecca.”
The crowd clapped, complete with oohs and ahhs while their father puffed his chest before the happy couple kissed, full on the mouth, likely an outward expression of their undying love. Ella resisted the urge to grab another flute of champagne. Anything more than one would result in things being said and more importantly, she’d make an ass of herself if she ended up drunk. She wasn’t going let them do that to her, not this time.
Becca kissed both parents, and for some odd reason her husband stepped forward and shook their hands as if he were resecuring his place in the family.
“Which one is yours, E?” her mother asked.
“Doctor Zhivago is going to be hard to top,” her father said, as if he were preparing to bet on a horse or a dog in Monte Carlo.
Her mother laughed and gave a halfhearted slap to his shoulder. “Stop it, Langston. This certainly isn’t a competition.”
Oh, but it is, dear Mother.
Ella pointed to her gift on the opposite edge of the gift table and sat back, waiting to take her pl
ace as a family misfit. Ella grabbed that other glass of champagne and drank half of it before the ribbon slid to the table. She had no way of knowing they were going to open their gifts in front of everyone, nor that her sister was going to pull out the big guns.
“Wow, well this is a different choice,” her mother said, peeling back the wrapping paper. “Although Lang does love Truman Capote.”
“Do I?” her father said, eyeing the cover and casually turning the book over in his hands like he was at the half-price cart outside Vroman’s.
Her mother quickly flashed the book to their guests. “Another first edition. Thank you, E.”
Ella grinned, the buzz of the bubbles kicking in. Her father’s glare was meant to intimidate.
“Too bad that stopped working years ago.” The second glass of champagne was gone and as predicted, thoughts were now leaking out of her mouth.
“I’m sorry?” her father released his wife’s hand and stepped forward. The gathered crowd stood stoic and as if on a timer, they all turned to Ella.
“Okay, well, let’s have cake,” her mother said, reaching for Ella’s father, who was now another step closer.
“Hang on a minute, dear. It seems our daughter has something she’d like to say.”
Ella almost snorted as she stepped toward him. It was like an outtake from a Dirty Harry movie. Her mom reached for her father’s arm, but he shrugged her away. Ella was his target now—someone was always the target. Under the champagne’s sheen of bravery, she was positive the man had already said every hurtful thing imaginable.
She was wrong.
He acknowledged the crowd. “You all know my youngest, yes? She’s a bit of a family… what would we call it, E?” He turned to Becca, who pretended to be occupied at the cake table. Her father feigned thinking and put his hand to his sharp jawline.
“Well, I guess Ella is a bit of a family stain. Huh, E? Horrible taste in men. She even quit her job over one. Christ.” He pandered to his confined audience. “No one has even heard of the place she’s working now. What is it, like a clinic, E?” He laughed in that way that sent frost straight up her spine. There were a few snickers from the guests who were no doubt indebted in some way to her parents. The rest of the group, to their credit, seemed noticeably uncomfortable. Ella would have felt bad for them, but she was busy trying to stay upright. She had stepped out of line, mumbled a few words of defiance, and Dr. Langston Walters was hitting back. The man had great aim.
She was surprised how quickly she absorbed the blow. It had been awhile since she’d allowed her father, her family, this close. She was out of practice. She turned in place. Ella purposely met the eyes of everyone in the room as they all but winced. This was exactly the way her father liked his guests, all people in fact, squirming. Ella did nothing to ease the tension. She stood right there in it. She looked right at her father as if to say—What else have you got?
“Lang, that’s enough,” her mother whispered in his ear. “Let’s cut the cake.”
“There you go, Mom. Redirect and distract.” Ella moved behind her mother and patted her father on his shoulder, struck by how slight he felt. Not that she touched him much, but he had seemed larger back when she was small. Not so much anymore.
“Well, I’d better be going,” she said, surprised how resilient and assured her voice sounded.
“Where are you going, E? We are having cake,” her mother chirped as she corralled the guests toward the table.
Still glaring at Ella, her father took her arm. “You will not ruin this day for us. Get over there and eat some blasted cake,” he said through clenched teeth.
He was absurd. Like something out of the comic books Mason tried to explain to her at one of their first meetings. The dark and evil villain, she thought. Ella remembered the last time some prick took her arm and realized, family or not, she didn’t play this game anymore.
“Take care, Dad.” She flicked her arm free of his grasp and spun toward the door.
Becca glowered and folded her arms. If her sister expected Ella to give a thought to her prissy attitude after that showdown, she was more clueless than Ella imagined.
Almost laughing, she pulled out her phone once she was away from glaring eyes and judgment. She had not wanted to come in the first place, but she’d arrived with gift in hand, watched the spectacle, and for maybe the first time ever, she was not left feeling small and powerless. Two years in the fresh air had done wonders.
“Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad,” Ella said as the Uber car arrived. She would love to say that her boldness was not aided by the champagne, but that would be a lie and above all else, she avoided lying, especially to herself. Her cheeks were warm and she was grateful for a quiet backseat.
Ella rolled down the window of the white Nissan as it got on the freeway toward her hotel, and checked her phone to see if she could still catch the late flight home. She needed to be back where she belonged. Bri had been right the other day. Human was better than the alternative. It didn’t matter if Boyd called or not. Everyone she knew and had come to love in Petaluma opened something inside her. She could not wait to get home: the home of her own making to the family of her choosing. The driver turned on his music, and Ella rested her head back, imagining that the evening air could wash away the ugly.
Boyd and Mason took their kayaks out to the river early that morning. After loading everything back in the truck, they sat on the tailgate and ate bagel sandwiches. Boyd couldn’t get Ella out of his mind, so he decided to try something new.
“Do you think these visits with Ella have anything to do with your mom?”
“No.”
Boyd appreciated a simple answer most of the time, but not right now.
“I think since your mom isn’t in your life and you have a bunch of uncles that maybe you’re missing out on a woman’s perspective.”
“I have Aspen, and I like Sistine—she’s super quiet, but I like her. I have Gram.”
Boyd mocked a cringe. “Yeah, but who wants to talk to their grandma about girls?”
“Older women have some good advice. You’d be surprised.”
He laughed. “Life is more than girls, Mase.”
He rolled his eyes and let out a breath. “I know. I’m not saying life is all about girls. It’s not even like I talk about them all the time,” he said, crumpling up the wrapper from his bagel and stuffing it back into the paper bag.
Boyd raised a brow, giving his son a chance to reconsider his statement.
“Okay, fine. Maybe I have been talking about she a little more.”
“Only a little.” Boyd bumped him.
Mason lay back in the bed of the truck and stuck a beach towel under his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I start to get excited about high school and then I get like this huge zit on my neck or something. I mean how does someone even get a zit on their neck?”
Boyd balled up the paper bag and leaned back, resting on his arms so he could see Mason, squinting as the sun teased through the canopy of leaves above them.
“I… guess there are pores there too. What does this have to do with high school?”
He shook his head. “I like talking to people, Dad. I want their opinion. It’s not a big deal. I’m not going to freak out and start crying for my mommy.”
“I’m not saying you are, but I’d like you to talk about these things, Mase. With me. I get that you’re older and cooler, but some things don’t have to change, ya know. We’re still in this together.”
Mason closed his eyes and Boyd knew he was getting nowhere.
“Aren’t we?”
He sat up, legs dangling. “Not really. I mean you’re my dad and there’s that, but I’m the one going to high school. You’ve already done this part and you were probably some big badass. I’m… not that.”
Boyd wanted to laugh because his son was comparing adult Boyd to freshman in high school Boyd who was anything but a badass, but laughter wasn’t going to help his son right now.
“No way.”
Boyd nodded. “Way. I was as confused and twisted up as you are. I just channeled my stuff differently. It all works out. Believe me, someday all the pieces will fit together.”
“Promise?”
Boyd bumped his shoulder. “Promise.”
They sat for a moment, listening to the lapping of the river and watched a fishing boat coming into the marina.
“See, Ella isn’t the only person who knows things.”
“I know, but I’ve heard all of your things.”
He laughed and when Mason joined in, he saw most of his teenage angst float away. Boyd knew it wasn’t easy at his age, but he also knew there was no way to rush him through it. Growing up was a process.
“Maybe I need to start asking you what you need instead of telling you. You’re old enough to control some conversations. I’ll try that.”
“Yeah? Okay, I need a GoPro.”
“Yeah? You think that will help you with high school and girls?”
“Definitely.”
Boyd nodded. “Nice try. I meant needs that don’t involve my wallet.”
“Ahh.” He sat up.
“Do you need Ella?” Boyd said, as surprised by the question as Mason.
“That sounds a little creepy. I don’t need her, but yeah, she’s good to talk to. And she’s funny in a sort of nerdy way. I like her.”
Boyd resisted the urge to jump up and say, “Me too, me too.”
“You do too, huh?” Mason said as if reading his mind and then flashed a devilish smile Boyd was certain came from his uncles.
“We’re not talking about me.”
“I know, but if we’re in this thing together you and me, then maybe I can ask some questions too. Do you need Ella, Dad?”
“All right, smart-ass.” Boyd hopped off the tailgate. “This bonding session is over. We need to get home. You have recycle to take out and weeds, so many weeds. Before that though, you need a shower.” Boyd wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know how to put this, but you stink, man.”
