Sunscreen & Coconuts

by Eliza Lentzski

  My ride-share driver steered away from the small, downtown area, and we drove several miles along winding roads that hugged the elevated shoreline. The ocean was frozen a few yards away from the coastline; beyond the ice the water was open and sparkled under the late afternoon sun. The car slowed and turned away from the ocean to drive up a steep hill. Evergreens lined the private drive, their branches heavy with fresh snow.

  We had passed a few houses before I realized how expensive the homes were in this part of the city. Most of the residences we passed had long driveways and four-car garages bigger than the house I grew up in.

  My driver stopped his vehicle in front of one of the houses—correction—in front of a mansion. His car idled while we both stared out the windows. The outer façade transitioned from rough stone to traditional brick. White trimmed windows stood out from multiple gables on the second floor. I spied at least four chimneys poking out of the roof. The mechanical gate that led up the circular driveway was closed.

  My driver was as impressed as I was. “Damn, you’ve got some fancy friends.”

  “Are you sure this is the right address? This can’t be right,” I thought aloud.

  “It’s the address you gave me.”

  I double-checked my phone and our location on my map application. Unless Kate had pranked me, the address was right. This was the house.

  The thought that Kate was setting me up for a very unfunny joke hadn’t crossed my mind. She’d been so insistent—nearly desperate for me to attend this family party. It hadn’t all been fake, had it?

  “Would you mind waiting for a second?” I asked my driver.

  He pointed to his phone, which sat in an apparatus stuck to his dashboard. “I’ve got another ride request coming in.”

  I nodded tightly. “Okay.”

  My driver left me standing on the curb. I watched the twin taillights disappear around a corner before I returned my attention to the closed security gate. At least I still had my ride-share app and wouldn’t be stranded if it turned out to be the wrong house.

  With growing trepidation, I pressed an intercom button. A loud buzz echoed through the speaker, followed by a thin voice. “Yes?”

  “Hi, my name is Mercy. I’m here to see Kate Emerson?” I raised my voice like speaking into the receiver of a fast food restaurant’s drive-thru lane.

  I half expected the disembodied voice to tell me he’d never heard of Kate Emerson and that he was calling the police. Instead, I heard the mechanical grind of moving pieces as the front gate slowly opened.

  My discomfort didn’t disappear once I was beyond the security gate. If anything, it heightened. The massive house looked like something from a Christmas card or a Norman Rockwell painting. Red velvet bows hung from evergreen wreaths. The front-facing windows glowed with the yellow burn of fake candles. Winter had been mild so far, but a light dusting of snow gave the property a festive feel, like powdered sugar on a gingerbread house.

  The walkway had been shoveled and someone had tossed rock salt across the stone pavers, but I still took my time. I didn’t want to slip, but I also wasn’t convinced I was at the right house. I rang the doorbell and waited anxiously while it announced my arrival. Even the doorbell sounded expensive, more like a choir or chorus of bells than a traditional tone.

  The door swung open to reveal the one person I wasn’t sure would be inside. I had been expecting a tuxedo’d butler to answer the door, so Kate’s appearance took me by surprise.

  “You found it!” she smiled.

  “Your house is hard to miss,” I deadpanned. “You can probably see it from space.”

  Kate’s mouth twitched. “Come in! It’s cold.”

  I walked inside and unnecessarily stamped my boots on the welcome mat. The heavy door shut behind me like the entrance of a tomb being sealed.

  I stared in awe of my surroundings. This was no mudroom. This was a museum. The square footage of the room was ample, but it felt small because of the volume of material goods that had been crammed into the room. Multiple cabinets held a variety of expensive and ancient-looking items. Heavy gold-colored curtains hung from the oversized windows. Elaborately patterned wallpaper covered the walls. Unidentifiable portraits of men and women wearing turn-of-the-century outfits stared down disapprovingly. Even the furniture, a combination of wood and cloth, looked like museum pieces.

  “Can I take your coat?” Kate offered.

  “Only if you promise to give it back,” I distractedly joked.

  I allowed her to help me wiggle out of my goose down jacket. I self-consciously plucked at the fabric of my sweater. My winter jacket was warm, but it often shed tiny white feathers on my clothes.

  I only noticed Kate’s appearance and apparel after I’d stopped gawking at her house--and then I had something new to gape at. She’d transformed once again. In the liquor store she’d been leather and denim; now she was elegant and refined.

  In a form-hugging grey wool dress, she looked completely at ease in her upscale surroundings. She fit in like the tapestry on the walls or the silver coffee setting in the cabinetry. The dark grey dress had a high collar and long sleeves and ended just below her knees. She wore black leggings and short black boots. Her short hair was slicked behind her ears, not boyish, but sophisticated. Small diamond studs sparkled in her ears. She wore several thin silver chains of various lengths around her neck.

  Rather than compliment her appearance, I grew anxious about my own.

  “Are we going to address the elephant in the room?” I remarked.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s real ivory.”

  I glanced in the direction of where Kate was looking. There was a literal statue of a miniature elephant among the ornate and elaborate objects in a curio cabinet. My own family’s treasured keepsakes were porcelain figurines my mom had bought on the Home Shopping Network. Kate’s family’s knick-knacks looked like they’d been part of the East India Trading Company.

  “Not the actual elephant,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me about all this? Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

  She smiled serenely. “How about a drink?”

  Our shoes echoed on original hardwood floors as she led me deeper into the ornate mansion. Candle operas, detailed woodwork, lead glass windows. I kept my arms at my sides, too afraid to bump into anything.

  “You grew up here?” I marveled. I couldn’t imagine a childhood where this was the norm.

  “Just my summers,” she noted. “This is the family summer home.”

  “Summer home?” I marveled. “Do you have a house for all four seasons?”

  I hadn’t intended my statement as a joke, but Kate quietly laughed. “My parents have a townhouse in Boston where they stay most of the time. They open up the summer house for the holidays though.”

  The hallway we’d been traveling opened up to a large room with tall ceilings. Dark wood paneling covered most of the walls and large windows provided a vista of the sapphire ocean in the distance. A long wooden table with seating for about twenty occupied the center of the room. Elegant holiday-themed centerpieces joined elaborate table settings. I’d been to wedding receptions decorated far more casual than Kate’s family get-together.

  My stride faltered when I realized how underdressed I was. There were waiters in bowties and white suits and silver serving trays. The other party attendees were dressed similarly to Kate—not quite formal attire, but certainly more elevated than my sweater, jeans, and ankle boots.

  Kate noticed how I’d hung back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I wish you would have warned me,” I said in a hushed tone. “I’m totally underdressed.”

  “You look nice,” she insisted. Her tone was so calm, I wanted to throttle her. “It’s really fine, Mercy. Nobody cares what you’re wearing.”

  “I care!”

  Her voice lilted. “How about that drink?”

  She placed her hand in the small of my back, low enough that I could feel it everywhere. I visibly s
huddered; my entire body convulsed without my consent from only her hand firm against my lower back. There was no way my reaction had gone unnoticed, but she—for once—had the good sense not to comment on it.

  “A detour first.”

  We approached a silver-blonde haired woman who wore pearls and a dark blue dress. She had the same slender build and grey-green eyes as Kate. Still unsure of my surroundings, I remained a step behind Kate.

  “Where’s Dad?” Kate asked the elegant older woman whom I took to be her mother.

  The woman briefly scanned the room. “I’ve lost track of him. He’s probably smoking one of his cigars on the deck.”

  The woman’s cool gaze returned to Kate and myself, but settled on my face. “Who’s your friend, Kate? I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “This is Mercy Lewis, Mom.”

  The woman laid a soft hand on my forearm. “It’s nice to meet you, Mercy. Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Emerson,” I returned. “Your home is amazing.”

  The elegant woman smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re kind to say so; thank you.” Movement across the room drew her attention away from us. “If you’ll excuse me, dears, I’ve got to check with the chef on the Beef Wellington.”

  “Your mom seems nice,” I remarked when I was sure she was out of earshot.

  “Yeah, she’s not terrible,” Kate grunted. “Come on. Might as well introduce you to the rest of the tribe.”

  We circled the room and approached an attractive couple who looked directly off the pages of a J Crew catalog. The man wore a button-up shirt and v-neck sweater under his suit jacket while the woman had a grey wool dress very similar to Kate’s. Their grey-green eyes and ice blond hair suggested they were part of the family. They looked too young to be Kate’s uncle and aunt, but almost too old to be her siblings. I’d previously assumed the color of Kate’s hair had been the product of hair dye. Her families’ appearances, however, indicated it occurred naturally.

  “Guys, this is Mercy.”

  The man and the woman paused their conversation and turned their attention to me. I worked hard not to wither under their inspecting stare.

  “Mercy, this is my brother, Tom, and my sister, Michelle.”

  I somehow remembered to smile despite my discomfort. I shook both of their hands, and we exchanged stiff pleasantries.

  “Do you live on Curaçao, too?” her brother asked.

  “Oh, no,” I burst out with a little too much exuberance. “I live in Boston.”

  “Mercy teaches first grade for BPS,” Kate offered.

  The severe look on her sister’s face softened. “Oh, you must have the patience of a saint. I could never do that.”

  “It’s not for everyone,” I concurred. “But I like it.”

  “No wonder you can endure Kate.” Her brother Tom’s laughter was a low rumble.

  “Yes, Tom. Because I’m a first grader,” Kate deadpanned.

  Her brother shrugged. “Living on a tropical island is fun for a few weeks, but after a while it’s time to grow up and come back to the real world.”

  “Yes, any plans on joining the grown-ups sometime soon, Kate?” her sister piled on.

  “I don’t know—any plans on removing that stick up your ass, Michelle?” Kate returned.

  Her sister didn’t flinch. It gave me the impression that this kind of banter was typical for them.

  Kate’s hand returned to the small of my back. This time my knees didn’t betray me, and I remained standing upright. She bent her body towards mine. “Let’s get that drink I promised you.”

  I nodded crisply, correctly sensing that Kate had little desire to continue our current conversation.

  Although wait staff circulated around the room with serving trays of appetizers, the bar area was unstaffed. A few bottles of decanted liquor stood beside an assortment of wine bottles on a built-in buffet, along with a crystal punch bowl filled with a thick, grayish-white liquid.

  “Eggnog,” Kate supplied, as if reading my thoughts. She helped herself and dipped her short crystal glass directly into the punch bowl, obfuscating the serving ladle.

  “You want some?” she asked.

  I shook my hand. “Liquid eggs never seemed like a good idea to me.”

  Kate laughed into her glass. “My mom always makes too much every year. It’s fucking disgusting.”

  I bristled at the curse word; I thought it might have been the first time I’d heard Kate swear. Her good mood upon my arrival had progressively deteriorated. I could understand her angst though. I’d gone on vacation to a foreign island just to avoid my own family over the holidays.

  “Are you related to all of these people?” I asked, subtly gesturing to the people who milled around the room.

  She made a noise into the bottom of her nearly empty eggnog cup. “Friends of my parents mostly. A few random cousins I’ve only met a few times. And of course, Tom and Michelle.”

  “They seem …” My words failed me. I didn’t want to judge her siblings based on one brief introduction, but I also couldn’t lie.

  “It’s okay; they’re horrible.”

  “They’re older than you?” I guessed.

  Kate nodded and finished the rest of her eggnog. “Tom’s the oldest at 41, and Michelle and I are eight years apart. My parents used to say I was a happy accident.”

  “Eight years. Wow. Are you guys close?” Based on our interactions, I would have guessed not, but I didn’t want to assume.

  “We see each other once a year at New Years and that’s about the extent of our contact. As you may have gathered, I’m the black sheep of the family.”

  She dipped her glass back into the eggnog punch bowl for a refill. It was highly unsanitary, but I didn’t see anyone else drinking the milky drink, so I kept that observation to myself.

  “What makes you the black sheep?” I pressed.

  “I went to art school instead of an Ivy League like Tom and Michelle,” she began. “I’m not married, no kids, and I gave up all of this to sell painted coconuts to tourists. That’s pretty black sheep-ish,” she observed.

  “Fair enough,” I agreed.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you close with your family?”

  “No.” I didn’t elaborate.

  Kate quirked an eyebrow. “That’s all I get? I invited you to witness this freak show; you gotta give me more.”

  “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  “No. I’m an only child.”

  “Lucky,” she snorted.

  She didn’t have the opportunity to ask more questions about my family; Mrs. Emerson stood in the center of the room and waved her hands above her head to gather everyone’s attention.

  “Dinner’s ready,” she announced.

  The various dinner guests obediently shuffled towards the long table.

  Kate pulled out one of the tall backed chairs in the center of the table. “You can sit here,” she offered.

  She waited for me to sit down before claiming the empty chair beside me.

  I smiled at the bald man in the seat on the other side of me. He wore a red and green bowtie that matched his pocket square.

  “And who might you be?” he asked.

  “I’m Mercy. I’m with Kate,” I said. “Not with Kate, but, uh, we’re friends,” I started to ramble.

  The smile on the man’s face didn’t falter. “Who’s Kate?”

  My mouth opened, but I didn’t have a ready answer.

  “Stop it, Uncle Matt,” Kate chided. “He just wants to see you squirm,” she told me. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

  Kate and I were seated, but others continued to walk around the long dinner table, trading and exchanging seats. Kate’s mom noticed the delay.

  “What’s wrong, Michelle?” Mrs. Emerson called from her seat at the head of the table.

  “There’s not enough seats, Mom,” Michelle said
.

  Mrs. Emerson looked around the table. “Oh? Are we short?”

  I could feel Michelle’s eyes boring into me. “Yeah. By one. I guess that’s why you asked everyone to RSVP with their plus ones two weeks ago.”

  “I guess Mercy will have to sit on my lap,” Kate quipped in an overly loud voice.

  I snapped my eyes to Kate. Her features were impassive. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to embarrass her family or me. Maybe all of us.

  I was ready to say I’d stand for the meal, or even offer to leave entirely, but someone on staff produced another chair from another room, and it appeared—at least for the moment—that the seating crisis was over.

  I leaned toward Kate. “I don’t think your sister likes me,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Don’t take offense. She doesn’t like anyone. Especially anyone associated with me.”

  “What’s the deal with that?” I continued to speak in a subdued tone. The dinner conversation around me was active, but not so loud that I wouldn’t be overheard if I spoke too loudly.

  “Sibling rivalry, I suppose. She’s always thought it was her duty to fix me—first because I was gay and then because I didn’t want to go into the family business.”

  I paused our conversation while the uniformed staff placed a plate of salad in front of me. I looked around the table to make sure there was food for everyone before grabbing my salad fork.

  “What exactly is the family business?” I’d wondered how the Emersons had gotten so rich, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I added.

  “Wool.”

  “Wool?”

  Kate popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. “My family’s Old Money. It was considered New Money at the turn of the century, actually, but now I guess we’re Old. We don’t do anything with textiles anymore though; it’s just a pile of money that’s continually reinvested and my parents live off the accrued interest.”

  “Wow. That’s … wow,” I remarked. “Does that make you a wool heiress?”

  “It’s family money,” she corrected me. “Not mine. I’m actually hoping my parents spend it all before they die so Tom and Michelle don’t fight about the inheritance.”