When Freddy saw the Ocean Queen in all her glory, nine hundred feet of hulking iron, steel, and wood, he decided his mother had accomplished her goal. He felt small and inconsequential and that he couldn’t measure up. All morning he’d been puffing out his own chest, reminding himself of everything he’d accomplished, looking at Natasha for reinforcement, but when their taxi pulled into the parking lot and he had to roll down his window and crane his head to see the ocean liner’s full height, once again he felt unimportant. Like a blip on a radar or a single ant in a colony. It was like the ship was his family and he was the little dinghy clinging onto the back.
“That’s one of the lifesaving boats,” Natasha said when he expressed the metaphor to her. She smiled in triumph, satisfied that she’d prevented him from self-pity at least just this once.
They stepped out of the taxi and squinted at the scene before them. The whiteness of the boat reflected in the sunlight made staring at it directly almost impossible, so they were forced to take in the throngs of their fellow passengers. This is America, Freddy thought, taking in the masses in their Hawaiian shirts and floppy hats, already reeking of coconut sunscreen. The selfie sticks were out and proud, even though the scenery was nothing more than a ship too large to fit into the frame of any photo and a few thousand passengers juggling unwieldy suitcases and children. He took a sharp breath as a look of fear spread across his girlfriend’s face.
“It’s going to be fine,” he said and put a protective arm around Natasha. “Let’s find my sister. She said she’d meet me by the character stand, whatever the hell that means.”
After an inquiry to one of the numerous greeters scattered in the loading zone, they were informed that the character stand was about a hundred yards to the left of the registration desk. Natasha and Freddy headed in the direction of the mile-long rectangular table where sailor-suit-clad attendants were checking in passengers. The sign above the table read WELCOME, OCEAN QUEENS: FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE NOW CONSIDERED ROYALTY.
Freddy nudged Natasha. “They might want to work on their marketing. Unless my mother inadvertently booked us on a gay cruise.”
Natasha laughed and Freddy felt himself swing to the other side of the pendulum again. How dependent on praise was he that a little giggle sated him? Perhaps if his reservoir of adulation as a young man hadn’t been so depleted he’d be less needy. Or was it just his nature to seek even the smallest forms of adoration, much like his mother, with her insistence on arriving late to dinners so she could receive compliments on her outfit?
“It’s cheesy,” Natasha said. “But I don’t care. I’m excited to meet your family. Glad your mom and dad were cool with me coming.”
Freddy stared in wonder at this young bird who let him sleep with her, and fondle her breasts whenever he wanted, and who laughed at his jokes no matter how terrible. She was so lacking in suspicion and angst that he couldn’t help picturing her childhood as a leisurely stroll through a field of cotton candy. He felt guilty subjecting her to his own family, but at least it would give her some context.
As they hung a left toward where Elise and her family were meant to be waiting, Freddy wondered how the initial meet-up would go. He was surprised when Elise had texted him a few days earlier. So I guess we’re doing this? she wrote to him and inserted a boat emoji. Seems so, he responded, simultaneously pleased and irritated by her overture. He was the older brother. He should have reached out first. His sister was always beating him, in school, in parent approval, and now in kindness. She had suggested they meet up before boarding and he couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.
It made him cringe to imagine the forced distance his niece would put between them, Rachel waving at him limply instead of him sweeping her into a bear hug. As if Elise would ever have an inkling that he’d bailed her daughter out of Santa Clara County Jail four months earlier and hosted her and her pals for a week over spring break. Freddy had looked the other way while they drank themselves silly after shredding the slopes, but his product?—he didn’t let them touch it, not that Elise would ever believe him.
“I think I found the character stand,” Natasha said, suddenly wide-eyed and looking like she might break into a run in the opposite direction.
“Holy sh—” he started to say as he took in the cast of court jesters on stilts placing paper crowns on the passengers’ heads and handing out light-up wands. He turned suddenly to Natasha, cupped her by the chin firmly, and said, “Thank you so much for coming. I will make this up to you.”
As they drew closer, Freddy spotted his sister. She looked better than she had in the Facebook photo. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail, the way she used to wear it when they were kids, and she appeared fit and well-groomed. He’d forgotten how short she was. She was going to hate standing next to the leggy Natasha, who was merely two inches shy of a modeling career. Freddy was pleased that Elise was looking nothing like the tired, overwhelmed housewife she’d seemed to be on his computer screen. He saw his niece and nephew a few feet away from their mother, both glued to their phones, their heads rounded forward like Neanderthals. Darius was a clone of Mitch, with his dark blond hair and lanky frame, though Mitch kept his hair short with a tidy side part and Darius’s was hanging in long, loose clumps. He knew his sister must hate it, along with the baggy jeans and wallet chain. Rachel, as usual, had her innocent veneer intact, and Freddy smiled to himself thinking about how deceiving appearances can be. He still chuckled when he pictured her slumped into the corner of the holding cell, desperately trying to achieve modesty with the scant fabric of what he hoped was a costume. Beyond Rachel, Freddy spotted the back of Mitch’s head. The poor guy was righting two suitcases that had toppled over and had a bulky camera dangling off his arm.
“That’s them,” Freddy said, gesturing toward the Connelly clan.
“Why are they all wearing yellow?” Natasha asked.
Freddy looked back. His sister and her family were, in fact, all wearing sweatshirts in a particularly bright shade of chartreuse. Elise could be haughty and condescending, but at least she’d never been the type of woman to dress her family in matching outfits.
“I have no idea,” Freddy said, shaking his head dubiously. “That doesn’t seem like my sister.”
He rarely thought much about Elise’s life in California, probably because he was largely cut out of the family canvas by the time she moved west, but now he found himself pondering it. Had his sister become a matching-outfit soccer mom automaton? Once upon a time she’d almost been cool, with a secret belly button ring his parents never found out about.
Freddy and Natasha wheeled their suitcases over to where his sister was standing. Thankfully as they ambled over he noticed Elise decline a photo opportunity with the Ocean Queen mascot, a whale wearing a crown. So she wasn’t completely certifiable.
“I feel like we’re all going to be whales after this trip,” Natasha said, eyeballing the mascot with trepidation. “I read they have mini buffets to tide people over between the regular mealtimes. And dinner is typically five courses.”
“You don’t need to worry,” he said. Freddy let Natasha gain a few steps on him and he admired her body for the thousandth time. She was a perfect hourglass, her tiny midsection visible on account of her midriff-baring shirt and low-slung jean shorts from which the string of her thong protruded. How was his family going to react to his girlfriend of one year that he’d never told them about, young enough to be his daughter? Who worked as a masseuse at one of the nicer Aspen hotels but still his parents would assume was a hooker?
At forty-eight years old, Freddy had never once introduced a girlfriend to his family. For starters, there had been none in high school to bring around. He’d spent those four years sickly pining for one girl after another, several of whom were Elise’s friends. If she’d only thought to put in a good word for him with Amy Simon or Jenny Baron, maybe he wouldn’t have turned into a twenty-two-year-old virgin who finally gave it up to a weathered fifty-something housewife supposedly “at the spa” while her husband and children skied all day. In college, his luck was slightly better than in high school, the war zone of acne on his face finally declaring a cease-fire, but still it was tame hookups when he was high as a kite and the girl, usually a stoner with ratty hair and a Phish T-shirt, was too. And then he was kicked out of school and things went really downhill. So this was technically the first time that Freddy Feldman was introducing his parents and sister to a bona fide girlfriend.
“Elise,” Freddy called out and gave his sister a friendly wave. At least he was the first to shatter the silence between them.
“Hi there,” she said, offering up a sheepish grin. He couldn’t tell what was behind his sister’s somewhat embarrassed look. Was it shame at how distant the two of them had grown and a feeling that it was more her fault than his? Or was it just because of their surroundings, the realization that they were two middle-aged travelers who wanted to stand out in this crowd for being more chic, sophisticated, and worldly, but who more likely than not blended right in?
He bent down to hug her, hoping the warmth would set the right tone for the trip. He didn’t want to give his family the cold shoulder, which could make them think he was still the insecure guy who as a child would flee the dinner table if he thought he was being teased. Besides, he was a pot peddler, and stoners were nothing if not friendly.
“You look great,” he said to Elise after releasing her from the hug. His sister waved off the compliment.
“I’m old,” she said. She raised her eyebrows and her forehead indeed had more lanes than a superhighway.
“How are you guys doing?” he asked his niece and nephew. He couldn’t believe how tall Darius had become. The last time they’d all been together as a family was at Rachel’s bat mitzvah—a ridiculous party where she’d been bounced around on a chair in a sequined dress. That would have been about six years ago. Freddy looked again at Darius and couldn’t remember for the life of him attending or even being invited to his bar mitzvah. Could Elise and Mitch have cut him from the guest list? He hadn’t behaved badly at Rachel’s. He didn’t toke the whole day and he’d put on the yarmulke in temple, which was the perfect size for his bald spot anyway. He’d have to ask Rachel if Darius had had a party when he was alone with her. He needed face time with his niece anyway, to ask about the “complicated” boyfriend and to make sure she was staying out of trouble.
“Great,” Rachel said, a sly smile spreading across her face. When she leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, Freddy noticed she was wearing her tiny diamond stud earrings. They were the same pair she’d asked him to hold on to when she’d spent the night in jail, worried some thug in the county pen would rip them from her ears. He’d highly doubted it, seeing that the other inmates were mostly sorority girls in short skirts who’d done one too many vodka shots before committing some Class D misdemeanor. He blinked twice as the earrings twinkled in the sunlight.
“You look so grown-up,” Freddy said to Rachel, making a big show of looking her up and down and giving his sister a look that said, “Has it been this long?” Was he overdoing it? Probably. In actuality Rachel looked much younger than the last time he’d seen her in the holding pen, wearing black leather ankle boots and gobs of dark eye makeup.
“It’s been a while,” Elise said.
“Where’d Mitch go?” Freddy asked.
“Let me see,” Elise said, turning around.
“What the—?” Freddy asked, his jaw dropping at the sight of his sister’s back. His mother’s face, blown up, was airbrushed onto the bright yellow sweatshirt. Underneath her picture, written in jumbo font, it said: Happy Birthday, Annette . . . 70 Years Young! He quickly glanced back at Rachel and Darius. His nephew was closest. Freddy spun him around and saw the identical image on the back of his sweatshirt. Rachel turned herself around to save him the trouble.
“Elise!” he exclaimed.
“Mom’s going to hate them, huh? I have one for you too, by the way. I didn’t know about her,” Elise said, shifting her gaze to Natasha.
Shit. Freddy realized that he had actually forgotten his girlfriend was even standing there.
“I was just about to introduce you to my girlfriend,” Freddy said, putting a gallant arm around her waist. “This is Natasha Kuznetsov.” He thought perhaps her multisyllabic, Slavic surname might add a bit of gravitas, summoning Dostoyevsky.
Natasha extended her hand toward Elise, who seemed to take it rather reluctantly.
“It’s so great to meet you,” Natasha peeped. “Freddy has told me so much about you.”
Freddy shuddered. His girlfriend’s favorite word was “so” and she liked to drag it out unnecessarily.
Elise raised her right eyebrow dramatically, a talent she’d had since childhood that Freddy had always envied. He could form his tongue into a clover, but there was so much more practical use for a well-timed single eyebrow raise. It immediately put the other person on the defensive, questioning what the quizzical look meant. Though this time Freddy knew immediately. She’s. So. Young. That’s what his sister was thinking when she floated up her eyebrow. And though it wasn’t her habit, he was sure Elise was dragging out the “so” in her mind.
“Has he, now?” Elise said, looking back at Freddy. She knew it couldn’t be true. He and Elise were more like second cousins at this point than siblings. His girlfriend’s comment made it obvious she was trying to ingratiate herself with his family. She’d promised to make him look good, but this wasn’t the way he’d expected. He’d rather she dangle her bracelet in their faces and gush about how Freddy couldn’t resist buying it for her.
“You must be Freddy’s niece,” Natasha said, looking at Rachel.
His niece looked at Natasha with fresh, appraising eyes even though they’d already spent nearly a week together giggling on the couch and watching Real Housewives. Why did it look to Freddy as if she was taken aback by her age for the first time? Maybe he was just being paranoid, though he wasn’t even stoned.
“I’m Rachel,” she said, pointing to the place on her sweatshirt where her name had been embroidered in red thread. What the hell was wrong with his sister? Elise had to have lost her mind ordering this cheesy swag. Plastering their mother’s face on the back of a sweatshirt and expecting them to wear them at the same time like they were hillbillies at a family reunion?
“And you must be Darius,” Natasha said, touching his nephew on the arm gently.
Freddy’s nephew looked like someone had cut out his tongue. His eyes darted from here to there, unable to settle comfortably anywhere on Natasha. At least somebody was impressed, even if it was only a hormonally inflated teenage boy.
“I— I— Yes, I am,” he finally stammered.
“What’s wrong with you?” Rachel said, elbowing her brother in the ribs. “You didn’t shut up on the car ride over here and now you’re mute.”
Freddy seized up, feeling Darius’s discomfort and embarrassment so acutely his heart actually skipped a beat. He liked to think that his niece was nothing like her mother, but seeing the meanness cross between the siblings made Freddy question his instincts.
“Rachel—stop that,” he said, despite knowing it wasn’t his business to intervene.
Natasha offered Darius her warm honey smile, the one where her doe eyes crinkled, seeming unfazed by the kid’s inability to utter a coherent sentence in her presence.
“Elise, seriously, what’s the deal with the sweatshirts?” Freddy asked.
“Mitch has yours in his bag,” she said by way of explanation. “Look, there he is.”
Freddy’s brother-in-law was stationed at one of the dozen or so information booths. He appeared to be deep in conversation with a group of tourists. People, Freddy corrected himself. They were all tourists now.
“I wasn’t asking where mine was. I was asking why in the world you made them. We aren’t those kind of people.”
“Well, maybe we should be,” Elise snapped at him. “I suppose you don’t even want your tote bag. Mitch! Come back. Freddy is here!”
Freddy watched Mitch’s head snap around and break into a smile when he saw him. A potential ally, Freddy thought, making a mental note to be extremely nice to his brother-in-law from the get-go. He would definitely need a friend if he were going to stay afloat.