“Do we really have to go to Maxim’s party?” Jane asks.
“I mean, no,” I say. “We can tell the family to go piss up a rope. But your Uncle Henley has flown in from China. You haven’t seen him in forever. Also, Grandpa will be there. Also, your cousins.”
“Maxim is creepy,” says Olivia.
“I don’t like leaving the city,” says Jane.
“Yeah, me neither,” I say. “Why live in New York if everybody isn’t going to just come here, where all the stuff already is? But Bernard likes to show off his big dumb house, and there is nature and whatever. Remember trees? I promise we won’t stay long.”
We have a couple hours to kill, so we watch some horror movie that Olivia chooses, which Jane avoids by focusing instead on her phone. The movie is something about the ghost of a murdered child returning to haunt a family, and the whole thing is done through security cameras that pan and shake. The movie is in black and white and there are often subtitles when the people are whispering to each other. Did the ghosts add the subtitles in later? The metaphysics of the film are very silly, barely even internally consistent.
Promptly at 3 p.m., a car arrives with a driver that I often use who knows to never even try to talk to us, and he drives us out to Bernard’s compound on Long Island. Bernard lives in the terrible part where all the people are rich and boring and for some reason can’t handle living in a proper city and instead need lots of space for things like horses and extra cars and drones and dumb shit that represent the suburban trappings of wealth, and not real wealth. Real wealth is having all the city shit that matters, like the ability to pay people to do exactly what you to tell them to do, who then live in total quaking fear that you might someday stop paying them. Who wants freedom when you can have power?
At Bernard’s, there are no balloons or streamers or other evidence outside to suggest it’s a child’s birthday party, and aside from us Nylos, the guests are all Bernard’s friends and their kids. The catering is nearly invisible, which gives the event a cul-de-sac vibe that I find nauseating, since I know where this aesthetic comes from: some unspoken craving on Bernard’s part for the remnants of our idyllic childhood. Sorry, little brother, Mom kind of ruined that when she offed herself in our living room. It is so transparent and sad.
When we arrive, Bernard says hello and then disappears. His wife, Phoebe, grins and grabs us and gives us big hugs as if we’re all one big, happy family. She is wearing about thirty different bracelets and has limpid blue shark eyes that don’t seem to dilate. They have two children together: Maxim, who has just turned ten, and Julian, who is eight. We are all fairly certain that Maxim is a budding serial killer who will one day bankrupt his father in legal bills, but for now he satisfies himself just being surly and spoiled. Julian, on the other hand, is adorable.
“Helloooooo,” says Phoebe. “Thank you for coming all this way!”
“It’s good to see you, Aunt Phoebe,” says Jane, ever the proper diplomat. Olivia doesn’t even bother, not willing to pretend that we have any kind of relationship with “Aunt Phoebe.”
“Looking fit, Feebs,” I say, cruelly. She and I both know that my brother will never, ever, ever be faithful to her, no matter how nice or in shape she is. Her smile falters, but not actually that much, which is impressive.
“What’s up, Nylo bitches!” shouts someone from the upper deck of the foyer balcony. My little sister, Gabriella, is wearing a sparkly silver caftan and almost hanging from the skylight, her curly brown locks flying every which way. I can tell she arrived much too early and now is extremely bored and no doubt ecstatic that I am finally here.
Olivia and Jane run up the stairs to greet their Aunt Gabriella. They are excited to see a familiar, friendly face among all of these dull Long Island ghouls who smile with pained expressions and move out of the way deferentially in the presence of us honest-to-god Nylos. They all know who I am, so I don’t bother saying hello to any of them. Why am I even here? I wonder. Just so Henley can borrow money from me? In fact, where is Henley?
“Where’s Henley?” I ask Phoebe. “And where did Bernard go?”
“Oh, Henley is here… somewhere,” she says. “And Bernard went to go check on… something?”
“Well, it’s been nice catching up, Feebs,” I say. “There are so many people here! How do you guys know so many people?”
“Sands Point is a very tightly knit community,” she says. “Bernard and I are very active in the local church and in the PTA. Bernard and the other moms—”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” I say. “Bernard and the other moms all day.”
Now she turns away, red-faced, but I can tell she is suitably afraid of me again and will leave me alone for the rest of the party. I feel slightly bad, but not bad enough to apologize or worry about it longer than it takes for Gabriella and my girls to work their way through the crowd back down to me.
“What’s up, boss?” says Gabriella.
“What are you wearing?” I ask. “I am totally willing to give you money for real clothes. You don’t have to make dresses out of the curtains.”
“It breathes!” says Gabriella. “I like to feel the cool wind on my budding nethers.”
“Are you here by yourself? You usually shove some rock star in my face first thing.”
“I broke up with the black metal guy I was dating and now I am between
