“Crabs? Where?” Her eldest son Aidan followed close behind, the middle son, Conor, at his heels with an action figure clutched to his chest.
The boys launched toward me, locking their little arms around each of my legs. I ruffled their mops of blond hair, the shaggy ‘dos earning the ire of my mother much like my fashion. “Mom’s just hating on my clothes, as usual.”
“Why? Your dress is super cute!” Bridget set Nolan down, the three-year-old rushing to join the hug party. Her own wrap dress hugged her belly bump, her fourth child’s due date right around the corner. “I wish I could rock that!”
Mom huffed as she shoved the bag of salad at me with a bottle of ranch dressing. “Dinner is served, Princess.”
Meanwhile, a bubbling tray of mystery goop sat on the kitchen island, steam billowing from the blackened bits. At least I didn’t have to eat that.
“Thanks, Mom.” I knew she was itching to start something, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. I was still riding the high from my night with Ethan, and I wouldn’t let her soil it.
She gritted her teeth so hard I was surprised they didn’t crack. “Everyone normal will be having goulash. Plates are in the dining room.”
I set about helping Bridget prepare plates for the boys, her husband Simon tucked away in the parlor with Dad discussing sports, their rowdy laughter fluttering down the hall as they discussed their beloved Pats.
By the time everyone was seated around the mahogany monstrosity of a dining table, Mom wasn’t bothering to hide her anger, loudly setting down her wine glass with each sip and banging her silverware about. Everyone ignored her, used to the routine, as I was usually the target of her rage. Sometimes she’d slip back into a maternal mood and treat me like a human, but lately, it had been all storm clouds. Especially when it came to my studies.
Aidan and Conor chattered about the upcoming school year, Aidan ready for first grade and Conor nervous to start kindergarten. Nolan would occasionally join in with toy talk, and for the most part, the three of them entertained each other.
Simon and Dad discussed business as Mom and Bridget dished on local gossip, leaving me as the odd duck out with the kids as usual. It wasn’t that I minded my nephews, but at twenty-two, it got old being relegated to the kids’ section.
It was expected, seeing that Bridget fulfilled my parents’ every wish, marrying Simon at nineteen, the son of a fellow shining Braintree family, and subsequently popping out an army of kids. She was a housewife like Mom, though she raised her boys without a nanny like we’d had.
She loved her kids, but I knew she wasn’t happy, the same hollowness of our mother in her eyes. She and Simon were in as transactional of a relationship as they came, her serving as the young wife from the perfect pedigree while he was the older, slightly balding husband who paid the bills and looked great on paper. The joy was gone from her voice, the spirited older sister I’d known now a shell of her former self.
I didn’t want that kind of love, a painted picture for the world to see that was as flat as the canvas it rested on. I longed for adventure, the freedom to be rather than exist. I wanted a life far from the scrutiny of the gossip mill.
“So Keely, you went to the Lorelei auction last night?” Simon prodded, breaking away from numbers talk with Dad to acknowledge my presence for a change. “How was it?”
I stabbed at hunks of iceberg lettuce, a food run on the way home a must. It was impossible to feel satisfied from leaves and gloopy dressing. “Nothing special.”
He gaped at me, his fork packed with noodles and mystery meat. So far, he and I were the only ones devouring our food. “Oh wow! The news made it sound wild!”
Of course they did. “It was flashy, but I wouldn’t say wild.”
“You look beautiful in that picture in the paper,” Mom noted, picking like a bird at her meal. “Your boyfriend is handsome, too.” While her words were kind, her tone was not, each word cutting.
“Thanks, but he’s not my boyfriend. Ethan is just a friend.” I met her eyes, refusing to engage in the back and forth in front of the kids.
“He didn’t look like a friend, Keely. Spill it.” Bridget jumped headfirst into the hornet’s nest, either too tired or too oblivious to notice the tension in the air. She leaned forward expectantly as if I was about to serve the juiciest dish of gossip in the Boston metro area.
“He’s one of my best friends; that’s it.” Our eyes locked across the table as I pleaded silently with her to give it a rest. The sooner we stopped the boyfriend talk the better.
Mom’s lips stretched in a thin line of irritation. “Lying isn’t a nice color on you, Keely.”
“Good thing I’m not lying,” I shot back, coolly popping a mouthful of lettuce in my mouth so I didn’t have to continue the pointless bickering.
“I’ve met him before, right?” Bridget asked, brushing a tumble of blonde waves over her shoulder. Sitting there, she was a replica of Mom, everything polished from her makeup to her nails, the French tips clean-cut and perfect. “At the state fair last year?”
She ran into us with the kids while I was puking my guts up, a ride on the whirling torture chamber known as the Spinner churning my pizza dinner like butter until I couldn’t take it anymore. Ethan had been holding my hair while doing his best not to join my puke party.
“Excuse me, your sister met your boyfriend before your parents?” Mom’s cheeks were almost as red as her lips as she glared across the table. “A year ago?”
“Again, not my boyfriend,” I said with a huff, taking a quick sip of weak iced
