can’t remember the actor’s name or what he looks like.” But she’s quick to point out to anyone who’ll listen that “Molly’s dating a doctor.”
“No, she’s not,” my grandma Shirley will say. “She’s dating a chiropractor.”
My grandmother’s never had back problems, and even if she did, she believes chiropractors are scam-artist, crooked quacks. And now you know the real reason Russell didn’t join my family for Father’s Day weekend.
Saturday afternoon the adults sat around on the patio while my father grilled burgers. Saturday night the adults sat around on the patio while my father grilled ribs. Sunday afternoon, in honor of Father’s Day, the adults sat around the patio while the day’s honoree grilled sirloins. The boys played in the aboveground pool. Every few minutes Lisa would look up from her rum and Coke and holler out, “Don’t drown!”
You couldn’t drown in our pool if you tried. It can barely hold an inner tube, but even so, it’s ruined a sizable section of lawn. My father complains about this throughout the fall and early winter until the first snow. He would have gotten rid of the pool twenty years ago, but my mother insists on keeping it for her grandsons’ visits.
“How’s everyone want their steak?” my father asked.
“Rare!” my grandmother said, then rolled her eyes.
It doesn’t matter what you answer, the steaks will come out burnt.
Jocelyn and I had already set the outdoor table with the Fiesta ware and plastic cups. We’d straightened the seat cushions—the beautifully upholstered seat cushions—and carried out the tubs of Costco coleslaw and Costco potato salad. The containers were larger than the pool. Lisa doesn’t help with preparations. She has parlayed her position as the youngest daughter into the lifetime role of princess. She’srecently taken up an interest in something called Pinterest, a website that allows her to sit at her computer for hours gathering images of candleholders and red-velvet cakes and press-on fingernail patterns. Jocelyn, on the other hand, is focused on making use of her Wharton degree and is too busy to date or produce children. As my father’s executive vice-president she has put herself in charge of franchising the business. So far she’s sold one franchise in Teaneck, New Jersey, and is negotiating for a second in Stamford, Connecticut. She’s inherited my father’s talent for salesmanship. We don’t know where she gets her ruthlessness.
I love my sisters dearly; I just can’t believe we came out of the same womb.
My father sawed into his steak and tasted his first bite. The boys wrangled over the ketchup bottle. My mother poured lemonade into everyone’s plastic cup from a Minute Maid carton. Jocelyn checked her watch. She’s always checking her watch, even when she has nowhere to go. “Perfect!” my father said.
“Overcooked,” Shirley said. “You’ve got the palate of a corpse.”
“Best steak I’ve ever made,” he said. When it comes to his mother-in-law, he also has the hearing of a corpse.
Six months earlier my grandmother moved into independent living. She’s in a building on the water that looks like a Civil War plantation with big white columns. Lisa particularly loves it. The only reason my grandmother even considered such a lifestyle change was because she got intoa huge fight with her former building’s condominium association over their choice of new lobby wallpaper and taught them all a lesson by selling her place and moving out. She also complains about the food at independent living. “Last night dry salmon, and now this,” she said, snatching the ketchup out of Tate IV’s hand. The boys wolfed down frankfurters. Travis dropped a spoonful of potato salad on the ground. Tate IV spilled his lemonade. My mind wandered to Deirdre, wondering if she was reading my article over the weekend. And if I’d still have a job after the weekend.
“Can we go swim now?” Travis
“No, she’s not,” my grandma Shirley will say. “She’s dating a chiropractor.”
My grandmother’s never had back problems, and even if she did, she believes chiropractors are scam-artist, crooked quacks. And now you know the real reason Russell didn’t join my family for Father’s Day weekend.
Saturday afternoon the adults sat around on the patio while my father grilled burgers. Saturday night the adults sat around on the patio while my father grilled ribs. Sunday afternoon, in honor of Father’s Day, the adults sat around the patio while the day’s honoree grilled sirloins. The boys played in the aboveground pool. Every few minutes Lisa would look up from her rum and Coke and holler out, “Don’t drown!”
You couldn’t drown in our pool if you tried. It can barely hold an inner tube, but even so, it’s ruined a sizable section of lawn. My father complains about this throughout the fall and early winter until the first snow. He would have gotten rid of the pool twenty years ago, but my mother insists on keeping it for her grandsons’ visits.
“How’s everyone want their steak?” my father asked.
“Rare!” my grandmother said, then rolled her eyes.
It doesn’t matter what you answer, the steaks will come out burnt.
Jocelyn and I had already set the outdoor table with the Fiesta ware and plastic cups. We’d straightened the seat cushions—the beautifully upholstered seat cushions—and carried out the tubs of Costco coleslaw and Costco potato salad. The containers were larger than the pool. Lisa doesn’t help with preparations. She has parlayed her position as the youngest daughter into the lifetime role of princess. She’srecently taken up an interest in something called Pinterest, a website that allows her to sit at her computer for hours gathering images of candleholders and red-velvet cakes and press-on fingernail patterns. Jocelyn, on the other hand, is focused on making use of her Wharton degree and is too busy to date or produce children. As my father’s executive vice-president she has put herself in charge of franchising the business. So far she’s sold one franchise in Teaneck, New Jersey, and is negotiating for a second in Stamford, Connecticut. She’s inherited my father’s talent for salesmanship. We don’t know where she gets her ruthlessness.
I love my sisters dearly; I just can’t believe we came out of the same womb.
My father sawed into his steak and tasted his first bite. The boys wrangled over the ketchup bottle. My mother poured lemonade into everyone’s plastic cup from a Minute Maid carton. Jocelyn checked her watch. She’s always checking her watch, even when she has nowhere to go. “Perfect!” my father said.
“Overcooked,” Shirley said. “You’ve got the palate of a corpse.”
“Best steak I’ve ever made,” he said. When it comes to his mother-in-law, he also has the hearing of a corpse.
Six months earlier my grandmother moved into independent living. She’s in a building on the water that looks like a Civil War plantation with big white columns. Lisa particularly loves it. The only reason my grandmother even considered such a lifestyle change was because she got intoa huge fight with her former building’s condominium association over their choice of new lobby wallpaper and taught them all a lesson by selling her place and moving out. She also complains about the food at independent living. “Last night dry salmon, and now this,” she said, snatching the ketchup out of Tate IV’s hand. The boys wolfed down frankfurters. Travis dropped a spoonful of potato salad on the ground. Tate IV spilled his lemonade. My mind wandered to Deirdre, wondering if she was reading my article over the weekend. And if I’d still have a job after the weekend.
“Can we go swim now?” Travis
Similar Books
