Reese
Emily and Nolan aren’t on speaking terms by the time we finally arrive. The air in the car is charged, like gasoline vapors
flow invisibly around us. Just one spark would make the whole thing explode.
Nolan is angry. He drums his thumbs against the steering wheel in time to the music (when what he’d rather do, I think, is
hit someone, maybe her), which is no longer Emily’s music but his, something techno and electronic that he no doubt picked
just to piss her off, which is almost exactly what they meant in their marriage vows when they promised to love and cherish
each other forever.
Or not.
Emily, on the other hand, is sad. She gazes out the window, her reflection visible in the side mirror. In it, her eyes are
empty. She hasn’t spoken for twenty miles, not a word.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Mae asks.
“Nothing, honey. I’m just tired,” Emily says, not looking back.
The last thing Nolan said to her before she went quiet, between his teeth so we wouldn’t hear, though still, I did: “This
trip would have been a lot more fun if you just stayed home.”
I felt sorry for her, but I also didn’t. Because Emily’s not exactly innocent either. It’s a game at which two can play. The silence, however, is torturous. We all suffer because of it. It was better when they were fighting.
Things go from bad to worse as we pull into the resort lot—the term resort used loosely, because it implies to me something bougie and this place is most definitely not. I sit in the back seat of
the car taking it in, astonished that I have to spend a whole two weeks here. Two weeks. That’s an eternity. I don’t know
how or if I’ll survive it. The trees are thick, shutting us in while, at the same time, blocking out the sun, which pretty
much demolishes any hope of going home with a tan, which is the only thing I was looking forward to on this trip. A sad swing
set sits beside the lake, looking like something straight out of Emily and Nolan’s generation; it’s metal with two pathetic
swings and a dumpy slide, beside a rusted merry-go-round that’s no doubt going to give someone tetanus. Just beside the lake
is a sandbox with broken-looking plastic toys and a little kid waddling around in his bulky swim diaper while his mom watches
on. The lake itself looks pretty, but the beach we were promised doesn’t exist, the trees and grass running right up to the
shoreline where there is a slanted pier, which dips sideways toward the lake. I see Emily look at it, and in her mind, I know
she’s already pitching a fit about how she doesn’t want Mae going on the pier alone, as if Mae isn’t ten, as if Mae can’t
swim. But because Mae’s the baby of the family, she treats her like one, and Mae milks it for all it’s worth.
“Look how pretty it is,” Emily says then, finding her voice, though it’s phony and forced as if trying to convince herself as much as the rest of us that it is actually pretty.
Last year we were in Hawaii, surfing, snorkeling with sea turtles and sunbathing on the warm sandy beaches, but this year, money is tight because Nolan got laid off and still hasn’t found a job, despite the fact that his severance package ran out weeks ago and we may or may not have health insurance.
I shouldn’t know that, but I do, because Emily isn’t quiet about telling him it’s time to get more motivated about finding a job.
She was subtle at first (How is the résumé coming along?
You want me to take a look at it?), but then I heard her tell him the other day that the mall was hiring.
Imagine that. From software engineer to minimum wage
retail sales at Gap. I saw the look in his eye when she said it, like he wanted to strangle her. Like he didn’t have a degree
from MIT.
Are you fucking serious right now? he’d asked. They were standing in the kitchen where anyone could see or hear.
What? she’d asked. I thought they might have good benefits and it would give you something to do until something better comes along.
They fought about it later, screaming at each other behind the closed bedroom door as if it was somehow soundproof, him about
how she emasculated him, her about how he was worthless and how she couldn’t support the family on her own.
I took Mae and we went out for ice cream. She didn’t need to hear that shit.
Now our car follows a curvy dirt road through the trees and to our cottage, kicking up dust as we go. The cottage, when we
get to it, is grayish green and set a little way back from the lake, on a hill, with trees on all sides. It’s bigger than
the rest, but that’s not saying much, because the rest of the cottages are actually tiny. This place was my Uncle Elliott’s
idea. He suggested we come here, because he’s been here before and liked it, which means I have him to blame for this trip.
It’s his fault. If he wouldn’t have suggested it, we wouldn’t have come.
Nolan parks the car and we climb out, getting ambushed by swarms of hungry mosquitoes the minute we do. We go around to the
back of the car, lugging our stuff from the trunk, everyone complaining.
“I can barely walk. My legs are asleep.”
“Can we just go inside first? Do we have to unpack right this minute? I have to pee.”
“Grab a couple bags and we can go in.”
“That’s not mine. It’s Wyatt’s. Make him carry it.”
“Just carry something. It’s all going to the same place.”
“Get out of my way unless you want me to pee right here.”
“Can everyone just relax, please? We’re on vacation.”
We climb the steps onto a small porch, where Nolan unlocks and throws open the door.
One by one we step inside the dark and dingy cottage, everyone eager to get in, which turns out to be a huge mistake because
I soon realize that I don’t know what’s worse: being trapped in the car together for five hours or being here.