Jennifer Close - The Hopefuls

Jenny and Nellie came out of the house then, both wearing Lululemon cropped pants, tank tops, and sneakers. “You made it,” Jenny said, leaning down to hug me. “Do you want to come for a walk with us? We’re going to power-walk every day. Burn some calories.” As she said this, she slapped her right thigh, which was thin and muscular and didn’t move.

“I think I’ll skip today,” I said. “Our bags are still in the car.”

“Is Matt already out there with the other boys?” Nellie asked. She shaded her eyes and squinted out at the dock. “God, they act like teenagers here, don’t they?” But her voice was full of affection, and I knew she was glad that Will was having fun, even if it meant he’d be drunk by dinner and she’d have to deal with the kids alone.

“Rebecca, what about you? Are you up for a walk?”

“I think I’ll sit this one out,” she said.

“Good God, is Meg still lying by the pool?” Nellie asked. “She must have gotten wasted last night. As soon as we picked her up, she asked if we could stop at McDonald’s, and then she shoved an Egg McMuffin in her face and fell asleep immediately. She reeked of booze. Conor and Lily spent the whole ride putting stickers on her while she slept. They ran out of stickers before she even moved at all.” But just like when she talked about Will getting drunk, there was amusement in her voice. All of the Kellys got a kick out of it when someone drank too much. My parents would have been horrified, but even Babs laughed at the story of a drunk Will throwing up on the country club golf course as a teenager.

They walked toward the dock, and Jenny yelled, “We’re going for a walk. Are you watching your children?” Michael gave her a thumbs-up and Will held up his beer in response.

It always surprised me how relaxed the Kellys were about their kids on vacation. (Minus Rebecca and Patrick, of course.) The children were allowed to run wild, playing in the woods and swimming as long as an adult was “present,” which meant anywhere on the property. And I couldn’t believe they were going to let the kids sleep in Eggs by themselves. Weren’t they scared that some child predator would come and steal them? Apparently, the Kellys weren’t as paranoid as I was.

After Jennie and Nellie left, Rebecca and I chatted about Jonah’s school, and she told me about a boy in the class who had been a biter at age three and this year pulled down his pants at least once a week and chased kids around asking them if they wanted a hot dog. “Can you imagine?” she asked. I laughed, which wasn’t the response she was looking for. “I think he must have been abused,” she said.

“Maybe,” I said. “But some little kids are just really weird.”

Rebecca gave a low grunt, which was her way of telling me she didn’t agree, and then she called out across the grass to where the boys were playing. “Bobby? It’s just about time for Jonah to eat.” Of course, I thought. When is it not time for Jonah to eat?

Bobby nodded and bent down to pick up Jonah, which was unnecessary and also a little bit of a struggle since Jonah was six and almost too big to be carried by someone Bobby’s size. He waddled over to us and set Jonah down.

“Do you want me to get him a snack, Aunt Rebecca?”

“No, that’s okay. We have everything in the cottage.”

Jonah didn’t seem hungry, but this was apparently a mandatory snack time. And it looked like he was used to being interrupted and forced to eat, because he followed behind Rebecca without protesting.

“He’s so lucky to have you as a big cousin,” I said to Bobby.

“I’m so lucky to have him as a little cousin,” he said. His mannerisms and eagerness had an Eddie Haskell vibe to them, and when he talked to Jonah, he did so in a singsong voice that he’d no doubt heard other adults use when talking to little kids. I figured he must be trying to prove that he wasn’t little anymore, that he was a grown-up.

Bobby ran off to join the other boys in the woods, and he left so quickly that I suspected he must have really wanted to be with them all along. I stayed on the porch, enjoying the peace and quiet, until Babs and Charles came back with groceries. I walked over to their car to help them carry the bags in. Babs gave me an air kiss and said, “You two finally made it. We thought we’d have to send a search party out for you.” And with that, vacation with the Kellys officially started.

—

I spent the week reading, keeping score during volleyball games, and playing with my nieces and nephews. During a game of Cornhole, I slipped on the grass and banged my elbow, and when I said to Matt, “I figured I’d be safe throwing a beanbag at a hole,” he laughed so hard he cried.

At least with more people around, Matt had a bigger audience to discuss his future plans. Babs would (and did) listen to him talk for hours. I wouldn’t say that I ignored him, but I did spend a lot of time with the little ones, relieved that none of them wanted to talk about career paths with me.

One morning, while I French-braided Lily’s hair (Grace was waiting patiently next to me for her turn), Rebecca set up a station for all the kids to paint rocks. She had googly eyes, pom-poms, and some other accessories that they could glue on, and the girls were wiggly with excitement. Jonah looked less thrilled, and gazed longingly at the older boys playing Marco Polo in the pool.

Rebecca’s entire childcare regiment looked like it deserved its own Pinterest board. She had individual containers for Jonah’s snacks that he could carry around, kits of rainy day activities, outdoor art projects, scavenger hunts. Anytime she brought out one of her creations, I could feel Jenny and Nellie exchanging a look. Those two liked to act like they were too overwhelmed and busy to pay attention to what their kids were doing, let alone have time to put together crafts. They were constantly congratulating themselves on having three kids by saying, “Once they outnumber you, anything can happen.” They posted pictures of their kids with paint on their faces, with the caption “Mother of the Year.” They thought Rebecca was fussy, that she tried too hard. It wasn’t difficult to imagine them in high school, making fun of anyone who put forth effort and showed that she cared. And while they made sure their girls had enough Lilly Pulitzer dresses to choke a horse, they continued to give the impression that motherhood left them too busy to care about any of it.

—

Rebecca wasn’t a big drinker. Compared to the rest of the Kellys, she was usually downright sober. When she showed up at Sunday dinner, she’d have one glass of wine, which she’d sip on throughout the meal. I think it was her way of silently judging the rest of us. If someone tried to pour more in her glass, she’d put her hand over the top, which often led Babs to mutter “Teetotaler” at her, like it was a dirty word.

But on vacation, all bets were off. Maybe it was the close proximity to everyone, or the fact that she knew she was stuck on the Kelly compound, but most days she started drinking white wine in the afternoons and by dinner she was often tipsy.

On the last day of the trip, she and I sat on the patio, each of us relaxing in an Adirondack chair, a bottle of wine between us. The rest of the family was on the lawn playing a huge game of touch football — even Jonah was out there. When Rebecca said she didn’t want to play and the numbers became uneven, everyone looked at me and waited for me to bow out, which I did. It was just as well. I didn’t need to end up on crutches.

The two teams were huddled separately, shouting funny threats back and forth, pretending to whisper secret plays to each other. They were loud and the kids were laughing. The last game of the trip was always the rowdiest.