everyone may feel like theyâre equal because theyâre such great amigos, is this traps the kids in a state of arrested developmentthat canât be healthy for anyone in the family unit. At some point the parents have to move on from just identifying themselves as moms and dads, and the kids have to define their roles beyond being someoneâs children. If you typecast yourself into one character, then thatâs the only part youâre ever going to get to play. Doesnât strike me as healthy.
I clear a place on the mantel for Barnabyâs urn and Iâm storing the leftovers in the fridge when I hear Jessica thunder in from the backyard. Sheâs holding one of her little booties in her hand, a busted heel in the other. Sheâs white with rage. âWhat in the actual
fuck
, PBS? I just tripped over a stack of old typewriters out there. A. Stack. Of. Old. Typewriters. Which are next to a pile of bike tires. Are we hosting a wedding or a goddamned
swap meet
? Jesus! Why is everyone in this family such a fucking amateur, and
why do you keep letting it happen?
â
She storms out of the room and up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door so hard that it jostles the dishes drying in the rack by the sink.
Just like that, Godzilla appears and stomps all over my fishing boats and thatched huts, not with a massive, claw-tipped web-foot, but in a single spiked bootie. The resultâs the same, thoughâhe wipes out the whole damn village.
CHAPTER FOUR
June 1988
âC hris! I love you, buddy, and I am so stoked to be your new brother-in-law. Woot-woot! In your face, Patrick! Whoâs the best man now, huh?â Foster flips Patrick the bird, and Patrick responds by placidly brushing imaginary lint off the shoulder of his suit jacket. Everyoneâs laughing, save for Marjorie. Sheâs making the face Chris calls âcat buttâ due to her three hundred and sixty degrees of quietly angry lip pucker, which only serves to make the whole scene more amusing.
Foster pulls a crumpled index card out of his tuxâs breast pocket. âOkay, I wrote this shit down because if I mess it up, Pennyâs never gonna let me hear the end of it. Here we go. On paper, you two are a terrible match. The numbers donât add up. Like, Chris is a super-fun dude, right? SO FUN! Plus a million points for you. And, Penny, youâre kinda where fun goes to die, so minus ten points. I mean, I can tell âcause we can smell our own.â He gestures at me with his rocks glass, and the clear liquid sloshes over the side, dampening his cuff. He doesnât notice.
Foster is absolutely annihilated on four weak Tanqueray and tonics and half a glass of champagne. I guess neither one of us inherited Marjorieâs heroic tolerance level. (Then again, we donât practice like she does.) One more drink and I guarantee heâll be wearing his bow tie around his head and gatoring on the dance floor when the band plays âShout
.
â
The crowd howls and Chris has to cup his hands around his mouth to be heard over everyone. âThis is a really terrible wedding toast, Fos! Hey, Max, maybe itâs time to close the open bar.â But heâs grinning when he says this, enjoying the scene as much as the rest of us, perhaps more. The crowd boos at this suggestion.
âShhh,â Foster slurs into the microphone. âIâm not done. What Iâm saying here is that on paper, you two suuuuuck balllllllllls.â Marjorie places her face in her palm while my father coughs into his hand to stifle a laugh. Weâre all going to pay for this later, but seeing Marjorie squirm in front of all her chichi pals is sort of worth it.
He says, âI always pictured her with an accountant or a banker or, like, an IRS dealie-guy. Someone who saves his receipts, you know? Heâd be all, âI got a big deduction for you, baby,â when he was in the mood for some lovinâ! Hey,