Jackpot Summer, page 19
Austin shrugged. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Too bad, you’re coming,” Beth said, appearing behind Matthew. “It’s not a celebration without you.”
“Fine,” Austin said, his face hidden behind his phone screen again.
“And I have some good news for you too,” Beth said.
Austin lowered his phone. He looked skeptical.
“Remember that grandmaster you met at chess nationals last spring? His schedule cleared up and he’s finally able to give you lessons.” Beth danced awkwardly, a combination fist thrust and booty shake.
“Great,” Austin said. He might as well have been told he needed a cavity drilled.
“I thought you’d be happier. You said he was the only one who could really teach the Ruy Lopez opening.”
Their boy shrugged. “I’m chill. Let’s bounce.” Beth and Matthew looked at each other, neither of them understanding the teenage vernacular.
Beth dominated the conversation at dinner. Matthew humored her by responding “Great idea” to talk of a Hamptons rental and “Me too” about hoping their promotion would mean moving to larger offices. Austin was sullen. Matthew grew worried. Their son was at a delicate age. The other day he’d noticed a few dark hairs on his son’s upper lip. Once the boy started shaving, Matthew’s window to get through to him would shut.
“Mom, can I talk to you for a minute?” Austin said when they returned home and Matthew was hanging up their coats. By the time he turned around, Beth was trailing Austin to his room. A moment later, the door clicked shut. He knew many children gravitated toward their mothers over their fathers. He need look no further than his own upbringing to see that. But that had never been the case with Austin. Now Matthew waited on tenterhooks.
“Everything’s fine,” Beth said when she finally came into their bedroom. She stepped into her walk-in closet and Matthew climbed out of bed and followed her inside. Beth was unclasping her jewelry. When Matthew went to help, he found his hands were shaking.
“What did he say?”
“I promise, it’s nothing,” Beth said. “Just some teenage social media nonsense that doesn’t concern you.”
Why would it concern him? He was about to say that when Beth preempted him. “Honey, I’m exhausted. I need rest before we see your whole family tomorrow. Let’s go to sleep.”
When was the Energizer Bunny ever tired? And why did she need to rest before seeing his family? She had no cooking or setting up to do. Beth switched off her night table lamp and their room fell into blackness. Matthew, still restless an hour later, realized how much he didn’t like being kept in the dark.
* * *
—
“Holy shit,” Austin said as they pulled into the driveway of Laura and Doug’s new house in Franklin Lakes.
“Language,” Beth snapped reflexively, but as she lowered her sunglasses to take in the full property, she quietly echoed Austin.
“Parking won’t be an issue,” Matthew said as he drove their Tesla toward what he counted to be a free-standing six-car garage.
“This is a freaking castle,” Austin said, his nose pressed against the car window.
“It’s still in New Jersey,” Beth said, clearly grasping for criticism.
They exited the car and stood in place gaping at the house, even though it was unseasonably frigid for late fall and a light snow was falling. The exterior was a combination of stone and stucco, with arched windows divided by crisply painted white mullions illuminated by iron lanterns. The roof was embellished with three turrets in a darker shade of stone and six brick chimneys. He immediately juxtaposed this mega-mansion with the Cohen family’s former residence, a modest Colonial practically kissing the curb. It had been in stiff competition with the shore house for renovation needs.
A uniformed housekeeper opened the front door before they had a chance to use the brass knocker. Once inside, Matthew felt like he’d stumbled onto the set of Clue. He immediately thought: Mrs. Peacock, with the knife, in the billiard room. The entry was a cavernous two-story space with a domed ceiling and two grand staircases with gilded railings on opposite sides, curving to meet on the second-floor balcony. His and Beth’s rental down the shore had been large, but it was still on a small plot of land and had a beachy sensibility that balanced its size. It was true the kitchen and bathrooms were tricked out with the newest appliances and solid brass hardware, but at least it didn’t scream Versailles like this place.
“Austin! Finally!” His nieces, Emma and Hannah, flew down opposing staircases and tugged at their cousin. “You have to see the billiard room,” Hannah said. Knew it, Matthew thought. But where did Mrs. Peacock hide the knife?
“Hi, Uncle Matthew, Aunt Beth,” Emma said as both girls hugged them.
“Should we do billiards first or show him the screening room?” Hannah looked to her sister. The three cousins disappeared before Matthew could get a word in. He was curious to find out how the lottery was affecting the girls. Clearly, they were jazzed about their new digs.
“May I take your overcoat?” Matthew heard a cockney British accent from behind and nearly had a fit. His sister and Doug hired a butler? Wasn’t that taking things just a tad too far? Laura used to rinse Ziploc bags for reuse. Doug had a conniption if his daughters threw out perfectly good food just because the “best by” date had passed. A hand patted his shoulder. Matthew turned and was relieved to see it was just Noah, goofing around.
“Hey, man,” Matthew said. “You got me there for a second.” The brothers each gave each other a back slap.
“Fancy a brew?” Noah asked, keeping up his act.
“Not just yet.” Matthew took a step back to study his younger brother. Noah had been taller than Matthew since entering high school, but this was the first time he was ever wider. He tried not to stare at the gut bulging from his brother’s midsection.
“I put on a little weight,” Noah said, patting his belly. “And I’ll be putting on more tonight.” He pushed his shaggy hair out of his face and took a swig of beer from the glass bottle in his hand.
“It does smell amazing,” Beth said. “I just hope Laura told the chef about Austin’s dietary restrictions.”
“The kid doesn’t have allergies,” Noah said. “You have to chill.”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do,” Beth said, snappier than Matthew expected. “They’re not allergies. They’re intolerances. It’s also about making sure our child doesn’t consume carcinogens.”
“Sorry,” Noah mumbled. “Let’s go to the den. Everyone’s in there. We’ve been waiting for you guys.”
Walking behind Noah, Matthew noticed his brother’s unsteady gait. It looked like he was favoring one knee. He’d never seen Noah such a mess.
“You okay?” he asked, gripping his elbow.
Noah lifted the beer in his hand. “I may have had a few too many of these.”
After passing a warren of rooms with Louis XVI–style furniture, they reached the den where all the Jacobsons were sunken into a leather couch and a football game played on TV.
“Are we late?” Beth checked the time on her watch and her iPhone. “It’s only five after four.”
“It was changed to three,” Sophie said. “But no big deal.”
“Nobody told us that,” Beth said.
“Yeah, it was on the text,” Noah said. He fumbled with his phone. “Oh, wait, never mind.”
“What?” Matthew asked.
“Laura must have not realized she only texted me and Sophie,” Noah said. “Whoops.”
Matthew practically choked on the smoke coming out of Beth’s ears.
He crossed the room to hug his father. “Dad, you’ve been getting a lot of sun.”
“Pickleball,” everyone said at once.
“He’s pretty obsessed,” Laura said, entering the den. “We’ve been hearing a lot about the tournaments.”
“Number one seed,” Leo said, reaching his hand into a bowl of gourmet nachos.
“Get it, Grandpa,” Emma said. She, Hannah and Austin were at the game table, which had an inlaid marble chess board.
“Dad, I think you’ve had enough of those,” Sophie said, pushing away the chips.
“Sorry we’re late,” Beth said to Laura. “Though I suppose we wouldn’t have been if we’d known the time changed. Anyway, congrats on the new place.” She produced a silver bag Matthew hadn’t noticed earlier, adorned with tissue paper and ribbons. “Just a little housewarming gift. Though I’m afraid it doesn’t quite match your style.” Her tone was even enough, but Matthew heard the underlying sentiment: I didn’t realize you’d hired Donald Trump’s interior designer.
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Laura said, retrieving a sleek candle from inside the bag and sniffing it. “Smells terrific. I’ll go put it in the powder room.”
“Who you rooting for?” Matthew asked Doug, gesturing to the TV.
“I don’t even know who’s playing,” Doug admitted.
“They’re pretty hard to miss on that screen. It’s like a movie theater.”
Doug reddened. “This place is a bit much, but Laura is happy. I think she is, anyway.”
Matthew rewound to Beth suggesting there was marital discord between Laura and Doug and wasn’t sure how to respond. Laura saved him. With a clap of her hands, she announced, “Time to eat. The turkey looks incredible.”
The family filed into the dining room, where an ornately laid table set for ten awaited them. Thanksgiving was not always a holiday that brought all the Jacobsons together. Laura and Doug alternated years between their families. There were times when Sophie chose to go to a Friendsgiving or spend the holiday with a boyfriend. Noah was a wild card. Matthew was glad everyone was together this year. Even if the table setting was absurdly fussy—what was the purpose of four forks?—it was far preferable to a Thanksgiving party of three.
A full table in an echoey room and a robust waitstaff made a singular table conversation impossible. There was constant swapping out of china, including one shattered plate that might have been Noah’s fault. Chef Francois, a heavily accented Frenchman, intruded each time a new course was set down to give an incomprehensible explanation. Matthew’s concern for Noah escalated as the meal wore on. He never turned down a refill of wine and drained each glass in two large gulps. Several times Matthew thought Noah might fall asleep at the table.
Sophie told Matthew all about her new studio space, but when he asked what happened with the painting she was selling to the “suit,” she changed the topic. Beth’s numerous attempts to publicize Austin’s latest roster of accomplishments went ignored. Laura and Doug, seated at opposite ends of the table like world leaders presiding over a state dinner, struggled to coherently rehash their trip to Japan and were constantly cutting the other off. Leo was quiet, even for him. Matthew caught him shaking his head when the chef described the first course as a foie gras pudding on a bed of edible flowers. Only the subject of pickleball ignited him, and there was only so much they could ask him about paddles and the two-bounce rule.
At the kids’ end of the table, Austin and his cousins were giggly, sneaking glances at their phones and consuming unusually large quantities of food. Matthew didn’t think Francois was anything special, but his son was shoveling forkfuls of turkey and cranberry sauce into his mouth in between fits of laughter. Perhaps he was just happy to eat a meal that his mother didn’t sanction. Matthew reveled in seeing the cousins goof around. There was certainly no discernible distance between the girls and Austin, even though they were the children of lottery winners and he was not. It made Matthew nostalgic for the occasional week in August when schedules permitted Laura’s family and his to vacation at the shore together.
“Isn’t the stuffing delicious?” Doug asked, repeating the question three times before everyone quieted down.
“Is this supposed to be like Grandma’s?” Emma asked. She lifted a fork of grayish-brown mush and eyed it with distrust. “She’s the only person who put currants and hazelnuts in. Mom, did you give the chef the recipe?”
“Do you like it?” Laura asked.
“It tastes like dog poo,” Hannah blurted and Austin started barking.
“I can’t disagree,” Sophie said. “The consistency is like tar.”
“I think the currants may be rotten,” Beth said.
“Your mother would spit in this,” Leo said, pushing his plate away.
“I’ll suggest a different recipe next year,” Laura said quietly.
It wasn’t that bad, Matthew thought, but before he could say so a parade of pies and cakes on silver stands came out. Once the desserts were set down, Laura asked the servers to step outside. They retreated, looking like marching penguins in their white-and-black uniforms.
When it was just family, Laura cleared her throat at the same time Doug dinged his water glass, and no one knew which way to face.
“Thank you all for—” Doug started to say just as Laura stood, winning the who-should-we-focus-on competition.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. It’s such a joy to have you all in our new home.”
“It’s very good,” Noah said. “I mean gold.” He took another swig of wine. “I mean nice.”
“As I was saying, it’s wonderful to be together. It’s hard to believe how much has happened since the summer,” Laura continued, locking eyes with Matthew in a way that flustered him.
“Powerball! Powerball!” Austin started chanting and Beth whipped around to shush him. She threw an accusatory look at Matthew, as if he was responsible for anything their son did that was less than perfect. Austin was not dissuaded by the ferocious look on his mother’s face. Emma and Hannah quickly joined his cheer.
“Powerball! Powerball!” the three of them shouted in unison.
“Girls,” Laura snapped. “Quiet! I’m about to make an important announcement.”
Matthew noticed Sophie motioning frantically to Emma and Hannah, pointing at their eyes, then her own, then theirs again. What the hell?
“Sophie, what are you doing?” Laura asked, annoyed. “I’m about to tell Matthew and Beth the news.”
“What news?” Beth asked.
“We’re cutting you in,” Noah slurred. He plunged his glass of wine onto the table and a splash of cabernet rolled down the white tablecloth. “You’re gonna be rich like us. Whoop dee doo.” He flung his napkin around like a lasso, smacking Sophie in the face.
“Hey, Noah, let me make you some coffee,” Doug said, heading for the kitchen.
“Doug, someone can get that for him,” Laura said stiffly. “Sit back down.”
“Seriously, Laura?” Doug stalked out of the room.
“What do you mean, cutting us in?” Matthew asked, though Laura could only be referring to one thing.
“Why now?” Beth asked, an edge to her voice. Matthew was wondering the same thing. “I’m just curious why after all these months”—she slowed her pace to a crawl—“you decided to share your riches with us.”
“Money, Money, Money” by ABBA suddenly blasted through the room, piped through built-in speakers. The three cousins were now hysterical, snort-laughing uncontrollably. It was then Matthew noticed his son’s eyes were bloodshot. So were Hannah’s and Emma’s.
“Turn that music off,” Laura said. “Who did that?”
“Emma,” Hannah said, pointing at her sister through giggles.
“It was Hannah,” Emma said, her bobbing head dangerously close to face planting in the pecan pie.
“What is going on with you three?” Beth demanded. “Austin, what did the girls give you?”
“Shit, you guys are high as fuck,” Noah said. He sounded impressed.
“Seriously, guys? I warned you to get it together,” Sophie said. Unlike Noah, she looked disappointed, like the younger generation was letting her down with their lack of subtlety. “Your grandfather is here.”
“Can someone please explain what is going on?” It was the first time Leo had spoken since dissing the stuffing.
“What’s happening, Leo, is that Emma and Hannah gave our son—a thirteen-year-old boy—drugs.” Beth threw her napkin on the table. “Austin, come over here. I want you to drink some water while I call Dr. Fleishman’s service.”
Just what Fleishman needed during his Thanksgiving dinner, Matthew thought. Their pediatrician already thought Beth was loco for worrying that Austin’s flu shot fatigue might interfere with his math test performance three days later.
“Girls, that’s absolutely unacceptable,” Doug said. He had returned with Noah’s coffee in time to catch what was happening.
“How could you?” Laura glared at her daughters. “Emma, I’m canceling your trip to see Tomas. Hannah, you’re losing your car.”
“Who said we gave it to him?” Hannah said.
“Yeah,” Emma chimed in. “Austin gave it to us.”
“Are you insane?” Beth’s rage, which Matthew didn’t think could grow anymore, was taking on fire-breathing dragon proportions. “You expect us to believe an eighth grader gave two college girls pot?” She looked at Matthew. “Are you going to say anything?”
In fact, he was speechless. Not scared to speak, just truly at a loss for words.
“Can we go back to the part about us sharing the money?” Sophie attempted. “I think these kids need to, um, come down a little before we get into that mess.”
“Aunt Sophie, it’s fine,” Austin said, speaking in a timid voice. “I don’t want Emma and Hannah to get in trouble. It was me. I gave it to them.”
“Aha!” Laura pointed a finger at Beth. “Turns out your perfect son is a troublemaker. What nerve you have, Beth. You should be thanking us for cutting your family in when you were so damn snobby about the lottery to begin with. Instead, you’re accusing my daughters of corrupting Austin.”
“Lower your voices,” Leo warned. “We don’t need the thirty people serving us dinner to know our family secrets.”
“Too bad, you’re coming,” Beth said, appearing behind Matthew. “It’s not a celebration without you.”
“Fine,” Austin said, his face hidden behind his phone screen again.
“And I have some good news for you too,” Beth said.
Austin lowered his phone. He looked skeptical.
“Remember that grandmaster you met at chess nationals last spring? His schedule cleared up and he’s finally able to give you lessons.” Beth danced awkwardly, a combination fist thrust and booty shake.
“Great,” Austin said. He might as well have been told he needed a cavity drilled.
“I thought you’d be happier. You said he was the only one who could really teach the Ruy Lopez opening.”
Their boy shrugged. “I’m chill. Let’s bounce.” Beth and Matthew looked at each other, neither of them understanding the teenage vernacular.
Beth dominated the conversation at dinner. Matthew humored her by responding “Great idea” to talk of a Hamptons rental and “Me too” about hoping their promotion would mean moving to larger offices. Austin was sullen. Matthew grew worried. Their son was at a delicate age. The other day he’d noticed a few dark hairs on his son’s upper lip. Once the boy started shaving, Matthew’s window to get through to him would shut.
“Mom, can I talk to you for a minute?” Austin said when they returned home and Matthew was hanging up their coats. By the time he turned around, Beth was trailing Austin to his room. A moment later, the door clicked shut. He knew many children gravitated toward their mothers over their fathers. He need look no further than his own upbringing to see that. But that had never been the case with Austin. Now Matthew waited on tenterhooks.
“Everything’s fine,” Beth said when she finally came into their bedroom. She stepped into her walk-in closet and Matthew climbed out of bed and followed her inside. Beth was unclasping her jewelry. When Matthew went to help, he found his hands were shaking.
“What did he say?”
“I promise, it’s nothing,” Beth said. “Just some teenage social media nonsense that doesn’t concern you.”
Why would it concern him? He was about to say that when Beth preempted him. “Honey, I’m exhausted. I need rest before we see your whole family tomorrow. Let’s go to sleep.”
When was the Energizer Bunny ever tired? And why did she need to rest before seeing his family? She had no cooking or setting up to do. Beth switched off her night table lamp and their room fell into blackness. Matthew, still restless an hour later, realized how much he didn’t like being kept in the dark.
* * *
—
“Holy shit,” Austin said as they pulled into the driveway of Laura and Doug’s new house in Franklin Lakes.
“Language,” Beth snapped reflexively, but as she lowered her sunglasses to take in the full property, she quietly echoed Austin.
“Parking won’t be an issue,” Matthew said as he drove their Tesla toward what he counted to be a free-standing six-car garage.
“This is a freaking castle,” Austin said, his nose pressed against the car window.
“It’s still in New Jersey,” Beth said, clearly grasping for criticism.
They exited the car and stood in place gaping at the house, even though it was unseasonably frigid for late fall and a light snow was falling. The exterior was a combination of stone and stucco, with arched windows divided by crisply painted white mullions illuminated by iron lanterns. The roof was embellished with three turrets in a darker shade of stone and six brick chimneys. He immediately juxtaposed this mega-mansion with the Cohen family’s former residence, a modest Colonial practically kissing the curb. It had been in stiff competition with the shore house for renovation needs.
A uniformed housekeeper opened the front door before they had a chance to use the brass knocker. Once inside, Matthew felt like he’d stumbled onto the set of Clue. He immediately thought: Mrs. Peacock, with the knife, in the billiard room. The entry was a cavernous two-story space with a domed ceiling and two grand staircases with gilded railings on opposite sides, curving to meet on the second-floor balcony. His and Beth’s rental down the shore had been large, but it was still on a small plot of land and had a beachy sensibility that balanced its size. It was true the kitchen and bathrooms were tricked out with the newest appliances and solid brass hardware, but at least it didn’t scream Versailles like this place.
“Austin! Finally!” His nieces, Emma and Hannah, flew down opposing staircases and tugged at their cousin. “You have to see the billiard room,” Hannah said. Knew it, Matthew thought. But where did Mrs. Peacock hide the knife?
“Hi, Uncle Matthew, Aunt Beth,” Emma said as both girls hugged them.
“Should we do billiards first or show him the screening room?” Hannah looked to her sister. The three cousins disappeared before Matthew could get a word in. He was curious to find out how the lottery was affecting the girls. Clearly, they were jazzed about their new digs.
“May I take your overcoat?” Matthew heard a cockney British accent from behind and nearly had a fit. His sister and Doug hired a butler? Wasn’t that taking things just a tad too far? Laura used to rinse Ziploc bags for reuse. Doug had a conniption if his daughters threw out perfectly good food just because the “best by” date had passed. A hand patted his shoulder. Matthew turned and was relieved to see it was just Noah, goofing around.
“Hey, man,” Matthew said. “You got me there for a second.” The brothers each gave each other a back slap.
“Fancy a brew?” Noah asked, keeping up his act.
“Not just yet.” Matthew took a step back to study his younger brother. Noah had been taller than Matthew since entering high school, but this was the first time he was ever wider. He tried not to stare at the gut bulging from his brother’s midsection.
“I put on a little weight,” Noah said, patting his belly. “And I’ll be putting on more tonight.” He pushed his shaggy hair out of his face and took a swig of beer from the glass bottle in his hand.
“It does smell amazing,” Beth said. “I just hope Laura told the chef about Austin’s dietary restrictions.”
“The kid doesn’t have allergies,” Noah said. “You have to chill.”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do,” Beth said, snappier than Matthew expected. “They’re not allergies. They’re intolerances. It’s also about making sure our child doesn’t consume carcinogens.”
“Sorry,” Noah mumbled. “Let’s go to the den. Everyone’s in there. We’ve been waiting for you guys.”
Walking behind Noah, Matthew noticed his brother’s unsteady gait. It looked like he was favoring one knee. He’d never seen Noah such a mess.
“You okay?” he asked, gripping his elbow.
Noah lifted the beer in his hand. “I may have had a few too many of these.”
After passing a warren of rooms with Louis XVI–style furniture, they reached the den where all the Jacobsons were sunken into a leather couch and a football game played on TV.
“Are we late?” Beth checked the time on her watch and her iPhone. “It’s only five after four.”
“It was changed to three,” Sophie said. “But no big deal.”
“Nobody told us that,” Beth said.
“Yeah, it was on the text,” Noah said. He fumbled with his phone. “Oh, wait, never mind.”
“What?” Matthew asked.
“Laura must have not realized she only texted me and Sophie,” Noah said. “Whoops.”
Matthew practically choked on the smoke coming out of Beth’s ears.
He crossed the room to hug his father. “Dad, you’ve been getting a lot of sun.”
“Pickleball,” everyone said at once.
“He’s pretty obsessed,” Laura said, entering the den. “We’ve been hearing a lot about the tournaments.”
“Number one seed,” Leo said, reaching his hand into a bowl of gourmet nachos.
“Get it, Grandpa,” Emma said. She, Hannah and Austin were at the game table, which had an inlaid marble chess board.
“Dad, I think you’ve had enough of those,” Sophie said, pushing away the chips.
“Sorry we’re late,” Beth said to Laura. “Though I suppose we wouldn’t have been if we’d known the time changed. Anyway, congrats on the new place.” She produced a silver bag Matthew hadn’t noticed earlier, adorned with tissue paper and ribbons. “Just a little housewarming gift. Though I’m afraid it doesn’t quite match your style.” Her tone was even enough, but Matthew heard the underlying sentiment: I didn’t realize you’d hired Donald Trump’s interior designer.
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Laura said, retrieving a sleek candle from inside the bag and sniffing it. “Smells terrific. I’ll go put it in the powder room.”
“Who you rooting for?” Matthew asked Doug, gesturing to the TV.
“I don’t even know who’s playing,” Doug admitted.
“They’re pretty hard to miss on that screen. It’s like a movie theater.”
Doug reddened. “This place is a bit much, but Laura is happy. I think she is, anyway.”
Matthew rewound to Beth suggesting there was marital discord between Laura and Doug and wasn’t sure how to respond. Laura saved him. With a clap of her hands, she announced, “Time to eat. The turkey looks incredible.”
The family filed into the dining room, where an ornately laid table set for ten awaited them. Thanksgiving was not always a holiday that brought all the Jacobsons together. Laura and Doug alternated years between their families. There were times when Sophie chose to go to a Friendsgiving or spend the holiday with a boyfriend. Noah was a wild card. Matthew was glad everyone was together this year. Even if the table setting was absurdly fussy—what was the purpose of four forks?—it was far preferable to a Thanksgiving party of three.
A full table in an echoey room and a robust waitstaff made a singular table conversation impossible. There was constant swapping out of china, including one shattered plate that might have been Noah’s fault. Chef Francois, a heavily accented Frenchman, intruded each time a new course was set down to give an incomprehensible explanation. Matthew’s concern for Noah escalated as the meal wore on. He never turned down a refill of wine and drained each glass in two large gulps. Several times Matthew thought Noah might fall asleep at the table.
Sophie told Matthew all about her new studio space, but when he asked what happened with the painting she was selling to the “suit,” she changed the topic. Beth’s numerous attempts to publicize Austin’s latest roster of accomplishments went ignored. Laura and Doug, seated at opposite ends of the table like world leaders presiding over a state dinner, struggled to coherently rehash their trip to Japan and were constantly cutting the other off. Leo was quiet, even for him. Matthew caught him shaking his head when the chef described the first course as a foie gras pudding on a bed of edible flowers. Only the subject of pickleball ignited him, and there was only so much they could ask him about paddles and the two-bounce rule.
At the kids’ end of the table, Austin and his cousins were giggly, sneaking glances at their phones and consuming unusually large quantities of food. Matthew didn’t think Francois was anything special, but his son was shoveling forkfuls of turkey and cranberry sauce into his mouth in between fits of laughter. Perhaps he was just happy to eat a meal that his mother didn’t sanction. Matthew reveled in seeing the cousins goof around. There was certainly no discernible distance between the girls and Austin, even though they were the children of lottery winners and he was not. It made Matthew nostalgic for the occasional week in August when schedules permitted Laura’s family and his to vacation at the shore together.
“Isn’t the stuffing delicious?” Doug asked, repeating the question three times before everyone quieted down.
“Is this supposed to be like Grandma’s?” Emma asked. She lifted a fork of grayish-brown mush and eyed it with distrust. “She’s the only person who put currants and hazelnuts in. Mom, did you give the chef the recipe?”
“Do you like it?” Laura asked.
“It tastes like dog poo,” Hannah blurted and Austin started barking.
“I can’t disagree,” Sophie said. “The consistency is like tar.”
“I think the currants may be rotten,” Beth said.
“Your mother would spit in this,” Leo said, pushing his plate away.
“I’ll suggest a different recipe next year,” Laura said quietly.
It wasn’t that bad, Matthew thought, but before he could say so a parade of pies and cakes on silver stands came out. Once the desserts were set down, Laura asked the servers to step outside. They retreated, looking like marching penguins in their white-and-black uniforms.
When it was just family, Laura cleared her throat at the same time Doug dinged his water glass, and no one knew which way to face.
“Thank you all for—” Doug started to say just as Laura stood, winning the who-should-we-focus-on competition.
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. It’s such a joy to have you all in our new home.”
“It’s very good,” Noah said. “I mean gold.” He took another swig of wine. “I mean nice.”
“As I was saying, it’s wonderful to be together. It’s hard to believe how much has happened since the summer,” Laura continued, locking eyes with Matthew in a way that flustered him.
“Powerball! Powerball!” Austin started chanting and Beth whipped around to shush him. She threw an accusatory look at Matthew, as if he was responsible for anything their son did that was less than perfect. Austin was not dissuaded by the ferocious look on his mother’s face. Emma and Hannah quickly joined his cheer.
“Powerball! Powerball!” the three of them shouted in unison.
“Girls,” Laura snapped. “Quiet! I’m about to make an important announcement.”
Matthew noticed Sophie motioning frantically to Emma and Hannah, pointing at their eyes, then her own, then theirs again. What the hell?
“Sophie, what are you doing?” Laura asked, annoyed. “I’m about to tell Matthew and Beth the news.”
“What news?” Beth asked.
“We’re cutting you in,” Noah slurred. He plunged his glass of wine onto the table and a splash of cabernet rolled down the white tablecloth. “You’re gonna be rich like us. Whoop dee doo.” He flung his napkin around like a lasso, smacking Sophie in the face.
“Hey, Noah, let me make you some coffee,” Doug said, heading for the kitchen.
“Doug, someone can get that for him,” Laura said stiffly. “Sit back down.”
“Seriously, Laura?” Doug stalked out of the room.
“What do you mean, cutting us in?” Matthew asked, though Laura could only be referring to one thing.
“Why now?” Beth asked, an edge to her voice. Matthew was wondering the same thing. “I’m just curious why after all these months”—she slowed her pace to a crawl—“you decided to share your riches with us.”
“Money, Money, Money” by ABBA suddenly blasted through the room, piped through built-in speakers. The three cousins were now hysterical, snort-laughing uncontrollably. It was then Matthew noticed his son’s eyes were bloodshot. So were Hannah’s and Emma’s.
“Turn that music off,” Laura said. “Who did that?”
“Emma,” Hannah said, pointing at her sister through giggles.
“It was Hannah,” Emma said, her bobbing head dangerously close to face planting in the pecan pie.
“What is going on with you three?” Beth demanded. “Austin, what did the girls give you?”
“Shit, you guys are high as fuck,” Noah said. He sounded impressed.
“Seriously, guys? I warned you to get it together,” Sophie said. Unlike Noah, she looked disappointed, like the younger generation was letting her down with their lack of subtlety. “Your grandfather is here.”
“Can someone please explain what is going on?” It was the first time Leo had spoken since dissing the stuffing.
“What’s happening, Leo, is that Emma and Hannah gave our son—a thirteen-year-old boy—drugs.” Beth threw her napkin on the table. “Austin, come over here. I want you to drink some water while I call Dr. Fleishman’s service.”
Just what Fleishman needed during his Thanksgiving dinner, Matthew thought. Their pediatrician already thought Beth was loco for worrying that Austin’s flu shot fatigue might interfere with his math test performance three days later.
“Girls, that’s absolutely unacceptable,” Doug said. He had returned with Noah’s coffee in time to catch what was happening.
“How could you?” Laura glared at her daughters. “Emma, I’m canceling your trip to see Tomas. Hannah, you’re losing your car.”
“Who said we gave it to him?” Hannah said.
“Yeah,” Emma chimed in. “Austin gave it to us.”
“Are you insane?” Beth’s rage, which Matthew didn’t think could grow anymore, was taking on fire-breathing dragon proportions. “You expect us to believe an eighth grader gave two college girls pot?” She looked at Matthew. “Are you going to say anything?”
In fact, he was speechless. Not scared to speak, just truly at a loss for words.
“Can we go back to the part about us sharing the money?” Sophie attempted. “I think these kids need to, um, come down a little before we get into that mess.”
“Aunt Sophie, it’s fine,” Austin said, speaking in a timid voice. “I don’t want Emma and Hannah to get in trouble. It was me. I gave it to them.”
“Aha!” Laura pointed a finger at Beth. “Turns out your perfect son is a troublemaker. What nerve you have, Beth. You should be thanking us for cutting your family in when you were so damn snobby about the lottery to begin with. Instead, you’re accusing my daughters of corrupting Austin.”
“Lower your voices,” Leo warned. “We don’t need the thirty people serving us dinner to know our family secrets.”
