Meg Little Reilly
author of three novels; freelance writer and essayist; a regular Vermont Public Radio commentator, and hiker; has worked in national politics and the White House; her work has appeared in McSweeney's, Literary Hub, Sojourners, Politico, Times Higher Education, and elsewhere.
The Misfortunes of Family
PROLOGUE
First among the seven deadly sins is pride, which encompasses vanity. All sins – whether you subscribe to this particular doctrine or not – are of excess. They are essential human impulses that we are advised not to overindulge. But how are we to know where the line between normal and excessive lies? We are left to rely on our own flawed judgment to figure that out and the examples of the flawed people who raised us.
The point here is: normal is whatever our crazy family says it is.
We grow up, we leave home and try to recalibrate for the true north of normal, but by then it may be too difficult for many of us to locate it.
Such is the case with the Brights, a fundamentally good family of outsized pride, in a place and time that rewards the sinful impulse. They have everything but the ability to see themselves clearly. They are beautiful and terrible. They are us.
“I can’t we agreed to a month.” Ian placed folded T-shirts into a neat stack beside his suitcase. “A month is too long.”
Spencer emerged from the walk-in closet. “It’s not a month. It’s three weeks.”
“Three weeks in July is basically all of July, which is basically half of our summer. By the time we get back, we’ll be rushing to plan syllabuses.”
“Syllabi.”
“What?”
“The plural of syllabus is syllabi.”
“I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that it’s not. I’ll bet you three precious weeks in our short, precious summer—weeks that could be spent here in SoHo, reading the Sunday Times by a rooftop pool and drinking with out friends each night, instead of holed up in the woods with your family.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “It’s a summer house in the Berkshires, Ian. This isn’t Deliverance.”
“No one would hear us scream.”
“Stop.”
Ian sat on the bed, the last T-shirt still in hand.
“Sorry. I love it there. You know I do. It’s just… a lot.”
I know it’s a lot. They’re asking a lot of us this year. And I’m asking a lot of you. So thank you.”
Ian nodded at his folded pile, glad to have extracted some gratitude.
Spencer frowned. “Do I have to say thank you every day for all three weeks, or will that suffice?”
“I’ll need a few more.”
Spencer went back into the walk-in and began rifling though hangers.
Every summer, in advance of their trip to Spencer’s parents’ lake house in the Berkshire Mountains in western Massachusetts, Spencer had to do this. He had to say thank you and I’m sorry. Ian required it. It is not that a free vacation in the mountains wasn’t a pretty good deal for two academics scraping by in New York. It is simply that Spencer’s family was a lot, and Spencer was a lot when he was with them. And, after nine years of marriage, each knew what was required of the other to keep the peace. So, Spencer dutifully said please and thank you each summer, and then they dropped into their rental car and drove to the country. Ian just needed an acknowledgement of his sacrifice, of his enormous deposit in to the goodwill account of their marriage. He just needed to hear it.
That’s how it usually worked, anyway. But this summer’s trip was different because it was three times as long as their usual trips and there would be a camera following them around this time. It was the Bright Family times three, the movie! And it was going to be a lot for non-Brights. Ian knew that already. He’d attended enough of these family events, as the spouse to the second of four larger-than-life Bright brothers, to know what he was getting into.
“Thank you,” Spencer muffled from the walk-in.
He was selecting blazers. Spencer always packed blazers for the country, which drove Ian mad. As if, at any moment, they might need to host a campaign rally, or fund-raising gala from the woods. When you grow up with a US senator as a father, life is a stage for which one must always be appropriately costumed. Ian thought it was charming nearly all of the time – except when they were actually with all of Spencer’s family. Then it was too much.
“Say it again,” Ian yelled.
“Thank you.”
“Once more.”
“Thank you, you sadist!”
“You’re welcome.”
from The Misfortunes of Family by Meg Little Reilly (MIRA Books)
AN UNLIKELY STORY
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