Page 2 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Look! Dolphins!” My twelve-year-old cousin leans over the side of the boat. Three dolphins are crisscrossing in the water mere feet from us, their silvery backs shining under the sun. Everyone swarms forward, oohing and ahhing.
“Do you see the dolphins, Adam?” Maeve coos, holding him up. Blake hovers with his arms outstretched like he thinks there’s a chance Maeve might accidentally drop the baby overboard.
I turn to smile at my mom. She pulls me in for a sideways hug.
“Mom loved dolphins,” she says.
“This is her,” Trish says, tears coating her cheeks. “She’s sending us a sign.”
Gramps scoffs—probably becausesignsare not, scientifically speaking, real. But he’s smiling too, showing his surprisingly white teeth for the first time today.
“Thank you, my darling.” His voice is so quiet, I don’t know if anyone else hears him. And then he hands the urn to my mom. She looks down at it and her face drains of color; she looks like a scared kid, which is painful to see because my mother is a sturdy, fearless woman.
Lenore takes charge. “We should all say a few words.” She straightens her rainbow-colored shawl and pulls her shoulders back. “Lottie. When you met my brother I thought, well, what does a fine woman like you see inhim?” Everyone laughs. “But I’m glad you saw whatever it was that you liked. You became my sister, and I always wanted one of those. You showed me that a woman could be obstinate, and still tender. Glamorous, and still rugged. You were always up for a girls’ trip to Geneva at the drop of a hat, even when your daughter was four weeks old.” At this, Lenore cackles as the rest of us laugh (and Mom and Trish groan). Lenore gestures to her husband, Paul, who keeps the toasts going.
Everyone says something that elicits some laughter, some tears. Are they all speaking off the cuff? I wasn’t prepared for this, and I am, to put it mildly, not the world’s best public speaker.
Maeve talks about how grateful she is that Lottie got to meet Adam, her first great-grandchild, before she died, and everyone is dabbing their eyes or downright sobbing. (My mom. And Blake.) I figure I should keep my story light and funny to bring the mood back up.
When Maeve is finished, everyone turns to me.
“Lottie.” I’m still unsure where I’m going with this. “You were the most incredible grandmother. You were all the things everyone has already said. But also, you were kind of mean sometimes.” I chuckle lightly. “Like, I’ll never forget, at Eddy’s second wedding when I was fourteen, you told me I walked like a basketball player in heels. As if I didn’t feel self-conscious enough already!” My smile widens. Nobody else laughs.Okay.“Um… And there was that time you toldmy sister to suck in her tummy. Because she had a pooch? She still sucks it in to this day.” Maeve glares at me. “And, Dad, remember the time she told you that you were losing your hair? Before you even realized it?” Dad just looks at me, his bald spot gleaming under the sun. Everyone else is staring at me, too. I had envisioned moving everyone to tears of laughter. Clearly, my social skills are rusty. Or maybe not so much rusty as nonexistent. I decide to shut my trap. With an awkward little bow, I cede the floor to Trish’s husband, Ron.
After the rest of the toasts (all of which are normal, unlike mine), Mom and Trish lower their mother’s ashes into the water, urn and all. I’m pretty sure the urn wasn’t supposed to go in unless it’s biodegradable. But despite the captain’s subtle shrug, it’s silent on the boat, apart from some sniffling and muffled sobs.
And then Lenore breaks the silence. She clears her throat and spreads her arms wide. I know what’s coming before it happens. My great-aunt was a mezzo-soprano for seven years in the Cincinnati Opera, and she’s never let anyone forget it. The first note of an aria pierces the air, sweet and melancholy and very, very loud. I can’t take my eyes off the perfect O of her mouth, rimmed with shimmery brown lipstick. The song is beautiful, really, and it’s a touching display, but it’s just… a lot.
“For Pete’s sake!” Eddy, Gramps and Lenore’s brother, bellows at the top of his voice. “Not this again!”
Lenore just sings louder, her arms sweeping from side to side in a graceful arc.
“I told you at Papa’s funeral,” Eddy shouts at his sister, spittle flying, “it hurts my ears!”
“Leave her alone!” Paul steps up, apparently to defend his wife’s honor. Maeve catches my eye from across the deck, her expression deadpan.
“Paul, I’ve been dealing wit’ her for twenty years longer than you have and I’ve had enough!” Eddy says over the swell of “Ave Maria.”
“Well, I’ve had enough of your macho attitude! Let my wife sing; we’re in mourning here!”
The two men move toward each other and I wonder if we’re about to witness some senior-citizen fisticuffs. The captain, apparently at a loss for what to do, decides to motor it. As the boat roars ahead, the two men wobble and clutch each other’s arms. Some struggling and grunting ensues. Are they fighting or helping each other keep their balance? It’s unclear.
The tension drains from the scene and Lenore continues her performance as we zip back toward the hotel.
I take a seat at the front of the boat and close my eyes. In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane back to Seattle, headphones on, watching a movie—alone.
Well.Aloneis a relative term. My parents and sister are on the same flight as me. I thought they were coming home tomorrow, but no. At least I’m a few rows away, and baby Adam is being mercifully quiet. But as luck would have it, I’m sitting beside a Chatty Cathy.
I’m curled in my seat, headphones firmly clasped over my ears, my face hidden behind a mask, and yet the woman beside me rattles on.
“We were here for my niece’s graduation. It was so wonderful.” She beams at what is, apparently, a cherished memory. “Eckerd College! Have you heard of it? We are just so proud of her. And to think, they nearly held it allonline.” She says it like it’s a dirty word. “A virtual ceremony. How awful. Oh, I hope you didn’t have one of those. Did you?”
I give a short shake of my head, hoping she takes the hint.
“It’s so wonderful to be around people, isn’t it?” the woman continues. “It’s so important. Nothing can replace actually being with the people you love. Zoom can go to heck!”
I lean into the window, slightly taken aback by this zealous proclamation. From a few rows back, I hear my brother-in-law’s voice, undoubtedly directed at some innocent passenger: “Have you heard of gas drops?” And then, quite clearly, from the other side of the aisle I hear the sound of my father snoring like a jackhammer.
“Yes,” I murmur. “So wonderful.” And then I turn on my tablet and hitPLAYonBridget Jones’s Baby.
