Page 73 of Ripped

“I mean, I’m sure you’re great, Donnie. Do you work out?” Alisha’s feeling up Donnie’s bicep and he takes a sip of his cranberry soda, using the cup to hide his smirk.

“Yes, he does work out. Donnie’s a spin instructor. And Miles is no longer in the picture, so can we just let that go?”

Alisha and Candace exchange a look and I know I’m not going to escape their interrogation later.

Nate’s stepped in front of everyone, like we’re all invisible, to talk to Donnie. “Spin instructor, huh? You know anything about intermittent fasting? Does that help build muscle?”

It’s like that for most of the party. The five of us staked out around a table in the corner of the backyard, taking turns grabbing food and drinks from the buffet table and bar. Donnie fits right in with my cousins and answers way too many questions from Nate. I catch up with Alisha and Candace, about the guy Candace is seeing and the horrible dates Alisha’s been on recently.

At one point, Brooke and Aurora come rushing up to us. They finally get to put on that spinning demonstration their mother thwarted, and end up flat on the ground giggling their heads off. Donnie, as the resident spin professional, declares them expert spinners.

The sun dips below the horizon and lanterns flicker to life all around the backyard. Brad’s had fairy lights strung up overhead and they look like stars blinking against the night sky.

I drape an arm around Donnie’s shoulders and he leans into me like we’ve been doing this for years. This is really nice. I’m really happy. It floors me.

I thought I was happy back in that apartment with Miles, working at random coffee shops with Wyatt. Now I know that was a poor facsimile of happy—not even that, it’s like the third layer down on one of those old carbon copy things, the writing so faint you can’t read it anymore. I might have gone through life thinking that’s all there was to it if I hadn’t walked in on Miles and Wyatt that day.

My life is so much more now. A beautiful house with my own freaking office and a legit-ass theater room. I’ve got an exciting new screenplay and someone who wants to help me develop it into an actual film. But most importantly, I’ve got a sexy, sophisticated, caring man who I get to go to sleep with every night. This is real happiness. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The music dies down and the sound of clinking glass draws everyone’s attention to the raised deck where Brad is standing with Mom and Dad. He’s holding a glass of champagne.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to Kathleen and Harold’s fortieth-anniversary party. I’d like to make a toast, so if you need a drink refill, now’s the time to get it.”

“Anyone?” Alisha asks the table before slipping out of her seat to go to the bar.

“Mom, Dad, forty years. Damn, that’s a long freaking time.”

Chuckles ripple out through the crowd.

“You know, when you’re a kid, getting married, or becoming a parent, they’re just things you do one day. You don’t question it, whether it’s something you even want or how difficult it might be. At least, I never questioned it. It was always a given for me.

“And I know, some of you might think that I was going through the motions of life or whatever. But I think the reason I never questioned it was because of you, Mom and Dad. I mean, it’s not like you never fought or you were always the perfect parents—”

“Hey, watch your mouth, young man,” Dad interrupts to a spike of laughter.

Brad waves his hand to calm the crowd. “What I was going to say was that you made it look easy, you made it look fun, like that was the best possible thing I could do with my life. Why the heck would I want to do anything else.”

I snort, because like, what the fuck. There’s an entire world of other things people might want to do. Not everyone wants the white picket fence, the giant SUV, and two-point-five kids, Brad. No offense to Brooke and Aurora. Donnie pinches my side where he knows I’m ticklish. “Hey, no fair.”

On the deck, Mom’s sniffling, blinking tears from her eyes and yeah, I guess it’s a good toast and all, but seriously?

“And then I actually got married and I actually had kids and well…” Brad grimaces. “Either you two have some secret sauce you’re not sharing or you’re really good fakers.”

“They’re really good fakers!” someone in the crowd shouts.

“Right? Because marriage is hard and being a parent is hard and oh my god, I’m so tired all the time. Were you tired all the time?”

Mom and Dad both nod. “All the time,” Mom says.

“Forty years and you haven’t killed me or Connor. You haven’t killed each other. That’s a huge accomplishment in my books.” Brad finds his wife a few feet away. “I only hope that Hazel and I can do as well as you have.”

He raises his glass. “So, here’s to Kathleen and Harold and the next forty years. Happy anniversary!”

The party ripples with more well wishes and I drain the rest of my beer. There’s nothing wrong with Brad’s little speech. There’s nothing wrong with celebrating forty years of marriage—I get it, it’s impressive. Except it feels like we’re painting right over all the ways that this family doesn’t work.

The conversation between Donnie and Mom notwithstanding, she and I haven’t actually said anything to each other that sounds remotely like we’re trying to change. I want to change. I hope we do. I’m just not super optimistic when it comes to my family.

Donnie squeezes my knee. “Hey, you okay?”

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