“Can I turn the movie back on?” Doug said, looking around. “We were at a pretty critical juncture.”
“Go for it,” Carver said, settling in.
Chip left with his family a little while later, citing the school day tomorrow and their arduous 25-minute drive back to Fairview, though Carver suspected he would have been itching to hit the road even if it were a Friday. It was obvious that he and Nora still weren’t on good terms, though he could tell there hadn’t been any new blowups in the interim, and the two of them did exchange a quick hug after Chip finished packing up the minivan in the driveway.
Doug hugged him next, while Nora went to the backseat to say goodbye to the kids and surreptitiously make sure they were buckled in correctly. (Carver noticed Maggie notice this and minutely roll her eyes.) “Drive safe, kid.”
“Always do,” Chip said, patting Doug on the back.
Once Doug had stepped away, Carver went in for a hug too, even though he and his brother didn’t usually do this. Chip surprised him by yanking him in close, squeezing him and whispering in his ear, “I love you, you gay little Jew.”
Carver laughed. “Love you, prick,” he whispered back.
Chip patted him hard on the back. They separated, and Carver went to say goodbye to the kids, who were already mentally checked out and playing iPad games. Behind him, he heard Conway and Chip saying goodbye, and Chip asking if she was still planning to have dinner at their place next week, which she assured him she was.
Carver was interested to note the little pang of loneliness he felt in response to this. Maybe he should make it out to Westchester more often. Maybe he could start trying to. It all felt possible right now.
Once Chip hit the road, Nora announced that she had a book club meeting about to start down the street, and Doug professeda need to go to Wegmans for “ham and a few other things.” Carver and Conway assured them this was fine, they were free to go about their lives, and once their parents had cleared out they went to sit on the back patio’s porch swing together so they could smoke a joint, eat pita chips and talk.
“You’re lucky I brought two of these,” Conway said, passing it to him after taking the inaugural drag.
Carver took it and smoked as they swung gently back and forth, enjoying some light locomotion under the warm afternoon sun. “It was Chip’s idea to rob you.”
“But you went along with it.”
“I did, but there were exigent circumstances.”
“I guess. How are you doing with all that?”
“Um.” Carver handed the joint back. “I’m not totally sure yet. It’s complicated.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not gonna lie, I wish he wasn’t dead.”
“Right,” Conway said in a soft voice, looking over at him. “What about your, um, divorce?” She blew out smoke. “Or whatever’s going on?”
“You know, we don’t have to talk about me, actually.”
She laughed some more and passed the joint, then ate some pita chips.
“I’d love to talk aboutyou,” Carver said. “You promised me earlier that you’d tell me how you’re doing after Chip left.”
“Yeah, I did say that,” Conway said, sounding annoyed with herself. She squinted into the sunlight. “I’m okay. I’m kind of losing hope of ever finding somebody I’d actually want to marry, and my job feels so stupid a lot of the time, and I feel like I have no money.”
“Do you still make art?”
“Yeah,” Conway sighed. Carver had always liked her art. She mainly drew and painted portraits in a characteristically offbeatstyle — she used stark, loose lines and stylistically elongated her subjects, like Modigliani or Ralph Steadman. “I do. But it’s not like I can sell it or anything.”
“Why not?”
She laughed. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I’d buy a few pieces.”
“Ugh, God, I’d just give them to you, I don’t want pity money from my brother.”
“It’s not pity, dude, I like your stuff. I still have that drawing you did of me before I went to college.”
