Fran nodded and grabbed her bag. Life with small children meant that they were always making quick escapes—someone was falling asleep, someone was getting cranky, someone was refusing to poop because they would only poop at home. She let RJ buckle the kids into the car, and as they drove home RJ turned the radio on to listen to the final inning of the Sox game. When they lost on a pop fly in the bottom of the ninth, RJ cursed.
“Oh my God, seriously?” Fran teased him. “Now you’re going to get all emotional about sports? Come on! You’re my voice of reason!” She really couldn’t deal with another guy throwing tantrums over the Red Sox.
“No, it’s just I feel bad for Kon,” RJ said, shaking his head.
“He’ll survive,” Fran replied dryly. The boys were both listening with interest, and she smiled to make sure they knew it was just a sporting event, nothing worth worrying about.
“No, I know, he will,” RJ agreed. “But your brother just lost his Picasso.”
Big Feelings
It was a humid Sunday when Van invited everyone out to the Neck to play basketball. Fran was a little hungover, but she bit off half a weed gummy and shaved her legs in the shower while RJ put on his sneakers and dressed the boys. The basketball court and the pirate ship playground were out by Pavilion, right across the parking lot from the little cottage where Caroline Lash lived. RJ parked and the kids took off, running to be the first to the top of the big slide. Fran had beach chairs in the trunk, and she set them up in the shade of a tree where she would be able to keep an eye on the boys and watch the basketball at the same time.
“Fran, do you want to play until the guys get here? You can warm up with us,” Van coaxed, but she declined, kicking off her shoes and opening a can of wine. While Fran mostly hated sports because of the toxic culture of masculinity, she also hated how they interfered with her buzz. Fran had known a girl in college who liked to get high and then work out on the elliptical, and that habit seemed absolutely batshit to Fran, like wanting to eat an ice-cream cone at a funeral or pluck her eyebrows while having sex (though everyone had kinks, and who was she to judge?), but as far as she was concerned, sports were for idiots.
Soon the others arrived, Colin, Eben, Max, and Van’s coworker Stavros. Various children—one for Colin, two for Stavros—joined London and Hale on the playground. The men divided into teams to play three-on-three and when Caroline walked over, wearing a checked sundress and carrying a book, Fran carefully explained who among the guys had a decent shot, and why, even though they were over thirty and none of them had played a competitive sport in a decade, they were all peacocking around the small asphalt court as though it were the NBA all-star game and Spike Lee was sitting in the front row.
“Van, Colin, and Eben all played on the basketball team in high school. They took it insanely seriously back then. They practiced out here every weekend.”
Caroline shaded her eyes to see the men better. “How lucky that Colin and Eben were best friends and then became brothers-in-law.”
“It’s lucky but complicated,” hedged Fran. “Eben actually played baseball in college at Vassar. And Van could have played varsity soccer at Dartmouth but instead he did Ultimate Frisbee and the Outing Club. Here.” She passed Caroline a can of wine.
Caroline dutifully opened the can and took a deep sip. Fran knew that Augusta had been launching a whisper campaign against Caroline, that out of loyalty to Bailey Fran was supposed to give her the cold shoulder, but she liked the girl in spite of herself. She was younger, sure, but she was clearly smart, she hated sports, and had a sort of sly sense of humor that Fran appreciated.
“Where did Colin and RJ go to school?”
“They went to the University of Virginia, then they both got jobs in Boston after college. Once RJ and I got serious, I talked him into moving up here.”
“You didn’t want to live with him in Boston?”
“I think if you grow up on the beach it’s hard to stay away for verylong,” Fran said thoughtfully. They were all sort of religious about the beach, everyone in Greenhead was.
Van pump-faked Max and took a shot, the ball falling neatly through the net without even touching the rim, and Fran and Caroline clapped. Stavros jumped on his back, whooping, and Van grinned, embarrassed. “Okay, give me the gossip.” Caroline raised her eyebrow. “What was Van like in high school? Anything I can tease him about?”
“Let’s see.” Fran thought. “He was definitely considered cool, like one of the three acceptable guys to have a crush on. Girls liked Colin because he looked like a brown-haired Ken doll, they liked Eben because he was just so charismatic, and they liked Van for his floppy hair. But he was also kind of a geek? Like, he took all AP classes and he wouldn’t ever let anyone else drive his car.”
“He loves that car,” Caroline agreed.
“He did these driver safety lessons, like how to drive on black ice or whatever, but he kept trying to act like it was a cool thing to do, like he was training for Formula One or something, but I think they mostly had to drive between cones with a basket of tennis balls balanced on the hood.”
“I’m dead.” She giggled. “So, what’s Bailey’s situation? Was she dating anyone serious before she got pregnant? Is there someone else?”
“Oh, nobody specifically.” Fran shook her head. “Bailey is really good at making people fall in love with her—she loves the chase and the kill—but the moment someone seems too into her she gets the ick and moves on.”
“Is that like a daddy issue or something?”
“No?” Fran had to stop and think. She didn’t really think it was an “issue” at all. Bailey never seemed to get her heart broken, didn’t seem to be looking for anything in particular. “I think she’s just a solitary creature when it comes to mating.”
Suddenly the children arrived in a swarm at their feet, Hale crying and clutching a broken stick. “They broke my staff!” he sobbed, huge tears running down his cheeks.
“Your what? It’s just a stick, sweetie, you can find a new one.” Fran touched his sweaty head.
“My STAFF!”
The other boys joined in, all talking at once. “It’s part of the game, Hale. Ninjas break staffs.” London was sneaking glances at her out of the corner of his eye and Fran knew him well enough to know this meant he had broken it.
“London, give him your staff,” she ordered.
