The Loose Ends List(13)

Jeb is standing outside with a dumb-ass grin on his face.

“Come see my room.”

“No, Jeb. We’re busy,” I say, closing the door.

He pushes the door open. “Just come, *s.”

We follow him next door. I figured Jeb would use this trip as an opportunity to sit in a chair and masturbate to his crazy music while playing with his piercings and thinking about how dark and gloomy life is. He opens the door, and we discover a Jeb oasis.

Jeb’s room is an instrument, freshly tuned and ready to make art. There’s a blank canvas stretched from floor to ceiling on every wall and tables filled with art supplies. I’m hoping this will cheer up my bummer-faced brother, who gets irritable and kicks us out after Janie tries to mess with the easel on his balcony.

We’re suddenly exhausted. We nap for hours in our cozy little nest and wake to the jarring sensation of the ship’s engines gearing up to leave port. My bee wakes me with a welcome text from Francesca, the Wishwell’s founder, inviting us to a forties-themed opening dinner.

Then Gram texts, We’re off! Join us for hors d’oeuvres at six in Trish and Aaron’s cabin. Come dressed for dinner.

We try to maintain our footing as the ship lurches clumsily. The crew is shouting outside, pulling up the ramps, and getting ready to set sail.

“It looks like they’ve finally loaded all the people and supplies,” I say.

“Great,” Janie says, chugging a bottle of water. “There’s no backing out now.”

“At least we’re in it together.”

I put on the designated Forties Night outfit, a vintage lavender dress and stunning T-strap heels. Janie comes out of the bathroom in a red dress with matching lips. I pin one side of my hair with a jeweled clip and work on creating Janie’s updo. At six o’clock sharp, we find my parents’ cabin at the end of the hallway.

Mom answers the door, smiling in blue polka dots.

My parents’ cabin is peaceful and elegant, with a collage of black-and-white family photos above a sitting area facing a jumbo-screen TV hooked up to a computer.

“Your dad is so excited he actually kissed Gram on the lips,” Mom says, gesturing to a massive telescope out on the balcony. “And come see my closet.”

Mom shows us her own treasure trove. “Mother even set up a cookbook library, you know, because she wants me to cultivate my baking gift.” Mom chokes on those words a little. She always wanted to be a professional baker, but our school activities and house stuff and sipping gin with Bev got in the way.

Gram and Dad are on the massive balcony in front of the telescope. He’s pointing out something on shore. She looks through the lens and punches him. “They’re not humping, you fool,” Gram says. Dad laughs.

“Girlies, come out. Hey, Jebby.” Jeb is behind us in high-waisted pants and suspenders. “So, do you like?” Gram says.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Janie hugs Gram. Even tiny Janie makes Gram look like a hobbit.

“We love it all. You are the best grandma in the entire universe,” I say.

“The art stuff is cool, but I really don’t want to wear this shit,” Jeb says, snapping a suspender.

“Oh, come on. Just humor your gram and wear the suit. You look sharp. You are very handsome under all that metal and ink, Jebby.” Jeb got two neck tattoos before the trip. He snuck them in while Mom and Dad were distracted and distraught.

I’m ravenous. I go back to the sitting area and stuff three mini quesadillas into my mouth, chasing the hardened globs of tortilla and cheese with alternating mouthfuls of guacamole and salsa.

“Astrid, I saw a documentary about abuse of cruise ship workers, and—”

“Aaron, stop.” Gram holds up her hand. “You and your documentaries.”

“Well, it’s a valid point. These people are paid something like sixteen dollars a month,” Dad says.

“This isn’t a regular cruise ship, Aaron.” Gram puts her hands on her hips.

“Every single crewmember is an intern, and their hearts and minds are with the movement. Some are doctors or nurses. Many have been on the ship with a loved one, and all are well educated and informed, even the damn dishwashers and galley hands.”

“Well, that’s good to know.” Dad turns back toward the telescope.

“Francesca pays well, trust me,” Gram says. Dad’s already looking for distant planets, even though the summer sun has not yet set.

I sink into a lounge chair and stare at Gram in her teal swing dress and pearls as she does all her normal Gram things, like berating Dad and eating canapés and criticizing Mom’s lipstick color. She doesn’t seem like she’s reaching her expiration date. It’s not as if her expiration date is stamped on her bottom like a metal can.

A horn blows. “We’re off,” Gram yells. “Come on, everybody.”

Wes and Uncle Billy escort Aunt Rose, aptly wearing a rose-colored drop-waist dress and her diamond earrings. Dad pops open a bottle of champagne. I pour myself a seltzer on ice. Bob Johns rushes out to the balcony and grabs a glass. His hair is tied back, and he’s sporting a burgundy zoot suit and a cane.

“Just in time for our bon voyage toast, Bobby,” Gram says. “I’m not going to get mushy. I just want to say thank you all for dropping everything to join me on this journey. It means the world to me. This is going to be a hoot. Now, let’s go make some friends.” We stand in a circle and hold our glasses together for a brief moment. “Cheers, dears, and farewell, my beloved Bermuda, land of a million memories.”