Irene stared at the rainbow sprinkles on her vanilla cone, seemingly transfixed by the sight as Eric checked his watch. The ferry was late. They’d be home late.
Helen, his little sister, would give them both an earful.
When he invited his niece to spend an afternoon at the boardwalk like they had when she was little, he had anticipated a rejection. Not because Irene had a history of being impolite or otherwise surly, but because she was no longer a child: understandably more inclined to spend her afternoon at the cosmetics counter of Montgomery Ward or watching a film with her friends than she was spending her spare weekends with dull relatives. But that late June afternoon it seemed Eric wasn’t the only one who felt compelled to retreat into a simpler time.
Eric himself enjoyed pretending to be someone else. Someone normal. A family man like he’d always wanted to be. His brother Richie had always told him it was possible to manage it along with the family business, but Eric hadn’t believed him. Thirty years and three wives later, he still didn’t.
“Was it like you remembered?” He asked as they waited.
The question seemed to snap her out of whatever stupor she’d been in.
“Sure. For you?”
He let out a small, amused huff.
“Places like this don’t ever change. Not when they make their money on staying consistent.”
The excursion had another purpose of course. He wanted Irene to hear about his… colorful life… from someone who was willing to tell it in full. Eric didn’t pretend to know what it felt like to be a parent, but he wagered that Irene was old enough now to process some complex truths, even if Helen objected to the idea.
The sun was setting over the coast. Tourists and regulars began collecting towels, sand pails, and baskets from the beach. The bright lights and music of the boardwalk still hummed steadily behind them. Eric hadn’t kept track of how much they’d spent on rigged games and junk food. It didn’t really matter. Money in the Gennaro family was both the most and least essential common factor, an old asset to be pushed around and utilized, as long as it was never flashed. They had their fair share of problems, but tackiness had never been one of them.
He jumped to break the silence but arrived at it a second too late.
“Dad’s mad I’m not going to Saint Rose.”
Eric frowned in confusion.
“It’s a bit late for that isn’t it? I thought he liked Rochester?”
Irene shook her head. “He’s letting me go, but he’s not happy about it.”
She picked a green sprinkle off the top of her cone and ate it, sounding dejected: someone left to recount the details of a debate they’d lost for the thousandth time. “If he had his way, I don’t think I’d be going to college at all. I’d start a family down the street, right out of high school. He wants his eye on me. Won’t say it outright, but it’s true.”
“Ah well. That’s tough.”
A half smile flickered on Irene’s face for only a second before it fell away. “Yeah. Tough.”
Despite his disagreements with Irene’s father Marc, Eric was generally happy with Helen’s choice for a husband, and her stepping out of their family’s more regular circles to make it. Marrying the son of an unaffiliated executive did not carry the same risks as marrying into one of the Jersey or New York families. Helen knew that. And as a result, her daughter would never have to make the choice between her world or another’s that she did. He tried to sympathize with her frustration all the same. Some men might be better to be tied to than others, but a rope was still a rope if it was capable of binding.
“He just wants what is best for you. He’ll come around.”
“Maybe I should do it.”
“Do what? Stay home and get married? You’ll regret it.”
“Will I? It seems…. Stable.”
Eric had never been the kind of man his father or Ronnie needed him to be. He hated the sight of blood, his softspoken lilt had never faded, and his stature was less intimidating than a pigeon, but he was a good listener. He could advise. It’s all he’d ever been good at.
“An education gets you stability. Gets you a shot at freedom, too. Being a pawn or a trophy for someone else to flaunt is temporary.”
Eric thought of his mother. The way she pretended to believe his father’s various lies about his nightly activities. Or the subjects of his midnight phone calls. The meticulous dinner parties she held and the grand gatherings she still allowed him to show her off at, pretending she wasn’t desperately trying to keep the flame of their marriage from being snuffed out.
His dad had never hit her. Never raised his voice. But he used her until he grew tired all the same.
“Because when shit goes south, Irene, you’re stuck.”
Irene tentatively tapped her fingernails against the bench they occupied. “Like grandma?”
Eric nodded. “Sure. Like your grandma.”
She piped up again. “I suppose you’re right about stability. Difficult to have it when your bootlegging, money laundering husband, is always one loose tongue short of going down for fraud.”
Eric blanched and turned around, but no one had paid them any heed. He supposed he was simply used to being around family whose cardinal instinct was discretion.
“Wh-where on earth did you hear that?”
“Oh please. It’s the middle of the week, and you’re at the beach. And yet you and uncle Ronnie can afford to buy me a new pair of Torrini earrings every year for my birthday. Figured your lack of a day job was likely inherited.”
Eric sighed in exasperation, “Think hard about what I said. About school.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’m going.”
Georgia Hope writes queer fantasy with a southern gothic twist and essays that break down the turbulent relationship between adolescence and academia. Currently a high school senior in the state of Texas, her idea of a good time is exploring haunted small towns with a notebook, camera, and a large cup of iced coffee. When she’s not making her readers cry you can find her gathering more bizarre lore for her next story or having an existential crisis on her instagram page @georgiainabook.
Featured image by Chris Hardy on Unsplash.
