The Chosen One (12 page)

“Hello,” she said, extending her hand. I shook it slowly, trying to comprehend everything in a flash.

“Hello.” Did Grandmother know yet?

“Ainsley, I’d like you to meet Mei.” Ham turned to the woman. “Mei, this is my baby sister.” He squeezed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mei.”

Four dogs crashed past us, pursuing an errant tennis ball that nearly took out a window, their nails clawing to gain purchase on the deck. Grover followed them, and then Fiona and Pat, laughing.

“Sorry! Mr. Dog Lover is the worst when it comes to playing fetch. Can’t aim for shit!” Fiona boisterously slapped Pat’s back.

“The launcher is defective,” Pat defended, flashing his
I’m busted
smile. Fiona and Pat noticed Mei at the same time and fell quiet.

I tugged on the back of Fiona’s shirt to break her trance. “I’d like you to meet Mei.”

Realizing her rudeness, Fee burst into a smile and tightly shook Mei’s hand with both of her own. I feared Mei’s arm would grow sore from being rigorously jiggled up and down. “How wonderful to meet you, Mei. Dee-lighted!”

Mei stared at Fiona, clearly trying to figure out whether Fiona was fucking with her. It usually took people some time to get used to Fiona’s animated ways.

“Don’t break her arm off, Fee. She’s not a water pump.” Ham laughed, easing the tension.

“Is this the big news, then?” Fiona was never known for beating around the bush. She nudged Ham’s shoulder. “You’ve never brought a woman home before.”

Mei’s laughter sounded like raindrops: soft and comforting.

“So you automatically assume marriage?” Ham poked her in the side with his index finger.

The three of us nodded.

Ham glanced at Mei. “It’s hard to get away with anything in this family.” He laced his fingers through hers. “Yes. This is the big news.” His grin was genuine, not his typical politician’s rictus.

“When’s the big day?” I asked.

“Not ’til June, so we can get married here.” He pointed to the sprawling private beach.

“Are we the last to know, then?” Fiona arched one eyebrow in a show of displeasure. She’d always been closer to Ham and me than she was to her only sibling.

“The first, actually. Mei and I only arrived a few minutes ago, and we haven’t run into any family yet. Grandmother is taking an afternoon siesta.” He said the last sentence gravely. Grandmother was nearing ninety-two, and whenever her name came up in conversation, it was with an air of impending bad news. I was sure every major news outlet would have her obituary prepared and raring to go as soon as the announcement was made.

Not that Grandmother was feeble. For a woman in her nineties, she had all of her mental capacities and was quite spry. She was the last surviving child of the great Alistair Carmichael, former governor of Massachusetts. When he died, at the age of 101, Grandmother became the head of the family. My mother had married into the family, but it was rumored she would be the one left in charge. Grandmother always said Mom was the daughter she had always wanted, which really irked Grandmother’s daughter by birth, Bridget, who always attended these events but was about as sociable as wallpaper.

Grandfather, who’d had to change his last name to Carmichael, died ten years earlier, leaving a gaping hole in our family tree. Grandmother wouldn’t speak about him for the first year. She missed him, but she was mostly angry he’d died without her permission. No one in our family did anything without Grandmother’s stamp of approval, and that included kicking the bucket.

“Have you spoken to Grandmother…” I hesitated, selecting my next words carefully. “About June?” I perched on the arm of a teak Adirondack.

Ham nodded crisply. “We flew in from DC last weekend.” His eyes skimmed the water before meeting mine again, and their seriousness vanished as if a crashing wave had just swept away anything important. “Right. So girls against the boys this weekend?”

He was referring to the tennis tournament, of course. “Don’t you boys get tired of losing?” I asked.

“Want to put your money where your mouth is?” Fiona added.

Ham and Fee squared off like boxers before he finally cracked. “It’s good to see you.” He wrapped Fee up in a bear hug.

“What are you doing? Going soft?” Fiona slapped his back, but she didn’t wiggle out of the hug.

***

Twenty-two Carmichaels, including the grown children of our missing Uncle Liam, sat at the table in the sparse dining room, flanked by Mother and Grandmother at the foot and head of the table, respectively. The room was dominated by the custom-made banquet table for thirty, leaving little room for frivolous décor or bric-a-brac. The curtains were pulled back, the bay window overlooking the Atlantic. Photographers wouldn’t be able to spy on the family from here without a Hubble-like telescopic lens on a boat. The youngsters were tucked away in a room off the kitchen, where staff members could keep an eye on them.

My sister, Kylie, who was studying law at Princeton, arrived an hour before dinner, and after Grandmother gave her the nod, she rose, her black judge’s robe swallowing her petite frame, and tapped a gavel on the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, I call the proceedings to order.”

Ever since she’d been a toddler, Kylie had initiated every meal, toast, or whatnot with a judge’s gavel that William Howard Taft had used many years ago. Ironically, Grandmother had tracked down the gavel that had belonged to the twenty-seventh president, arguably one of the worst leaders in American history. Years after leaving office, Taft became the tenth Chief Justice of the United States‌—‌the job he’d always coveted. Even if Grandmother had gently attempted to break the news to my only sister that she wouldn’t be part of the presidential quest, Kylie wouldn’t have cared. The tedium of court decisions and precedents got my sister’s blood pumping. Ever since I could remember, she had aspired to sit on the bench.

Ham stood and cleared his throat.

“Some of you may not have heard the news yet, but we have a serious matter to discuss this evening.” It looked like Ham was fighting to keep his lips from curving into a smile. “Ains, would you stand up please? Carefully.” He motioned for me not to rush.

I thought he had been about to break the news of his engagement. Why did I have to stand? Confused, I complied.

“I first learned of the gravity of this situation from Susie Q’s
Tattler
.”

Some family members tittered. My cheeks burned. I had no clue what he was about to say, but I had no doubt I’d be displeased, not to mention utterly humiliated.

He tossed me a wrapped gift. “Go on. Open it.”

I ripped off the paper, revealing a bottle of Beano. Channeling my anger, I focused a glare at Ham that had all the intent of striking him dead.

“As much as I liked Susie Q’s headline ‘The Fart Heard Around the World,’ I think we need to nip your problem in the butt… I mean bud.”

“Hear, hear,” Rory rapped his knuckles on the table. “Giving the family a bad name.”

That was rich coming from Rory.

“No, don’t encourage her,” Fiona countered.

Witnessing Fee side with her despised sibling hurt even more than Ham’s sabotage.

Everyone chuckled. Uncle Hugh laughed enthusiastically, his bald head turning redder than a raspberry.

“It was the chair!” I exclaimed.

Everyone howled.

“I’ll get you for this,” I mouthed to Ham.

He shrugged and raised his wineglass. “To Ainsley, who’s never afraid to make a statement.”

Grandmother nodded at my mother, and I sensed neither was enjoying the knowledge that I’d made another ignoble appearance on Susie’s blog. Before the end of the night, I’d get the “everything you do in public will be scrutinized” lecture.

Grandmother cleared her throat.

Ham duly noted the command. He put a hand out for Mei to stand next to him. “Some of you may be wondering why we are gathered here this weekend.” He encircled Mei’s waist. “It’s to welcome Mei to the Carmichael clan. We’re tying the knot this June.” Ham kissed the top of her head, and she wrapped loving arms around his waist.

“It’s about damn time,” Rory boomed.

Even though none of us met Mei before today, it wasn’t all that surprising to me or the rest of the clan, I assumed. Ham always kept his private life out of the news, which meant keeping it from family members as well. Did he agonize over asking Mei to marry him? Keeping a girlfriend out of the spotlight wasn’t easy, but a wife would be nearly impossible. Part of me wondered about his motives. Ham was many things, calculating most of all.

Mother proudly smiled. She looked thin in her Lilly Pulitzer cashmere wrap cardigan, but everything else was perfect: her hair, makeup, and posture.

I used to be proud of her, but I was starting to realize it was all an image: a carefully constructed political narrative. She was always on point, and unlike me, gaffe resistant. She hadn’t remarried, and even though it was never spoken aloud, it was assumed she never would. She would maintain her widow status‌—‌voters gobbled that shit up.

Was this the life I wanted: public orchestration even behind closed doors? Or did I want to be free?

Looking at Ham and Mei, I realized what I really wanted was Maya.

***

Later that night, after dinner, most of the younger generations were on the beach. It was fairly dark, but light from the full moon danced on the waters, providing some illumination. More importantly, it reminded me why I loved the family’s private beach. I could watch and listen to the ocean for hours on end. And the best part‌—‌Susie Q couldn’t get to me here.

Fiona was streaming music on her iPad, and she and Pat were dancing on the sand, or Pat was trying to dance. Oddly, Fiona, who was a fabulous tennis player, had never mastered dancing, probably because she made a competition out of it. When Pat zigged, she zagged, constantly forcing him to follow. Grover yapped at their feet, making an odd threesome.

Rory joined in too, much to Grover’s delight. Fee’s brother had recently finished another stint in rehab, and he looked pale and thin, a ghost of the man everyone expected him to be. He put on a brave face, nevertheless.

“Do you think he’ll kick the habit for good?” I asked Ham.

“It’s nice to think he will, but…”

It’s been said that heroin is the most addictive narcotic, but it wasn’t just that, although Ham and I understood. As if he knew we were talking about him, Rory crashed onto the sand between us.

“So you’re really going to do it?” Rory asked.

“Get married?” Ham clarified.

“No. Fly to Mars. Of course I mean get married. That’s why we’re here, right?” Rory leaned back on his elbows.

“I am. What about you? What are your plans?”

“Lie low. Dad wants me to go back to school.” He looked down at his bare feet. “But it’s not in me. The drive to succeed at all costs skipped me.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t cut out for this.” He waved to the house and all the relatives on the beach. “My main objective is to stay off the radar, especially away from the likes of Susie Q.”

“How?” I asked.

“Moving to Oregon. Mom’s family has a cabin out there. Guess I’ll figure things out from there, but I need to get out of this state. After the holidays, I think.” He hopped up and rejoined the dancers.

Fiona attempted to twirl Pat without telegraphing the move, and the two of them tumbled onto the sand. Rory applauded, and Grover licked their faces.

Ham laughed. “Do you think she’ll ever settle down?”

“Not likely. Fiona views life like she views her dancing: never settle into any type of pattern. Speaking of which, I never thought you would either.” I cocked my head, focusing on the outline of his angular face in the moonlight. His damaged eye was out of view, and I wondered whether he did that subconsciously, even around family. We both sat on a sand dune, partially hidden by beach grass.

Ham sifted sand through his hands, letting the granules fall through his fingers. “Never thought I’d fall in love, or even could fall in love.”

“But you did?”

He cupped his hand, staunching the flow of the sand, and looked to his right, where Mei stood with Mother and Uncle Owen.

“I did,” he said, his voice light-hearted yet determined.

Remembering an incident during dinner, I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Oh, I was thinking of Shirley.” Shirley came from a wealthy family with all the right connections and had married one of our dim-witted cousins. For better or worse, she was dumber than a yellow lab and looked like one. Earlier in the evening, when she’d shaken Mei’s hand, she’d said, “You speak English very well.”

“Thank you. I was born in New York,” Mei responded in a thick New York accent.

“I was surprised Mei didn’t smack her right in the kisser. That’s a sore subject with her,” Ham said.

“How so?”

“Let’s just say it’s not the first time she’s been told she speaks English very well.” Ham spoke the last three words slowly, mimicking Shirley. “It’s 2015 and people still act like this country is for whites only. Mei’s great-great-grandfather immigrated to the West Coast when railroad companies were hiring Chinese laborers to lay track. He was one of the few who escaped, in the hope of leaving racism behind. No one in her family has yet.”

We both sat in quiet contemplation, watching the others on the beach. Maya’s insistence that we came from different backgrounds infiltrated my mind.

“It’s funny,” Ham said, “both of our families can trace their American roots to guys who didn’t belong, were brought here as cheap labor, and only wanted to lead a normal life. Mei’s grandfather ran away because he wanted to have a family. Most Chinese immigrants couldn’t marry or have kids back then.”

“How was that enforced?”

“Not many who came to work on the railroads or in the mines were women. One year, more than 4,000 men came and only seven women. White Americans feared the ‘Yellow Peril,’ so they clamped down on the cheap labor. Government officials claimed the women who did arrive were prostitutes, so in 1875 Congress passed the
Page Act,
denying entry to women who were considered ‘obnoxious.’ Not much has changed in this country.”