“Bennett,” my father said, hugging me next. “Frederick and I were just discussing the seating arrangements.”

“And what a disaster it will be if we split up Judith and Mary,” Frederick added, directing his words toward Chloe.

Chloe hugged my dad and then moved on to hers. “This isn’t going to win me any points with Susan,” she told my father, “but I have to agree with my dad here. Keep them together; we don’t want them taking over more real estate than necessary. There will be fewer casualties that way.”

With that settled, I pulled my dad to the side to give Chloe a moment alone with Frederick.

My mother had rented out the entire beachside restaurant, and I had to admit it was perfect. Tucked away in a quaint little neighborhood, meticulously maintained boxwoods lined the walk and flowering vines and greenery clung to every available surface. Now that the sun was starting to set, the huge outdoor seating area twinkled with strings of tiny lights. The tables were beginning to fill, and I realized I couldn’t identify half the people who were smiling in our direction.

“Who the hell are all these people?” I asked.

“Perhaps a little louder, son. Your great-grandmother might not have heard you,” he said. “And they’re family. Cousins, aunts . . . first nephews twice removed.” He furrowed his brow as he took in the line beginning to form at the open bar. “Actually, I’m not sure I even know. Those ones are already drinking, so they must be from your mother’s side of the family.” He tightened his grip on my shoulder. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Great. Everyone else here?”

“I think so,” Dad said. “Your uncles are out on the patio. I haven’t seen your cousins yet.”

I winced inwardly. My brother, Henry, and I spent the majority of our summers growing up with our two cousins, Brian and Chris. Brian was the oldest of the four Ryan boy cousins and a quiet, serious child, much like I had been. He and I had always been close. But Chris—or Bull as he insisted on being called—made me want to chew off my own limb to escape. My mom used to say that Chris only wanted to be like us, and preferred the nickname so he would be one of the B’s: Brian, Bennett, Bull. I always suspected this was bullshit. After all, Henry started with an H, and the personalized beer cozy Bull brought to parties, along with his unbuttoned shirt and gold chains nestled in a thicket of wild chest hair, suggested he was totally fine being his own person. Chris just liked the idea of being called Bull because he was an idiot.

“I’m sure Bull is excited to see you,” Dad said with a knowing smile.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” I said. “And I’m sure Lyle has remembered a couple of colorful navy stories he’ll pass along to you over dinner. Maybe the results of his last prostate exam?”

Dad nodded, eyes twinkling in restrained amusement as he waved to someone across the room. Dad’s eldest brother, Lyle—Bull’s father, go figure—seemed to have no filter for the inappropriate. Over the years I’d lost count of the number of stories Lyle had told about his adventures in the navy, disgusting bodily functions, how people in rural towns had “relations” with animals, and the various moles his wife had to have removed from her back. “Maybe I should suggest he offer one as a toast?”

Laughing I said, “I’ll give you one whole American dollar to suggest it, Dad.”

My mother approached, kissing my cheek before licking her thumb and reaching to smear off what I could only imagine was a bright pink lipstick mark. I ducked out of her grasp and grabbed a napkin off a table instead.

“Why didn’t you wear the blue suit?” she asked, snatching the napkin from me to wipe my face clean.

“Hi, Mom. You look beautiful.”

“Hi, darling. I liked the blue suit much better than this one.”

I looked down at the charcoal Prada suit I wore, smoothing a hand over the front of the jacket. “I like this one.” And, I didn’t add, I packed at two in the morning under a drunken sex haze.

“Blue would have been more appropriate for tonight.” She was practically vibrating with nerves. “This one makes me think you’re heading to a funeral.”

Dad handed her his cocktail and she downed it with a shaking hand before walking away again.

“Well, that was fun,” I said and Dad laughed.

Chloe joined us—clearly a bit exasperated from dealing with her father—and we made a circuit of the room, greeting everyone who had come early in the week and reacquainting ourselves with old family and friends. A little while later, my mom called to let us all know that dinner was starting and we moved back to the dining area.

I located the place cards with our names near the center of the room. Chloe sat on my right, her dad next to her. My dad had apparently taken Frederick’s advice because Chloe’s aunts—Mary and Judith—were seated together nearby, slapping the table and cackling up a storm. Chris . . . Bull made his entrance as we were all taking a seat, shouting my name and lifting his can of beer—and requisite cozy—in my direction. His eyes moved over Chloe slower than should have been humanly possible, after which he gave me a thumbs-up.

I made a mental note to call a friend of mine at the IRS and have him audited.

I was only kidding. Mostly.

Dinner consisted of seared salmon and heirloom tomatoes, potato puree, and basil beurre blanc. It was perfect, and made it almost possible to tune out the conversations around me.

“Are you kidding?” Bull yelled from across the room at an elderly second-aunt on my mother’s side. “You must be kidding me. Eagles fans live their life feeling like they never get the credit they deserve. You want attention and praise? Win a goddamn game, that’s what I’m saying!” Bull took a giant gulp of beer, swallowed, and semi-stifled a loud belch. “And another thing—you’re old, I bet you know the answer to this: why the fuck is Wheel of Fortune still on? Did you know they have a goddamn website where you can dress up Vanna White? Dress her up like she’s some sort of fucking paper doll. Not that I know from experience, mind you.” He made a point to meet the eyes of everyone unlucky enough to be seated at his table, whether they were listening or not. “But what the fuck is that all about? And I’ll tell you what, she might not be getting any younger, but if I could find someone as hot as that woman to walk around the lot, motioning to the cars like she does on the TV?” Here he made a dramatic flourish with his hand, the other one cocked on his hip as he motioned to the empty space next to him. “I’d make a goddamn fortune.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chloe whispered in my ear. “That is a train wreck and a half right there.”

I swallowed a large pull of my drink before saying, “You said it.”

“You grew up with this guy?’

I nodded, wincing as I downed the rest of my red wine in a single, burning gulp.

“Has he always been like this?”

I nodded again, sucked in a breath, and wiped my mouth with my napkin. I watched as Chloe glanced around the room, first to my cousin Brian, who would be considered by most to be handsome and who had always been fit. Then to my dad and his brothers, Lyle and Allan, both still pretty good-looking for their age. She turned briefly to Henry and then to me, before blinking back to Bull. I could practically hear her evaluating the genetic map in front of her.

“And we’re sure there’s not a leak in the Ryan family gene pool? Like, is there any way he’s the milkman’s kid?”

I barked out a laugh that was so loud, almost every head in the restaurant turned in my direction. “I need another drink,” I said, standing in a way that momentarily left my chair wobbling on its two back legs.

My phone insistently buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to see a flurry of texts from my mother:

Sweetie, your hair is a mess.

They’re serving the DeLoach Pinot? I thought  we had the Preston carignane set for the table wine.

Tell your father to stop introducing Aunt Joan as the Prospector. I have no idea why she’s wearing so much gold nugget jewelry, but he’s being rude.

I had just escaped to the bar for a shot of Johnny Black and to scope out all easily accessible exits—I loved my family but Jesus Christ, these people were fucking nuts—when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“So you’re the one who’s marrying our Chloe.”

“If she doesn’t get wise and escape before the ceremony,” I said, turning to the women behind me. In an instant, I knew who they were. “You lovely ladies must be Chloe’s aunts.”

The one to my right nodded, and her entire head of fluffy red hair nodded right along with her. “I’m Judith,” she said, and then pointed to her sister. “This is Mary.”

Judith had hair that could only be described as some sort of sugary confection: overdyed and overteased into what resembled spirals of strawberry cotton candy erupting from her head. It could have been merely the power of suggestion, but I swear she even smelled like strawberries. Her skin was still relatively smooth considering her age—mid-sixties, if Chloe was correct—and her brown eyes were sharp and clear as she considered me. Mary shared many of the same facial features as her sister, but her hair was a much more subdued, subtle brown, and piled high on her head in some sort of bedazzled and bobby-pinned twist. And while Judith was tall like Chloe, stopping just below my chin, Mary was barely pushing five feet, and was probably as wide through the chest area as she was tall.

I reached out to shake each of their hands. “It’s nice to finally meet you both,” I said, smiling politely. “Chloe’s told me wonderful things.”