Probably, Kevin and Isabelle come bearing gifts, and Bart feels slightly more eager. Isabelle is French; she always chooses good presents. For Christmas she gave Bart a sterling silver shaving kit, which he never uses but is happy to have.
When Bart pushes through the French doors into the kitchen, he sees his brother Patrick and his sister-in-law Jennifer. Patrick has two beers in front of him, and Jennifer is pouring herself a glass of wine. When they see him, they start singing “Happy Birthday” in two-part harmony, and Bart smiles in spite of himself. These two are the perfect couple. They may have flaws as individuals, but you can’t beat them together.
When they finish, Jennifer hands Bart a card.
“Aw, guys,” Bart says. “The song was enough. I said no gifts.” He opens the envelope. It’s a $150 gift certificate to Fifty-Six Union, a restaurant here on Nantucket that Patrick and Jennifer love. “Thank you!” he says, trying to muster enthusiasm. What is he supposed to do with this?
“Figured you could take a girl out on a date,” Patrick says.
“Girl?” Bart says. “It’s October, man. There aren’t any girls on Nantucket.”
“What about Savannah Steppen?” Jennifer asks. “She was cute.”
Bart looks at Patrick. “I hope that other beer is for me.”
“It is, man,” Patrick says. “Happy birthday. And thank you for giving us a chance to get away from our kids for the night.”
“What was wrong with Savannah?” Jennifer asks. “She was cute.”
“She was my prom date,” Bart says. “My junior prom date. And she’s in college. She went to, like, Cornell.” Bart takes a sip of his beer. Savannah Steppen was cute, no argument, but she is stuck firmly in Bart’s past. High school. Which might as well have taken place a few millenniums earlier, so irrelevant is it to who Bart is now. All of his friends from high school are now in college—or, hell, out of college—and those who stayed here to work, Bart has no interest in fraternizing with. Which is the other reason he needs to go back into the Marines.
Bart is saved from having to explain this—which he would have done badly, especially since both Patrick and Jennifer believe Bart should apply to college himself—by the side door to the kitchen slamming. They all turn to see Ava walk in. She’s wearing jeans, an ivory cable-knit sweater, and her old brown corduroy jacket.
“Ava!” Bart says. He rushes to hug her. God, he’s missed her and that familiar ugly jacket.
She squeezes him tight, and when she pulls away, her eyes are shining with tears. “I can’t believe I thought about skipping this,” she says. “Also, I can’t believe you let Mitzi throw you a party. You hate your birthday.”
“Please,” Bart says. “Do you think I had a choice?”
“No,” Ava, Patrick, and Jennifer all say at the same time.
Ava takes off her jacket and slips it over one of the stools at the counter. She drops her overnight bag to the floor and pulls an envelope out of her purse. “For you,” she says. “Happy birthday.”
It’s two round-trip Acela tickets from Boston to New York.
“I left the dates open,” Ava says. “Figured you could either come twice by yourself and stay with me, or you could bring a date and stay at Drake’s apartment, which is a three-million-dollar piece of real estate sitting empty.”
A date? Bart thinks. Why are his siblings suddenly so keen to set him up with a girl? Girls are the farthest thing from Bart’s mind. Still, the idea of going down to New York appeals, sometime before he goes back on active duty.
He’ll have to pass a battery of tests before he’s allowed to reenlist. The physical ones he’ll pass. The psychological ones…?
“Thanks, Sis,” Bart says. He studies the train tickets. First class! “This is a great idea.”
Kevin and Isabelle walk in the side door next. “Look,” Kevin says. “It’s a party.”
“Want a beer?” Patrick asks.
“Pope, funny hat,” Kevin says.
“Ava, Isabelle, wine?” Jennifer asks.
“Isabelle is nursing,” Kevin says.
“Une biere, s’il vous plait,” Isabelle says. She hands Bart a garment bag. “Pour toi. Bon anniversaire!”
“Thanks, Isabelle,” Bart says. The garment bag is from Saks Fifth Avenue, which means it’s not a navy blazer from Murray’s. Bart has no fewer than eight such blazers in ascending sizes hanging in his closet. Mitzi won’t let Bart take them to the thrift shop. They’re a record of his growing up, she says.
Bart unzips the garment bag to find a slate-blue cashmere jacket, the cut and beauty of which Bart cannot believe. It’s the most beautiful article of clothing he has ever seen, certainly more sophisticated than anything he owns. It’s an adult jacket, an adult civilian jacket. Still, Bart feels a thrill as he slips it on. It fits perfectly.
Patrick whistles. “Looks great, bro.” To Kevin he says, “What’d that run you, six bills?”
Kevin says, “Isabelle got it and she’s too elegant to disclose the price.”
Jennifer swats Patrick. “How much it costs doesn’t matter. What matters is that you look gorgeous in it, Bart.”
Ava claps her hands. “You can wear it to New York City.”
“Tu peux le porter ce soir,” Isabelle says.
“Ce soir?” Bart says.
“A la soirée,” Isabelle says.
Bart shoots his cuffs. Maybe he will wear it to the party tonight. Why not? He looks around the kitchen at his siblings and he raises his beer.
“Thanks, you guys,” he says, but he is too overcome with emotion to say anything more. He doesn’t even need to go to the party, he thinks. The real party is right here.
EDDIE
Allegra is ready to go—she has been ready for nearly twenty minutes, despite the two-hour preparation to do her hair and makeup and to get into her kimono, obi, and silk slippers. The costume looks authentic… and very, very expensive.
Meanwhile, Eddie is torn.
He has two ideas for costumes and he can’t decide between them. His first idea is to go dressed as a pimp—fur coat, wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, diamond rings. It’s outrageous because, technically, Eddie used to be a pimp. Dressing as a stereotypical one now would be Eddie poking fun at himself. Everyone would be talking about him and his costume—but would the other partygoers think the costume was hysterical, brave, and appropriately self-effacing, or would they think it was in atrocious taste? Eddie would like to believe the former, but he fears the latter. It’s probably too soon to go dressed as a pimp. Next year enough time will have passed that absolutely everyone will think it’s funny.
And so Eddie defaults to his second idea: he will go dressed as Fast Eddie. What this means is that he will dress as his former self—in a beige linen suit and a Panama hat.
When he emerges from the bedroom, Allegra gives him a sharp look. Or maybe that’s just her makeup.
“Really, Dad?” she says. “The hat?”
“It’s my trademark,” Eddie says.
“Was your trademark,” Allegra says. “Back when you were breaking the law.”
Eddie is very glad he didn’t pursue the fur coat option. “Let’s go,” he says.
They head out to the Cherokee. Allegra, whose range of motion is constricted by her costume, needs help getting in.
“Are you going to be able to dance in that getup?” Eddie asks.
“If I feel like dancing, I’ll take the kimono off,” Allegra says.
“But you do have something on underneath, right?” Eddie says.
“Yes, Dad,” Allegra says. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”
Eddie lets that question slide as rhetorical. As they head out of town, he realizes he has the next twelve minutes alone with his daughter, a rare opportunity.
“How are you feeling about the breakup?” Eddie asks.
Allegra shrugs.
Okay, Eddie thinks. He tries another avenue. “Do you miss your sister?”
“A lot more than I thought I would,” Allegra says. “I feel… I don’t know, abandoned almost. She’s off at school, meeting people, creating a network of friends and connections that will last her the rest of her life. And I’m stuck at home in a dead-end job.”