Let me tell you about Lovesick Lindsay, Cheesy Carl, and Max's Big Stinkin' Mouth.
by M.M. Lewis, October 2004

Please, please, never let the words “At least it can’t get any worse” escape your lips. If you say that, it will get worse. Lots worse. I know this from experience.
        My genius little brother thought he was trying to look on the bright side when he said that exact phrase last summer at our family reunion. It was the first time we’d all been together since I left for college, and a camping trip sounded like such a fun idea. Well, it wasn’t. It was miserable. But, then again, I should have known it would be miserable. How else could it be, when my sixteen-year-old sister asked if she could bring her twenty-three-year-old fiancé, and my mom went through an entire box of Kleenex before we even left the house?

        “Peter, why don’t you let Jamie have that seat? She’s been—Max, turn that off! Max!” I could hear Dad without opening the car door. For some reason he’s always been more of a host than Mom, who prefers to put food in the oven, go upstairs, take a couple Valium, and come down again when company is gone. I braced myself against the chaos Mom simply avoided, and got out of the car. Five or six people in miniature ran out of the house, one of them wearing nothing but a pacifier. That had to be Jordan’s youngest.
        “An Debwa!” Gooey, sticky messes of children lavished somewhat unwanted attention on me. Somebody had given them the keys to the popsicle factory, I could see. “An Debwa, ah you comin’ inside wif us?”
        “Deborah!” The screen door opened again, and out came my sister Lindsay, sixteen but definitely not sweet. You’d never know by the look on her face right then, though. Angelic. “Deborah, come in and meet Carl! Oh, you’ll just adore him!” Try as I might, I could never manage to like Lindsay much more than I like Lydia Bennett or Scarlett O’Hara. I only ever wanted one thing from any of them, and that was a suicide note. Instead I got a bruise on my wrist from where Lindsay grabbed me and pulled me inside.
        The chaos was more than I had braced myself for. Five of us eight kids were married by now, with a robust nineteen nieces and nephews. The entire clan was talking and laughing at maximum volume. Lindsay was not to be distracted by the noise; still dragging me by the wrist, she headed through the living room, TV room, and finally to the kitchen, where I was surprised to see Mom. She and a man who I assumed was Carl were animatedly pointing to various identical-looking envelopes strewn across the counter. Mom didn’t look up, but Carl did.
        “Ah! La belle sœur!” he exclaimed. I raised my eyebrows.
        “He said, ‘Ah, the pretty sister,’” Lindsay told me with her best you’re-an-idiot smile. I fought the impulse to land a good punch right in the middle of that smile. I knew what Carl said, I took three semesters of French; it just didn’t fit for him to speak French. He seemed like one of those guys who only learns another language to use on the girls who won’t get drunk enough to sleep with him. The kind who tries to enchant when he can’t just screw.
        I sat down on a stool next to Mom—after being properly introduced to “Monsieur” Carl—and listened to the intense discussion about wedding announcements. Lindsay pulled a chair over. “Psst! Look!” And there it was, one of the biggest, ugliest diamond rings I’d ever seen. “Isn’t it just gorgeous, Deb?” She had obviously fallen for the enchantment. I figured Carl was now heavily in debt. Maybe Lindsay would starve to death.
        “Stunning. Absolutely stunning.” I hoped there was a trace of sincerity in my voice; Mom looked up and smiled at me briefly, so either I pulled it off or Mom could see through the enchantment too.
        The rest of the afternoon went about the same. The “old” married kids made sure to tease me plenty, saying if I got engaged and married in the next month and a half, I’d beat Lindsay to it. I was the only one of the family over the age of fifteen who didn’t have a significant other, though I thought to myself there were plenty of insignificant others sitting in the living room around me to choose from.
        Don’t get me wrong, I like my family alright; and it was only the second time I’d met Peter’s wife Suzanne. A one-week camping trip would, in theory, help our very extended family get to know each other better. Besides, it was in my favorite part of New Mexico. But that evening Dad gathered everyone together in the living room for a “Power Pow-Wow.” Always beware terms like “power pow-wow.”
        “Hey, guys, isn’t it great to have all of us here? I’m glad you could make it. Okay, now to start off our little meeting, let’s have the grandkids come up for a special presentation…” Dad was thoroughly enjoying this. I hate to say it, but he’d gone out back to find a feather to put in his hair. You know, for the pow-wow. About fifteen of the kids got up and marched to stand in front of the fireplace, and with Becca—the oldest, Alice’s daughter—leading, they began to sing “You are so beaut-ee-ful, to meee.” It was cute until they finished, the clapping started, and Carl stood up.
        “Lindsay, I wanted to make sure you hear it from everyone, you are so beautiful to me.” All the girls oohed and aahed over this, and I saw Mom grab the box of Kleenex from the table next to the couch. Oh, please. But there was more to come. Suddenly the kids shaped themselves into a deformed heart, and out of nowhere they each pulled a red rose. Fine, fine, I was impressed with the magic trick, but come on! This guy was so cheesy. And everyone else thought he was the greatest. –Well, not everyone. My little brother Max was sitting a few cushions over, and I heard him make gagging noises. Remind me to forgive him a little for uttering that cursed phrase I mentioned earlier.
        The rest of the pow-wow, we talked about plans for the next day. We’d leave no later than nine (nice goal), make a stop in Gallup to see Grandpa, and be at the cabin by noon. Of course, most of us weren’t staying at the cabin, but it was close enough to the campsite that Isaac’s wife—who was a Beverly Hills girl and hated dirt—would be at least semi-comfortable. My dad was telling us to be careful on the road to the cabin when Carl stood up.
        “I know the plan is to carpool,” he said, “but I really don’t feel safe entrusting Linsday to anyone else. We’d like to take our own car.” How in the world did he get away with that? I mean, of course I didn’t want to ride with them, and maybe no one else did either; but he just told our family that we can’t be trusted with our own sister! –Okay, so I can’t be, but my parents raised her, for crying out loud, Alice earned her first year’s college tuition by babysitting Lindsay, where does this guy get off? And Mom just reached for the Kleenex again. I saw a pile of used tissues by her feet.
        The grandkids were getting restless, so I took a couple of them to the playroom. It was a good excuse to leave, anyhow. As I walked out of the living room I heard one of my sisters-in-law ask Lindsay how she and Carl met, and I was thankful I left when I did. Now I wish I had left for good, walked out to my car and driven back to California.

        We were sitting around the campfire roasting marshmallows. It wasn’t too bad, really, and I was having a good time getting to know Ken’s wife Jamie. They lived on the East Coast, so I rarely saw them; she told me some of the most hilarious “I want to sell my kids into slavery” stories that have ever been passed around our family. Jamie was seven-and-a-half months pregnant, but she wasn’t fragile. I liked that.
        The conversation lulled and I heard someone crying. Surprise, surprise, it was Mom. She was talking to Carl and Lindsay, and a man standing behind them. Sobbing again, and there was a new box of Kleenex. A minute later those two demented lovebirds and the other man walked away, and Mom turned back toward the campfire.
        The sky flashed white, followed almost immediately by a loud roll of thunder. I heard some of the younger nieces and nephews calling for their moms. We had only a few minutes before the rain started. Dad had sworn up and down the night before that he checked the weather forecast—clear until at least Thursday—but there we were, soaking. A quick decision was made to head to the cabin, since there were still some infants among us. Dad was angry about the rain, Carl and Lindsay had disappeared (along with the stranger), moms were trying to gather children and belongings, and tempers were flaring when lightning struck Grandpa’s storytelling tree. Since the time we were babies, he’d sit under that tree and tell stories of the Navajo Reservation. Suddenly it was ruined, split black down the middle, and we had to get out of there.
        “At least it can’t get any worse,” Max told me.
        If only he knew.

        Carl, Lindsay, and that man were waiting for us at the cabin. I was one of the first people in the door, and I stopped in my tracks. The man had changed into black slacks, black shirt, and white collar. He had stood up when Jamie opened the door, and gave the two of us a fake smile. I was pushed forward as Max stepped in between Jamie and I. He saw the man, dropped his jaw, and turned around.
        “Dad! Mom! Come inside, quick! There’s a ninja in our cabin!”
        Of course, the little kids had to come see the ninja, and their parents followed close behind to find out what this game of Max’s was. Becca is afraid of anyone who carries a weapon, so she wanted to know if it was okay to go inside; Alice went to check for her, laughed, and called out to the other adults, “Don’t worry, everyone, it’s just a preach—”
        Then she realized what she had seen. “A preacher!” Good thing I had moved onto the stairway or I would’ve been knocked over by the sudden crowd. Everyone was exclaiming, and Lindsay just sat there on the couch with Carl’s arms around her. Dad made his way through the relatives and walked over to the preacher.
        “Ah, glad you could make it. I wasn’t sure, what with this thunderstorm and all.” He shook the man’s hand and turned to find Mom. She was standing just inside the doorway, daggers for eyes.
        “You knew about this? You helped? You planned? You—you?” Mom lost her words as she struggled to comprehend what Dad had done. “First my sixteen-year-old-daughter is stupid enough to fall for this man, this sick, cheesy, wants-to-get-my-daughter-in-bed man, then everyone else falls for him too—you all think he’s so wonderful—and what will probably happen is he’ll stay for a few months of good sex and then high-tail it outta there, with that ring. And you support this! How could you?” Mom took her own wedding ring off and threw it on the floor. Then she turned and walked out the door, not even bothering to shut it behind her. We didn’t hear the car start because of the thunder, but I checked later and it was gone.
        Lindsay and Carl were married about ten o’clock, with Dad and Ken as witnesses.

        Do you understand? A year after the fact, both my mom and my sister were divorced. That family reunion was supposed to unite us. And maybe it would have, if Max hadn’t opened his big mouth and jinxed us all.
        It can always get worse.