Giant Men and Violent Women

Introducing!

ASHLEY

I had a good morning; we'll just leave it at that.

It's January 4, and we're at brunch—Chap and Gram; my mother and father; my brother and his fiancée, Liberty; Louisiana and me. As you can tell, this brunch is noteworthy. Gram has picked the official bell-ringing brunch menu—blackberry and walnut kale salad, smoked duck benedict, blueberry crepe cakes, and moose hearts.

"Delicious," Louisiana says through delicate bites of food.

Gram gives her a stately grin and slight nod of her head. She's glad my future bride is pleased. I sit, thinking that Gram could have served sides of shit and Louisiana would have said the same. But I'll keep my thoughts to myself.

We're all drinking sangria with blackberries—shipped from Massachusetts—floating in them. My sister-in-law, Liberty, takes a sip. And then another. Fuck it; she drains her entire glass. I look at Gram. She's not pleased. She knew this would happen once my brother married a girl from Quebec, but she decides not to remind Stone of that. Gram continues to eat her crepe.

My father is nearby, enjoying this moment with his sons, their partners, and his grandparents. He looks at Stone and then at me. Taking a bite of his blackberry and walnut kale salad, he gives me a smile and a nod. Way to go son.

A walnut falls off his fork and onto my mother's plate. She puts down her fork, picks up the walnut, examines it, and then tosses it at my father. She misses, and it lands at the table behind us. It hits Erma on the shoulder. Erma looks up toward the ceiling to see where the leak is coming from. My parents giggle. I look at Gram. She suspends her fork in mid-air. They'd better not do that shit again.

My brother is texting frantically on his cell phone. Gram lovingly looks at him. He's such a hard worker. The very restaurant that we're seated in now belongs to him. Gram brings a look of satisfaction on her face. My brother married Liberty, the daughter of a Canadian tycoon who acted like Liberty was the prize. But look how hard Stone's working. Soon, he will be a tycoon, just like Liberty's honky-tonk father. Gram smiles.

My cell phone buzzes. I open the message. It's Stone. He's asking me if I'll trade a player with him in fantasy football. I text him back.

I'm WINNING. Why would I trade you? Fuck off.

I press Send.

My brother rolls his eyes and tosses his phone onto the table.

"If you need to go handle business..." Gram says to him. "No, I'm all right," Stone says. "Just dealing with a dickhead." Liberty giggles.

"Stone..." my father says, admonishing him.

"That's not brunch language," I remind Stone.

"Shut up," Stone says to me.

"Boys," my mother says.

That ends the conversation. We all sit pleasantly and dine. This is wonderful. It really is.

Two seats at our table are empty, but like Chap and Gram said, "We aren't gonna starve because of the likes of Clyde and Dainty Bragg."

When my phone rang while God was sleeping, it was Pop calling me. Clyde "Pop" Bragg, who single-handedly is the only man who can ruffle Chap's and Gram's feathers, is back. He is also their son. Their only son. They simply can't believe that this motherfucker hasn't shown up at Game House yet for brunch.

This morning, people who not only look like a million dollars, but they also smell just as expensive overrun Game House. Gemstones and muskrats, Chanel No. 5, and Eau Sauvage. The reason for such an Old Hollywood meets New Hampshire mountain scene? Louisiana's and my bells will ring tomorrow. People as far as west of the Mississippi have flooded into Darling, filing into vacant rooms in bed and breakfasts or their family homes. Those who didn't book their room in time or arrange sleeping arrangements with family are forced to stay in the overflow, known as Concord or Boston. But everyone is in Darling now, and those who arrived in town early enough got a seat at Game House. Everyone is here, and the mood is elegant, high society, upscale— "Ashley! Ashley Bragg! Get your ugly ass over here!" And here he is.