Spring 2022
The mini moving pod sitting in the Brandons' driveway could only mean one thing: Al was launching at last.
"I learned two new buzzwords during the pandemic," he'd said. "Essential, and non-essential. Forget MBAs and PE, the best way to make money in a downturn is to deal in essentials, getting people what they need when they need it."
He'd put his words into practice by getting a job with The E-Commerce Giant That Shall Not Be Named, working remotely for the past year or so. Now with the return to office in full swing, he needed to move to Seattle, and he was looking forward to going into the massive downtown campus with its glass rainforest spheres. Too bad for him it didn't offer free food, but that was probably a win for the restaurant industry. It would be nearly as stressful a life as the consulting-PE track, with somewhat less superlative but still very attractive pay, and it got him financially independent, out of the house and away from attracting more student loan debt, so that had to be a win for everyone.
Chris was graduating from the Air Force Academy, which meant Marianne flew in from Boston for the ceremony. She'd just finished her first year at Berklee; after that phenomenal audition, especially after they knew she had to switch feet on the piano because of her injury, there was no question about her getting in. Edith had started college at BU, so they were able to travel in together.
Graduation itself was a one-week extravaganza, the first time a full-scale in-person graduation event was taking place since the start of the pandemic. Chris didn't have enough tickets for Ed and me to go to the Graduation Parade and Reception after providing for his immediate family, Marianne, and Edith, but we visited the campus and went for the concert on the first evening of Graduation Week. We and the Middletons watched the livestream of the graduation ceremony on our respective TVs, then went out into our front yards when the Thunderbirds started flying. When we saw the last of the aircraft disappear into the distance, Jack started setting up his hamburger grill, so we could welcome home our new Space Force officer and his entourage. It was the first and last time I'd see Chris in his Air Force Academy dress uniform with its blue jacket, white pants and yellow sash, minus the white cap he'd already discarded with the customary hat toss. Just as he'd always wanted, Chris was assigned to Peterson SFB, which meant he'd have a home with his parents for as long as he wished and would always be close enough for us to see him anytime we wanted, even more than before since he didn't have to live on base.
After we'd had our fill of Jack's amazingly succulent burgers, Ed and I brought out the three-layer chocolate cake we'd spent the entire evening baking and frosting with Margaret, while Marianne and Mom were out for dinner with Chris and his family after the Graduation Parade, Graduation Reception and commissioning ceremony. It had been occupying an entire shelf in our refrigerator for the past sixteen hours, and we made sure we got an Instagrammable shot of the intact cake, as well as another one of Chris making the first cut into it, since we knew once the Middleton kids were allowed to have their fill, they'd reduce it to a messy pile of goo.
"Before we dig in," said Chris, "I have a special gift for Marianne."
The tiny paper bag contained a velvet jeweller's box, which Marianne opened to reveal a delicate miniature replica of his class ring, sized just right to fit on her fourth finger. This wasn't yet the day he'd go on bended knee and ask her outright to marry him, not when she still had so many more years of college to go, but we all still knew what the class ring implied anyway. It'd happen as a matter of course when Marianne would graduate and be ready, but for now Marianne's Instagram post of their two hands with the matching rings told everyone all they needed to know: Marianne was taken, as was Chris.
With rising fuel prices, Dad found that two air tickets to Alaska weren't such a trivial present after all, but he still fulfilled his birthday promise to me, and we set out on our first plane ride since the pandemic. It felt surreal to be travelling anywhere when we hadn't done that for more than two years, especially when it involved a five-and-a-half-hour plane ride that strictly speaking, was in no way essential. Though I firmly believed it was very essential for Ed to do this, yet another step away from the past and towards the future.
Mr. Ferrars was what I'd imagined Ed to look like in twenty years - he was long and skinny just like Ed, with leathery, tanned skin and a wizened look to his face. When he greeted us at Anchorage Airport, I noticed his voice had an even more soft-spoken quality to it than Ed's, and he was just as obliging with helping load our luggage into the bed of his quad-cab pickup for the drive to Seward.
We were to spend the summer with him helping out on his fishing boat; that would serve the purposes of giving Marianne and Chris some undisturbed time together over her summer break, giving Ed the chance to build his relationship with his father, and letting us have one last summer of simplicity before we went back for senior year and graduated with our degrees in Education. During the pandemic, Ed had re-established contact with his dad, surmising that he must be just as lonely as Mrs. Ferrars was, if not more so. Frances and Rob were still there in LA, after all, and Mrs. Ferrars could hardly denounce Rob when he was the closest that she got to raising a superstar, even though two years of NCAA football were enough to establish his likelihood of making it to the NFL at zero. So much for Lucy's WAG dream, though to our knowledge she was still working her job and bringing in enough money for college not to tempt her, much to Mrs. Jennings' consternation.
Before I started that Thoreau-like summer with Ed and Mr. Ferrars, I'd thought my needs in life were simple. Yet Mr. Ferrars had managed to strip his life down to the barest essentials and then some, having completely rejected the materialism and decadence of the Ferrars family in LA. Now I knew where Ed got his sense of frugality from. We spent nights sleeping on the living room sofa bed in Mr. Ferrars' one-bedroom cabin and woke up in the wee hours every morning to go out for the day's catch. In our future lives as elementary and middle school teachers, Ed and I might never be rich; we probably wouldn't be able to afford a historical Victorian home like the Brandons', get all the latest gadgets and gizmos like the Middletons, or even set up a home like Mom's on our own after we graduated. But we'd manage with a simple condo unit and a modest but steady income, working in a field that would always be needed.
On the weekend of the summer solstice, we sat out on the wooden back deck of the cabin till midnight with cans of local craft beer, watching the hue of the sky gradually turn to orange.
"Son, words can't say how proud I am that you did what I couldn't," said Mr. Ferrars, raising his can to clink Ed's. "You stood up to Dixie and did the right thing by the people you love, no matter how hard it'd make life for you. I thought I gave up everything for you, but the one thing I didn't do is what I've regretted for years."
Dixie. So that was the name of the legendary Mrs. Ferrars. Given her obsession with status and distinction, it was no wonder she'd made sure her three children were strategically named after celebrities, for she must have thought their ordinariness was doomed by the destiny from her name.
"Dad, you gave up everything," said Ed. "Back then I had no idea, but after I grew up, I've come to know just how much you left for Mom, and for us. You gave her everything you were worth – your stake in the family shipping business, the house in Bel-Air, and enough money for us to live the high life for the rest of our days. I know you left because you couldn't stand her, just like I can't either."
"There's one thing I wished I'd had the strength to do," said Mr. Ferrars, swigging on his can. "I let myself be overruled and henpecked, and by giving all the money to Dixie to manage, I effectively put all three of you under her mercy. You were so young then, I thought my only choice was to put the money in the hands of the only adult in the family. But if I'd set up individual trusts for each of the three of you, I could have made sure you all got your fair share. That's the minimum I should've done, in my duty as a father to you."
"It's OK, Dad," said Ed, reaching between their deck chairs to grab the hand that was dangling by his father's side. "I got my own life now, with enough to live on and the people whom I want in it."
Jack was the only person who kept in touch with Willoughby's family, for it is in every savvy handyman's interest to keep the most DIY-averse members of his local community within his Rolodex. Thus, we knew John would never make it to the NFL, for he hadn't even made the NCAA team at Columbia, though beyond that last conversation at the Palmers' apartment, I'd never know the depth of his envy for Chris, or his regret over Marianne. It didn't matter anyway, when he went back to his Ivy League life right after lockdown ended, and his parents boasted to Jack at every turn of how much he was enjoying it.
No, none of that would make any difference to us, when we all had our futures to look forward to, coming out into the world just as a glimpse of normalcy was emerging from the long pandemic. And perhaps the greatest blessing of all, even better than having graduation and our independence finally on the horizon, was that we'd always be part of that one big happy family rooted in our community. Even after we'd graduate and leave home next year, we could still find plenty of condos within a couple miles from Margaret and Mom, and a mere fifteen minutes' drive away from Peterson SFB, should Chris and Marianne choose to take advantage of free base housing after their eventual marriage. Our biggest blessing, it seemed, would always be the way we'd stay together.
THE END