Tell Me What You Need to Tell Me

"The gelato! Oh, thank you, baby!" I hold my hands out to graciously receive the small, white paper cup filled with the world's best ingredients. Nothing quite compares to Anatelli's Chocolate French Mint Whip. The fact that I get it a few times a year makes it all the more special. My careful, regimented diet now slides away, carried off mid-day by the ocean breeze.

"You're welcome, love." My boyfriend Reg gently places the paper cup in my hands.

His eyes light up, seeing how small gestures can make me so happy. And indeed, they truly do. However, being at my family's vacation home also makes me happy, so it's many positive feelings all rolled into one. But right now, Reg and I have the home to ourselves. We only have an hour, but I will use this time to get his opinion on what he thinks of the whole gang--my sister and her husband, Mom, Dad, and my brothers.

I slowly dig into the smooth, dense gelato. There is a tiny bit of melting on the edges, but the middle is still well-formed. I offer him a bite, but he declines. Whereas I am excited to hear his perspective, he seems deep in thought. Perhaps he needs a bit of prodding to push through this serious air that has come over him.

"So...what do you think of the Ferrellas so far? Are we too loud? Too much in each other's business?" I laugh. We are boisterous when we get together, or so it's been said by others.

"Well--at least you guys like each other! Until you all start taking some serious digs. Then it's a competition for the center spot." He takes a sip from his coffee and doesn't smile. I can't tell if he is judging us, or just in a heavy mood.

"Yeah, so we do!" My bright mood is starting to fade into neutrality. I want to ask about his family--are they on good terms? But this would seem too much of a taunt. He takes a big swig of his coffee. He has curly reddish-blonde hair to his shoulders and a full beard. I can't make out his jawline, but his hairline is that of a 30-year-old.

Normally, I like his personality: he's got a soft temperament, a sweet glow about him that makes him vulnerable. But right now, I'm uncomfortable, because he seems uncomfortable. But isn't this normal? I had gone back and forth as to whether I should bring him on this vacation. Perhaps it was too soon and for too many days. We have been dating for four months, we should be meeting each other's families...should we not?

"Are you enjoying yourself? At...all?" I try not to sound accusatory, or insecure. His eyes cut to the window, which overlooks the sound. The water is smooth and still today.

"Going on a family vacation is a bit too early in our relationship, but actually--yes, I'm having a good time! And I'm glad I'm here." He raises up his coffee, and I get a wink. There he is...my charming man.

"Good," I say, under my breath. But I don't fully believe him. I'd be okay with: 'Your sister has an annoying voice' or even 'Does your dad always act like this?' Or 'Why is this house so cold at night?' Any of these questions would be honest. I would welcome them. He gets up from the softly worn armchair and sits next to me on the couch. He puts his coffee down.

"You know, Donna," he says gently, "you are so blessed. Despite the loudness, all of you love being together. I was once close to my family. We weren't perfect, but...my parents both really tried. And then--"

I put my gelato down, prepared for whatever he wants to reveal to me. I am so ready for it.

There is laughter and rustling at the door, competing for our attention. Another boisterous commotion. I turn around and see my brothers and my dad almost falling through the front door, laughing hysterically. Fred holds up two bottles of red wine. My dad is somehow managing eight bags of shrimp and crabs. "Get the pans out, Donna! It's time to fry up the clams! Is there enough butter?"

But there are no clams, there is everything but clams--an inside joke from many years ago, that started here in our vacation home. Today, my family's fishing expedition has turned into a booze cruise, and they are back early. It wouldn't be a family vacation without this happening at least once. I am used to this, but I wonder what it looks like to Reg. As I step up to action and bring out the pots and pans, Reg whispers to me: "I never so much as drank a cocktail with my folks."

I look at him with wonderment and despite all the revelry around us at the moment, with my dad whipping a towel at Joe, and Tim snapping at my dad with a good hard crack, I am deeply sad for Reg. I can't imagine not having a family to crack jokes with, not having this family home in Duck, North Carolina, and worse: not being able to do something as simple as cracking open a fabulous bottle of Merlot with my brother or a crisp white wine with my mom. Call the Ferrellas what you want: boisterous, teasing, maybe a bunch of lushes? We love and support each other, even if it's a bit over the top.

"So this is what it's like to be in a wealthy, loving Italian family." He whispers. "I have always wondered."

"This is what it's like to be in a loving family, yes. Truth is, we are only one part Italian. And we were wealthy at one time--but that's no longer the case."

The gelato is melting. I choose the wine glasses instead. I hardly have a moment to get them all out before my brothers are opening the bottles.

Reg shakes his head and whispers, "No way you guys aren't loaded! No one I know has a home out in Duck, plus their family estate in Ohio...and isn't loaded. Be for real, Donna."

There are now ten sitting on our quartz countertops, released from their hiding places. My parents must have brought them from home. All of them will be consumed in the next few hours. I pour a glass for Reg.

"This is fantastic wine!" Reg smiles, holding up the glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. He studies the label on the bottle. It's one of my favorite designs, cursive writing--in a vintage style. It reminds me of an old love letter. Perhaps it's the red roses in the corners, a faded heart.

"It's got your Ferrella name on it," he says, in surprise.

"That's from my brother's vineyard, out in Nappa," my dad says. "He's the smart one. Got the business brains he did."

"Oh, Dad! Please! You didn't do too bad yourself!" I say, rushing to defend, his ego. Uncle Joe has a fabulous business, yes. But there was a time that my dad had done very well for himself. Despite our misfortunes, I still see my dad as a success. As I catch my dad's eye, I see the alcohol has bit at him again, and he's going to go to that dark place of failure in his mind--despite the fact that we are on a family vacation and that a new boyfriend stands in our kitchen. Our change in circumstances is never far from his thoughts.

"Wow," Reg shakes his head. "Success, everywhere! There are always a few hiccups here and there, but so it is if one is going to take risks."

I was going to sit outside with my dad, but now I am interested in what Reg is thinking. If he was going to reveal something difficult to me, perhaps now is the time that I can reveal something to him.

"Tim, can you take care of the pasta and the fish? I'm going outside with Dad and Reg for a minute. I guide Dad outside, hoping he doesn't stumble this evening, hoping he doesn't blame Mom for her accounting error from eight years back, hoping he doesn't bring up my misgivings...More importantly, I hope he doesn't hear what Reg and I might reveal out there on the balcony, as it is the only place in the house with any privacy. Dad's hearing has worsened over the past two years, and he is too proud to try hearing aids.

"Dad, let's sit you out here for a bit. The sound looks soothing tonight. I'll get you some water in a minute." He sits down among the faded, floral cushions and props his feet on the wicker coffee table in front of him with a great thud. It tips over. I move the table out of the way and push a chair forward for him to rest his legs on. There! He is comfortable for the moment. Reg and I walk to the other side of the balcony, its length spanning the house, overlooking the sound. I graze his arm with my hand, and he moves in closer. Good. At least he is not creating further distance.

"Despite the drinking, at least you are on good terms with your parents," Reg whispers to me, his hand trailing down my back. "My family can't forgive me for what I did some years back, which is why you haven't met them yet. My parents, in particular, are still very angry at me."

"I'm sorry to hear this, but what could you have done to make them so upset? I mean geez, who hasn't screwed up? I know I have." I shrug my shoulders, wondering what he will think of me after my reveal.

"It's really hard to talk about," Reg wipes the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "And it's hard not to feel like an awful person. It will change the way you feel about me. It would be impossible not to."

My ears are ringing as he prepares himself to go further with his trust in me. But even so, as the orangey-pink sun fades into the water, and the air goes silent, we are both jolted by the demands coming from the other side of the balcony:

"Damn it! I want my water! Donna!" my Dad yells out. Yes, he may want water, but what he really wants is my attention.

"It's coming Dad, hold on!" I yell back. "Reg-let's go on a walk. It may be the only time we can have any privacy. I really, really want to hear what you have to say."

He smiles and agrees. I go in and I retrieve a pitcher of water and a small glass. I quietly fill it up and place it in front of my dad, who has drifted off for a moment. Somehow he went from a demanding thirst to a soft snore. I look over to Reg, and I smile. My eyes get wide as I tip-toe away, in an exaggerated manner. Reg chuckles softly. Again, we head toward the end of the balcony.

I take his hands. "What did you want to tell me, baby?"

He carefully gives me his hands. "It's quite awful." He suddenly drops his hands away from mine and leans up against the balcony. The balcony paint is starting to chip off, coming off in such sharp, large pieces, I'm afraid he will get cut. I pull him close because I want to hear what he has to say, and I also don't want his skin sliced.

"Come here and tell me what you need to tell me," I say softly, hoping it will put him at ease. Reluctantly, he gets close, and I can smell his wood-scented hair. He looks at the worn floorboards, these are chipping too.

"About three years ago, I stole money. From a family member. I'm too embarrassed to say who--maybe in time I will tell you more. Anyhow--it was thousands and thousands. I was caught, and served five months. So now I have a record. And it's really hard to get good jobs with a record. And it's even harder to find a really good girlfriend who will accept this."

My heart beats like crazy, and my words can barely keep up. "Was it...gambled?" I ask.

"Part of it was, but the rest was recovered," he admits. He throws his head back. "Please say you won't break up with me because of this? If we break up--can it be over something else besides my lack of integrity?"

"Who says you lack integrity?" Says a booming voice from the other end of the balcony. Dad! I thought he had passed out! I turn around, and sure enough, there he is, sitting straight up, as if he had been wide awake this whole time--and never had a hearing issue in his life!

"When you get a chance, Reg--why don't you ask Donna and her mom about their accounting error from a few years back? Have you noticed the wear and tear all over our vacation home? Can't afford to keep this place up! But I'll let Donna tell you her story. It's probably worse than the one you're telling." He waves us off, and I feel my fists clench.

"Thanks, Dad! That's just great, coming from you. As if I wasn't going to tell him. As a grown-ass woman, can I please do so? Thank you!"

"You are welcome! Reg--I'll clear up the lack of details as needed!" My dad says, grinning widely, looking out onto the water. He looks pleased with himself, and if I could, I'd slap the smugness out of him.

"Donna and her mom were both scammed!" this is my Dad's closing comment as I practically shove Reg into the house. He turns around as if to ask my Dad for more information, but I pull at his arm. "Now's a good time for that walk, Reg." I storm through the kitchen, not liking how embarrassed I am, not wanting to pull at Reg, but my father's storytelling is so intriguing that if I let go of Reg, he'll be out on the back deck pressing for more.

"I don't want to miss dinner, Donna," he says, as he pulls himself loose from me.

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe I don't want to lose the opportunity in telling you a little bit more about me, okay?" I raise my eyebrows and stare directly at him, hoping he'll take the hint and hightail it out of the front door.

My brother Tim turns around and eyes us both suspiciously. "Reg, you better run. Hope you got your Nike's, bruh."

I smile sarcastically at Tim, who has clearly had his fill of Uncle Joe's cabernet. "Thanks, that's just so helpful, Tim. Can't wait till your girlfriend comes around."

He shrugs his shoulders. "Ain't gonna happen. Not with this messy bunch," he mumbles.

Reg gives him a confused stare, but he finally follows me out the front door.

"Let's walk along the water, shall we?" I ask, unable to hide my irritation. There's a landscaped, floral walkway, all due to the house-proud owners that line the water's edge, that I always like to walk along when I visit. I don't ever feel like I'm fully on vacation until I've walked this several times.

"Okay, so tell me about you and your mom, your accounting errors. Was it recent? Long ago?" Reg asks.

It feels so long ago! I was such a different person, I suppose that's how I've tucked it so far back into my personal files, my old history. A junk drawer of who I was, and how I viewed myself. That junk drawer is a jumbled collection of all the pieces of ourselves we don't know what to do with any longer, so in a pile it goes, separated from the good.

But never to be thrown out, as they are a part of us.

"It was a while back, eight years ago. I always knew my family loved me, but I never felt like I had a boyfriend that truly did. I was very heavy when I was young, so I blamed it all on that. I remember thinking: if I were thinner, my boyfriend will love me. Obviously, there are many things I was overlooking at the time."

"Oh, so you have fat girl hang-ups? That's a drag," he says with a disgust I have never heard from him.

I stop walking for a moment, uncertain about not only what I heard, but more so in his tone. He walked on a few more paces. "Donna, what is it? Look, you are a total babe now, and I don't like fat women. Good for you for overcoming all of your weight issues."

"Maybe I don't like insensitive guys. Never mind the money you stole from your family...I can understand that to a point, and you seem to regret it. But if I'm telling you a part of my difficult history, and you are grossed out by it-- then I'm not going to feel comfortable about telling you the really hard stuff!"

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Okay, okay. What? You want me to apologize for not liking fat women? Sorry Donna, I don't like fat women. Sorry to hear you were once fat. Please go on with the rest of your sob story."

"Sob story? No. Nevermind. No, you don't get to hear it. I can't trust you with some of the deeper stuff." I find myself so rattled that I start walking in the opposite direction. I cannot process what is happening and also speak coherently at this moment. I need those few extra precious seconds.

"Oh Donna! Stop being a baby--"

"Do you hear yourself? Earlier--you said you were worried about your integrity. What you did to your family sounds pretty bad. What I did to mine is no better. We can work that out. But if you have something against heavy people, or worse, you are disgusted by them...then I am disgusted by your insensitivity." I stammer, unable to get it all out at once.

"Then maybe you are too judgemental too, due to my insensitivity." He calls out.

I could forgive him if he were drunk because then I could blame his faulty reasoning on that. Or maybe I'm just used to making excuses for drunk people. The fact that he is sober and speaking honestly worries me.

We make it back to the house, and the family has already dug into the dinner. The smell of garlic bread and seafood is so nostalgic: I suddenly remember that I don't ever eat garlic bread and seafood unless I am here at our home. Or rather--our vacation home, as this home sees more families as an Air BNB than it does us.

"Grab some plates you two!" My older sister Mary Lynn call out.

I welcome the distraction and am happy about it. I load up a plate of pasta and fish. I grabbed a salad plate on purpose, vs. a platter like everyone else. Eating off of salad plates is one of my many tricks to being healthier. But as I look up at my dad, I see he is going to make a comment and on the inside, I cower. There is a gleam in his eye that I dislike. He is going to go for the weak spots. I stop smiling and struggle to assemble my inner armor in time.

"So Reg! Tell us: did Donna give you the low down? Did she tell you about the so-called man who scammed her, or us rather, for nearly $30,000? Turns out it was a woman the whole time! Not some hunk like we were told. The things false love will make us do!" My dad nearly chokes with laughter.

"I don't believe you are telling Reg the whole story, Dad," Mary Lynn pipes up. "Maybe if we would have been a little kinder to Donna when she was young and struggling--she would have felt better about herself. She might not have fallen victim to such a scam."

"Oh Mary Lynn, your dad is just teasing! It's all in good fun," Mom adds, in a quiet tone.

"No, it was never in good fun," I finally state. "Since it happened to me, I'll tell you all right now--if it hadn't been for Mary Lynn trying to stand up for me here and there between the non-stop weight teasing, I wonder what would have happened to me. Thanks, M! You tried!"

My sister looks at me with sadness in her eyes and shakes her head. She feels as if she didn't do enough.

Reg chuckles. "Oh Donna. You poor, privileged girl!"

"Good one, Reg!" Joe yells, and high-fives my boyfriend over a huge salad bowl.

That's it. And I don't have a comeback.

I pick up my plate and I empty the uneaten pasta in the garbage. I don't even want it for later. As I turn to go out the door, Tim yells out, "Try not to make yourself puke in the bushes." Everyone but Mary Lynn and her husband laughs. But Reg laughs the loudest.

The family carries on with their meal. I open the window just a bit, and I hear about how I acted as a child, as a teen. Joe pulls up an old picture on his phone, pointing out how heavy I was, how they teased me, and how it made me eat more food. And how that turned into bulimia. My mother says nothing. My father laughs away.

"You all are disgusting," says Mary Lynn. "I can't be a part of this. Reg, here is the dark side of our family. The first three nights you saw the good, I'm sure. But the Ferrellas can only front for so long. " She stands up and throws her napkin down. "Tonight, you all suck."

"Oh no worries! This has all been very enlightening!" Reg says, lightheartedly. "I like hearing the family perspective."

My sister stares him down, and shakes her head. Her brown curls fall in her face. "How sad," she says quietly. She walks towards the front porch where I am sitting. I know one last comment is coming, and that she will need to have the last word.

"Oh! And by the way, Dad. Our complete change in finances has nothing to do with Donna being scammed. $30,000 is nothing if one shuts up long enough and does the real math." She taunts.

"Mary Lynn! Stop it right now! You will upset your father," my mother smiles as she makes this request.

"Oh really, Mom? Donna's upset, so what's one more? Look, Dad. You made some lousy business decisions. What's done is done. Stop making excuses. We loved you through it, but you need to love us back. Stop picking us all apart." She opens the door and steps out onto the porch area where I now sit.

The table goes completely quiet for about ten seconds. Finally, Tim says "Well. These might be the best clams I've ever had. And now there's more for me."

The entire table bursts into laughter. In another few seconds, they will forget what Mary Lynn had said.

Mary Lynn grabs a chair and pulls it closer to me. "Donna, how did you survive us?" She starts apologizing again, and I shake my head no. It's in the past. Time to move on. I am a different person now.

"Donna, I'm not gonna get in your business, but your boyfriend should be out here comforting you. Not sitting in there with them. Laughing at Dad's cruel comments." She looks at me directly, waiting for me to either agree, defend myself, or tell her to mind her own business.

I stare at the chipped paint, the sand-blasted furniture. The years of wear and tear along the frames enclosing the porch, the screen that has loosened. This was once a beautiful home, kept up, and refreshed constantly. And our family was once loving. Dad used to control his drinking, and he made really good financial decisions. As I sit here with my sister, we both can't make sense of the damage, the change in the family dynamics, and how love turned into something else. But when I think of the past, I think of it as being very good--until I started having weight problems, which is right about the time Dad's business started having problems. Funny how I still uphold that old, positive image of all of us.

And now Reg. Mary Lynn is right, he should absolutely be out here! We should be sitting in one of the gardens, he should be listening to my childhood. Does he think I'm sharing a bed with him tonight? Wanting to be intimate, while he never stood up for me, and worse, laughed with all of them? I was ready to be supportive of his mistakes, which sounded much worse. What a strange turn of events this day took. The longer I sit here, the more disgusted I am.

"Let's leave," I say impulsively. "I mean it. I can sneak in through the back porch, and grab my bag. I never unpacked anyways. Reg drove his car, and he can drive himself back."

Mary Lynn holds back a laugh. "Are...you serious? Oh, you are! Okay. I'm gonna text Ryan, and tell him to meet us outside when he's done eating. I'll go get the car."

I nod my head, and I move around to the back of the house. Through the sliding glass window, I let myself in. I already have my phone in my pocket. I grab my charger, my duffel, and a few toiletries that were sitting out. In less than two minutes, I have everything I came with.

I slide back out the side door and onto the porch, not making a sound. I smile to myself, proud of my unplanned exit. If I can't stand up to a boyfriend who has no problem treating me as badly as the rest of my family, then who can I stand up to? I shrug my shoulders and walk off toward Mary Lynn's car. A relationship can get harder later, but to have this much difficulty in the beginning takes the fun out of it--and in my case, is replaced with pain.

Off the cuff, an idea comes to me. One, last final punch.

I turn around and head back towards the front porch. "Donna! Don't!" Mary Lynn calls out, but it's too late. I'm half inside, my duffel bag bumps against the screen door. The family and Reg are passing around a plate of my chocolate chip cookies that I made earlier. Everybody stops talking and looks surprised to see me.

"Have a good rest of your vacation, all of you!" I call out. "I was having a great time until... well, until the insults started! So, goodbye!" I wave and step back out. I see Dad acting as if no one said anything. Mom is rolling her eyes.

"Donna!" Reg yells out. He can't back his chair away from the table fast enough. "Donna! What are you doing? Wait up!"

But I make my way out onto the porch. I cut through the front yard.

"Good-bye, Reg! Have fun with the Ferrellas! Perhaps you can join them, seeing how much you all have in common."

"You can't just leave me here with your family! Donna, if you don't get back here, then we are done. I mean it. We are finished."

I walk towards the car, laughing. "Look at you, calling the shots! You aren't even going to apologize, are you?" I call out.

"Apologize for what? For trying to get along with your family?" he asks, confused.

"I guess we were already done, then. With your insensitive nature, we could not have grown close. Think about all that was said this afternoon as I drive off with my sister. You will find the answers there."

"Donna! No, Donna! Come on, I'll overlook the whole online scam if you just... if you just stay!"

I open up the back car door, and I throw my bag in. Mary Lynn's husband is also exiting the house.

"You will overlook...my mistakes? Oh, Reg. Don't bother. You are missing the entire point."

I don't hear what else he says, because I am in my sister's car. But as we drive away, small, tiny hot tears come up because I really, really liked him. And, we both could have comforted the other considering our financial screw-ups that hurt our families.

But I would have done all the comforting.

And he would have continued to pull away still.