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By the age of twenty, Stewy Hosseini had spent enough time around the Roy family to know two things.
One, most of what they did was about appearances. They were always performing, and this was something the children learned from their parents. Two, none of them would ever admit to this—Stewy suspected each of them thought they were the only one putting on a front—so the performance extended as far as false displays of sincerity, of love, of enjoying their time together as a family.
It was kind of sad if Stewy really thought about it, but his need to understand the Roys didn’t come from a place of sympathy. It was all about strategy. He had, by luck and circumstance, an in with one of the most influential families in the US. He wasn’t going to waste it.
The thing about Kendall was he’d always been bad at acting. Maybe it was because Stewy knew him since they were in kindergarten, but he was an open book. So while the usual Roy family M.O. was to fake sincerity, Kendall had the opposite problem. He had to put on a more aloof front around his family lest they figure out how easy it’d be to break him.
Long before the kids had any part in the family business, these dynamics were already apparent. Any ostensibly casual get-together or holiday with the Roys always carried an undercurrent of bitter tension, every conversation an edge of competition. A lot of ultra-wealthy families are like this, so Stewy’s not unfamiliar—he has one particularly psychotic uncle back in Tehran who would give Logan Roy a run for his money—but the Roys are perhaps uniquely cult-like.
One part of the sacred dogma of the Roy cult is the annual tennis tournament at their Hamptons estate.
The house itself is some twenty thousand square feet, ten bedrooms, three stories and a rooftop terrace. The thirty acres of grounds, including private beachfront, boast a pool, two tennis courts, and a vast perfectly manicured lawn, sometimes used for croquet but its primary purpose is to look pretty and extravagant, an unnaturally green lush carpet penned in by a perimeter of shrubby beach grasses.
This bright green lawn is the first thing Stewy spots of the property when he’s approaching, by helicopter, with Kendall.
They’re the last of the weekend guests to arrive, just in time for lunch, after skipping out on Friday classes.
It’s a bustle of activity inside. Guests are outnumbered by staff two to one, and Stewy’s not exactly sure where his coat and his suitcase end up as they’re ushered into the dining room. Everyone else in attendance is already seated at the long dining room table. The room is brightly lit from the wall of windows facing the lawn and the beach beyond that, the water blurring the horizon line.
Logan sits at the head of the table, where he’s huddling with Frank and Gerri—wouldn’t be a weekend holiday without the COO and the General Counsel, naturally—and Caroline sits at the opposite end, where she’s alternating between fussing over Siobhan and Roman, in her usual manner that is somehow both smothering and cold. Like an avalanche, Kendall had said once, chuckling darkly. You can’t tell which way is up and the air freezes in your lungs.
The scene has a painting-perfect look to it, everything from the walls to the tablecloth and dishes to clothes, white and beige and light blue, khaki and linen and china.
“Kendall,” Caroline greets her son, not standing up but opening her thin arms to him for a quick embrace.
He stoops to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mom.” Kendall greets the rest of his family quickly, patting Roman’s shoulder and giving Shiv a hug that she tries to shrug off. “Hi, Dad,” he says then, taking a couple hesitant steps forward.
Logan glances up from his conversation to give Kendall a distracted nod and says, “Hi, Ken.”
“Stewart,” Caroline greets Stewy then, fixing him with her piercing gaze. “I trust your travels were pleasant.”
Stewy nods, sliding into one of the remaining chairs, across from Connor and someone he doesn’t recognize, a young woman who must be about the same age as him and Kendall.
“Yes, ma’am,” Stewy answers cheerily.
“Kendall,” Connor says, nodding to the girl next to him. “This is my girlfriend Ellie.”
Both Kendall and Stewy turn to look at her, and lean forward to take turns shaking her hand. She’s got to be twenty-one, twenty-two, at most. She’s tall, with long dark blond hair.
“So what do you do, Ellie?” Kendall asks her, slipping into what Stewy recognizes as a flirty tone and body language, but figures Kendall might not even be consciously aware he’s doing it. It’s just how he talks to girls. Leaning forward slightly, saying their names a lot. Asking shallow questions, blandly smiling and nodding while he waits for his turn to talk.
Ellie, it turns out, is an art student at BU. Same neck of the woods. He and Kendall cross the river to party sometimes. “Oh shit, do you know, uh…” Stewy snaps his fingers, trying to recall the name of some business administration jock who’s spent the past year trying to fake-it-til-he-makes-it in a friendship with Kendall. It’s been depressingly successful.
“Oh yeah,” Kendall says, catching onto Stewy’s direction. “Matt Balhorn? He plays baseball.”
“Yeah, I know Matt,” Ellie says, her smile brightening.
“You do? Wow, small world.” Kendall grins, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “We should all hang out sometime.”
“Okay,” Connor interrupts. “Come on. Don’t be an asshole.”
Kendall laughs, meanly and full of false surprise, leaning back. “I’m not being an asshole, Con, I’m just asking her where she fucking goes to school.”
“Oh yeah you’re just asking–”
“Connor, it’s fine,” Ellie says, seeming unbothered, if a bit embarrassed. “Don’t be like this.”
“Boys,” Caroline says airily from the end of the table. “It’s lunch.”
“It’s lunch, Connor,” Kendall repeats, shit-eating grin stretched across his face.
Over lunch, a salad course followed by some flaky white fish, grilled to a perfect crisp (it’s all fucking delicious, and Stewy ooh’s and ahh’s his delight through every bite), Kendall turns his attention to the tennis tournament. He has a notepad and a pen beside his plate, and in between bites, he starts preparing the bracket.
“Who’s gonna play? Me, Stew, Dad, Rome, Con, Shiv. Frank?” He glances toward the business end of the table, and Frank nods, says, “If you need me to even out the bracket.” Kendall scribbles down their names. “We need one more. Ellie, you gonna play? You have to play.”
He grins at her again, and while she considers, Connor leans into her ear to whisper, “You don’t have to play.”
“I’ll play,” she says.
“Okay, that’s eight,” Kendall says, and starts filling in the bracket.
“You shouldn’t get to make the bracket if you’re playing,” Roman pipes up, standing up from his seat to peer over the table. “No, I’m playing you first? You always make me play you.”
“Who’d you rather play? Shiv? Shiv’s playing Dad.”
Logan glances up at his mention, then winks at his daughter. “You and me, Pinkie. Show me what you’ve been learning in your lessons.”
“He’s gonna let her win!” Roman protests.
Shiv rolls her eyes. “When has he ever let me win?”
“Is there, um…” Ellie begins. “What does the winner get?”
“Nothing,” Connor says blandly.
“It’s– it’s not nothing, Connor. The prize is winning. That’s enough in itself. Right, Dad?” Kendall glances toward the head of the table, but Logan’s not listening. One of his staff has bent down to say something in his ear.
He nods. “Uh huh. Well. Do you have them on the line for me now?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, and disappears from the dining room.
Logan stands up from the table, sighing heavily, and Frank and Gerri follow him out.
Kendall turns back to his bracket. Stewy watches him pencil in his name, up against Ellie in the first round. “That’s a gimme,” he mutters to Kendall, who snorts. “Why’d you put us on the same side of the bracket, dude? I’m gonna knock you out before the final round.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
After lunch, they head out to the courts to warm up. Kendall looks like he belongs out here, bouncing on his toes, stretching his hamstrings, and twirling his tennis racket between his hands. He has a lanky athletic build, and he’s competent at most things he tries, but not particularly skilled at any single sport. Stewy’s played tennis casually with Kendall in high school, and sometimes with his own father, but he’s never understood the appeal of sports. Sweating? On purpose? No thank you. Still, he has a steady hand, so he’s better than a wall when Kendall wants to hit balls around.
Kendall hits a ball that lands short of the service line, and Stewy runs forward to return it, only for Kendall to hit it deep and fast past his outstretched racket.
Stewy jogs back to the baseline, clapping a hand against his strings. “Nice fucking shot, Ken. Fuck you.”
Kendall hasn’t said it out loud but he obviously thinks this is the year. Logan wins easily every time, by the strength of his formidable serves and consistent, solid strokes, but he turned sixty earlier this year. He was never fast, but he’s even slower now.
A court attendant fetches the ball and brings it back to Stewy, who accepts it wordlessly. He puts his toe to the baseline, bounces the ball a couple times, and serves—right into the net. He might have to walk back on his promise to beat Kendall.
After they’ve warmed up, the first round begins: Kendall versus Roman on court one, and Stewy versus Ellie on court two.
Ellie is very sweet, laughing at her own incompetence, as she completely whiffs her first and second serve.
“You got this, babe,” Connor calls from the sidelines.
“That one doesn’t count!” Stewy shouts from the other side of the court. “That was your practice serve.”
He takes several steps in from the baseline, though, anticipating a rather weak serve. When she finally does get a ball over the net and into the box, he gives her a friendly return—which she hits right into the net.
She groans in amused frustration, her arms falling limp.
“Hey, not bad,” Stewy assures her. “That was a good serve. You played much?”
“No, not at all.”
“You’re doing great, then.” Smiling, he takes a few steps back to prepare for her next serve. This is gonna be a cakewalk.
On the other court, Roman and Kendall have begun to keep score, after a quick warmup. Since Stewy’s game requires very little attention—Ellie never manages to keep a rally going for more than three strokes—he’s able to keep tabs on them out the corner of his eye. Roman is seventeen and angry all the time, so it doesn’t go well. He keeps slugging the ball way too hard, out of bounds more often than in the court. Once when the ball goes sailing over Kendall’s head to bounce off the fence behind him, Kendall calls, “Out,” mildly—Stewy chuckles; he’s such a bitch—and Roman snaps, “Yeah, I think I know it was out.”
Stewy cleans up in two sets against Ellie, and she’s clearly having a harder time staying positive about it by the end, so he stops going easy on her. Get it over with.
After shaking Ellie’s hand across the net, he goes to sit on a courtside bench and watch the rest of the Roy brothers’ match. It’s not going well for Roman. He says the score, “Fifteen-forty,” then throws all five-foot-five of his body into his serve, lurching forward over the baseline with momentum. Kendall follows the serve into the net, and when Roman tries to lob the ball over his head it flies way out of bounds, bouncing into the adjacent court.
“Motherfucker,” Roman curses, and hits his racket once, then twice against the hard court surface, not hard enough to dent it.
“Hey,” Stewy quips from the sidelines. “Racket abuse.”
“Yeah, Rome,” Kendall says. “That’s a five hundred dollar fine right there.”
The brothers finish in two sets; it’s a bit closer than Stewy’s match, but still a six-two, six-oh blow-out. At the end of it, Kendall jogs to the net to shake Roman’s hand, but Roman’s already stalking off, back to the house.
“Yeah, great sportsmanship, Roman,” Kendall calls after him. Roman flicks him off over his shoulder. “Yeah, fuck you, too.”
He shoots a tired smile at Stewy. “That went better than last year,” Stewy says, and Kendall laughs.
The next round is on hold for about forty-five minutes while they wait for Logan and Frank to free themselves from whatever is going on inside. The kids hang around the courts. Connor stretches in preparation of his game against Frank and chats with Ellie, giving her critiques on her form that she politely accepts even though he’s probably worse at tennis than she is. Shiv and Caroline come outside, and Shiv’s wearing a spandex tennis skirt now, red-faced from the spring humidity and with her fair hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Caroline perches on a bench with a glass of white wine, and frets over Shiv, commenting on her freckly shoulders and cheeks, and asking if she’s applied enough sunscreen.
Kendall and Stewy stand in the shade, off to the side, bouncing balls on their rackets, and getting into a low-stakes competition over who can keep up the longest streak, while they chat.
“How old is Shiv now?” Stewy asks in an undertone, hearing her voice from across the court as she tells Caroline to stop, just stop for five minutes.
“She’s twelve,” Kendall answers, glancing over at them. “She’s been training with that coach, like, five days a week but now that she’s in the twelve to eighteen tournaments, uh…” He chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s gonna be a big superstar anymore.”
“Yeah, I mean, anyone could crush a ten year old at tennis,” Stewy says. “I could.”
“You would without remorse.”
“Hey, I was nice to Ellie,” he says, flashing a grin. “For a while. So, how long is your dad gonna make us all wait for him?”
“He’s handling this acquisition this weekend and I guess it’s getting pretty contentious. From what I’ve heard, it sounds like they’re jerking him around.” Kendall’s still bouncing a tennis ball on his racket, eyes focused on it, and he turns his racket around each time, alternating side to side. Stewy mirrors him, to keep up. “I don’t know why he gives them the time of day, keeps taking their calls all weekend.”
“Yeah, well.” Stewy hits the ball on the rim of his racket and then goes back to bouncing it. “Important deal, I guess.”
Finally, Logan and Frank come to the courts, ready to play, followed by their usual entourage.
“Siobhan,” Logan says. “You warmed up already?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s start.”
Shiv gets the first serve and they start, wasting no more time. On the second court, Connor and Frank rally back and forth a bit before they begin. Frank has a practiced, smooth backhand slice that seems to throw Connor off his rhythm every time; that will be over quickly.
The real interesting action happens on the first court. Shiv has good form, staying light on her feet, and she’s quick, but her strokes are relatively weak, especially her serve. Logan follows each serve up to the net and volleys most of each game, not having to move much while he runs Shiv around the court.
“This is gonna be rough,” Kendall mutters.
His sister’s face is beet red from all the running, and her form gets sloppier now that she’s tired. She hits a bad backhand, and Caroline calls out, “Turn your body. Don’t get lazy.”
“I am,” she yells back, and takes out her frustration by hitting her racket against the sole of one white tennis shoe.
She’s obviously embarrassed now that she’s down a few games, but she keeps her composure well—a lot better than Roman anyway, who hasn’t returned to the court to watch. However she does get upset once Logan starts soft-balling his serves.
“Don’t do that, Dad,” she says, hitting it back. “Give me a real serve.”
He does, on his next, and it’s deep to the outside corner and she can’t return it. In the end she picks a few games off him, but loses in two straight sets.
They meet at the net and exchange words for a moment; Shiv nods as she listens, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind one ear. “Good game, Siobhan,” Logan says to follow whatever words of wisdom he surely had to impart, and leans over to kiss her cheek. She goes to the bench to drink some water, and Caroline tells her she hasn’t been practicing her serve enough.
After the afternoon matches, they all go back to the house to clean up and get changed for drinks and dinner. Stewy finds his room upstairs, down the hall from Kendall’s, and showers quickly in the en suite bathroom. The house has an old-world charm to it, brick fireplaces in every bedroom and a clawfoot tub in each bathroom. When Stewy’s buttoning up his shirt, there’s a knock on the door. Too intrusive to be housekeeping. Sure enough, Kendall’s voice follows, “Stewy? Are you in there?”
“Yeah, come in,” he calls back.
Kendall opens the door, looks both ways down the hallway, and discreetly sneaks inside.
“What?” Stewy asks him, eyebrows raised. “You want a bump to get you through dinner or something?”
“I– what? No,” Kendall says. “Did you even bring anything?”
“Yeah, are you kidding?” Stewy says, going into his suitcase for it. “Your fucking family, man. Gotta pack some provisions.”
“They’ve been good today,” Kendall says cautiously, and then shakes his head when Stewy offers the little plastic baggie to him.
“Yeah, so far.” Stewy shakes some out onto the base of his thumb and sniffs it back. “Consider this insurance.”
Downstairs, white-shirted staff float around the lofty living room, carrying trays of wine glasses and appetizers. Roman snags a glass of red but takes no more than a sip or two before Caroline plucks it from his hands with a stern look.
“You let Kendall,” he protests, gesturing to him across the room. “He’s not over twenty-one, either.”
“He’s an adult,” Caroline says simply, “and you are not.”
Stewy feels buoyed and armored by the taste of coke, so he claps Kendall on the back and says, “I’m gonna schmooze,” and takes off across the room.
Schmooze he does, with a collection of higher level Royco staff and friends of the family, introducing and reintroducing himself as needed. Kendall’s his personal connection to this world, but he’s never hesitated to make additional inroads. People tend to like him. At one point, he makes Caroline laugh loudly enough that Shiv glares at him from across the room.
Logan and his inner circle are absent from cocktail hour, and as soon as they emerge—probably straight off another phone call—everyone is ushered back to the dining room for dinner.
Dinner is lobster tail. Roman asks the table if anyone knew that lobster used to be a peasant food. “They’re basically like giant bugs,” he says, picking up the mostly decorative one from the centerpiece to shove its antennae’d face into his sister’s. She pokes her fork into his leg under the table, and he swats her hand away. “They used to be total garbage food. Worthless.”
“I’ve never liked lobster,” Caroline says, peering down her nose at her plate.
Kendall exchanges a subtle glance with Stewy—a barely perceptible eyeroll that makes him laugh. “I fucking love lobster,” Stewy announces. He cracks into the tail with the little metal tool beside his plate.
“You can have mine, then,” Caroline says, and the offer does not feel particularly kind.
Nevertheless, Stewy grins and says, “Thank you, Caroline, appreciate it.”
The key to handling this family without becoming a miserable husk of a human being is to really, genuinely not care what they think of you; this is what Stewy figured out years ago. His naturally unshakeable personality helps, and so does the coke. He’s been trying to instill this lesson into Kendall, not very successfully. Kendall’s made some progress on the first step—to pretend he does not care—but he’s far from reaching true enlightenment on that front.
Barely twenty minutes into dinner, one of Logan’s aides sneaks to his side to tell him she’s got somebody on the phone. Logan nods and begins to stand up, shoving his chair backward.
Kendall, who’s been downing glasses of wine all night in a way that he probably thinks is subtle, glances up and says, “Dad, these guys are yanking you around. Making you take calls and fight for this deal all weekend? That’s bullshit. You need to take them by the balls, show them that your time is your time and you’re not gonna pick up every time they call.”
There’s a beat of silence that Stewy can feel burrowing uncomfortably under his skin. It breaks when Roman giggles, sharp and cruel.
Logan stands up from his seat, barely looking down the table, and says dismissively, “Yeah, thanks, son, but this is in the final stages. It does me no favors to be unavailable.”
With that, he leaves the room. Stewy takes a long sip of wine, so he won’t accidentally crack a joke. He feels Kendall simmering next to him for a moment, tightly wound tension, but then he takes a breath, his shoulders drop, and he asks Shiv about her tennis.
“How’s my tennis going?” she repeats, obviously seeing the distraction for what it is. “I dunno, Kendall. How’s Harvard? Is that good?”
“Sassy,” Roman mutters.
“Her tennis is…” Caroline begins to answer, and the way she trails off speaks volumes. Stewy nearly chokes on his wine; things are about to get more entertaining. She reaches to pat Shiv’s arm as she says, “We used to hope you’d play in the Open one day, dear, but I think you’re not on track for that anymore.”
“And this was your last chance, too, Mom,” Roman says, clicking his tongue ruefully. “Although, I don’t know, I guess Dad could still have kids.”
“Roman,” Connor scolds, with all the energy of a passionless substitute teacher.
“I guess he could,” Caroline says, coldly diplomatic. “And, Siobhan, I’m not saying I’m disappointed. Only you were so good for your age, and you seem to have… plateaued.”
“I really don’t wanna talk about tennis right now,” Shiv snaps, crossing her arms as she leans back in her chair.
“Don’t cross your arms at the dinner table, dear,” Caroline says, nudging at her again. “Sit up, and do eat your lobster. It’ll get cold.”
Shiv gets up from the table and says, “I’m not hungry,” as she storms off, out of the dining room.
Caroline looks at Kendall. “Well, you see what you’ve done?”
Kendall blinks once. “Me?”
“You brought up tennis and you know she’s been sensitive about that recently.”
“I… Mom,” Kendall stammers.
“Yeah, that was rude, Kendall,” Roman says, grinning.
“Mom, you were pushing her really hard,” Kendall says. “I mean, basically saying it’s too late for her? I mean, she’s twelve years old, that’s… a lot of pressure.”
Caroline shrugs. “If she had what it takes, it would’ve shown by now.”
“Well, that is true,” Stewy says, swirling his wine glass. When Kendall shoots him a withering look he says, “What?”
“Besides, it doesn’t matter if Siobhan’s not going to be a tennis player,” Caroline says. “She has plenty of other gifts.”
“Name one,” Roman challenges, smirking, and Caroline just laughs.
“Oh, you boys.”
Roman looks back to Kendall, eyebrows raised. “See? She can’t even name one.”
Logan never returns to the dinner table, at least not by the time everyone else finishes eating. While the staff clears dishes, the kids are set loose from family obligations to entertain themselves for the rest of the evening. Stewy follows Kendall to the kitchen where they snag a couple bottles of champagne, and then upstairs into a lounge with dark-wood-paneled walls, where they find Connor and Ellie stationed in front of an open window, sharing a joint.
“Oh, this is where the party is,” Stewy says, throwing himself onto the ornate couch in front of the fireplace. It’s incredibly uncomfortable. These places always have the worst furniture. “Wanna pass me that?”
“I’ll roll you one,” Connor says.
“Oh, thank you, very generous.”
“You can share with Kendall.”
“What about me?” Roman asks, bursting into the room.
Stewy lifts his head off the couch. “Mummy’s gonna be okay if you smoke, dude?”
“Yeah, fuck you.” Roman sits down on his legs—which really makes him feel like one of the brothers, and he does not particularly love the feeling—and reaches for the bottle of champagne. “Give me that.”
Stewy kicks his legs free before he hands the champagne to Roman, who starts peeling the tin foil off the neck. “So, how’s sleep-away camp?” he asks him.
Kendall, who’s hovering by the window, overseeing Connor’s joint-rolling, snorts a laugh.
“Uh, military academy?” Roman says. He tries to pull the cork with his teeth, which obviously does not work. “It’s, uh, yeah, you know, it’s hell on earth. But Dad figured out a way to outsource beating my ass, so… Jolly for him.” Morphing into an English accent, he raises the champagne bottle in a mock toast.
Stewy barks a laugh. “They really beat you up? Those twerps?”
“Yeah, they really do. Regularly. I can’t fucking open this, can somebody–”
Kendall snatches the bottle from his hands and pops the cork in a practiced motion that Stewy begrudgingly finds attractive. He takes the first swig too, before passing the bottle to Stewy. After he takes a drink, he hands it to Roman, who mutters, “Great, backwash party.”
“So, Ellie,” Kendall says, taking a puff before he passes the joint to Stewy. “Are you having a good time? I can’t believe Connor brings his girlfriends to this shit.”
“You brought your boyfriend,” Roman points out, and Stewy’s pulse jumps a little, even though he knows it’s just a snotty joke. He considers whether he can subtly sneak back to his room for another bump. He’s not sharing with Kendall’s entire family.
“No, it’s great,” Ellie insists. “I mean, this place is… really incredible.”
“Yeah, no, it’s great,” Kendall agrees, smiling back at her. “The place is great.”
“Kendall,” Connor says in a long-suffering tone.
“What, Connor?” Kendall snaps back, a little belligerent. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Just… take a step back,” he says, gesturing with one open palm.
“What, am I…” Kendall glances between Connor and Ellie, huddled around the window. “You think I’m gonna steal your girlfriend again, or something?”
“Again?” Ellie repeats, with a little laugh. “What’s the story there?”
“We’re not talking about this,” Connor says, and he tries to shepherd Ellie out of there with a hand on the small of her back. “Ellie…”
Before they can get out of the room, Shiv crashes their party. The door swings open and she jumps over the back of the couch. “Move over.”
“Oh, the little princess deigns to join us,” Roman says, holding the champagne out of her reaching grasp. She tries to kick him in the balls and he squeals, dodging it. “Fine, fine, Jesus. Have some.”
“Just a little,” Kendall says sternly, and she takes a long few gulps. “Okay, that’s enough. Shiv. Come on.”
She stops drinking, grimacing. “God, that’s awful.”
Stewy laughs. He’s crammed onto one end of the couch now, taken over by Roys. “We should’ve stolen some cheaper shit. Not the most discerning of palates in the room.”
“You are so fucking annoying,” Shiv says to him, which—fair.
“Hey, Shiv,” Kendall says, moving over to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You okay? Mom was…”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says. “No thanks to you. You always let her pick on me.”
“I, actually, after you left, I–”
“Oh, after I left,” she says, eyes going wide, mockingly. “That’s a great help.”
“You let her get to you too much,” Kendall says, which sucks some of the air out of the room. Roman visibly winces.
“I do not,” she says, her pale eyes clearly starting to brim with defensive tears. “You have no idea what she’s–”
“I have no idea? Tell me more about my own parents, Shiv, I’m really curious.”
“Kendall,” Connor says again, sighing out a puff of smoke. “Come on, man. Chill.”
“Well, I can tell you Dad’s cheating on Mom,” Shiv says brazenly. “Like, definitely.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence—Stewy doesn’t even want to breathe in case he starts laughing and the Roy kids all kill him and bury his body on the beach—before Kendall stutters out, “With– with who?” at the same time Connor says, “No, he’s not,” and Roman says, “You don’t know shit.”
Shiv rounds on Connor, laughing meanly at him. “He cheated on your mom, Connor. Are you that stupid to think he wouldn’t do it again?”
“Shiv, come on,” Kendall says, leaning forward. “Just because he–”
“No, shut up, I know what I’m talking about,” she insists, a little hysterical. “I’m the only one who still lives with them so don’t tell me I don’t know.”
Roman nods slowly, letting out a breath through his lips. “Sucks to be you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll send you to boarding school.”
“Fuck you guys,” she says, eyes still wet, and she takes another drink.
“I don’t think this is…” Connor chuckles nervously, looking at Shiv. “Should she be…?”
“She’s fine,” Roman says. “Drink, drink, drink.”
Shiv punches his arm but keeps drinking.
“Do you see the way she treats me?” Roman says, shoving her back.
“Okay, Shiv, for real, take it easy,” Kendall says. “You’re, like, tiny, and you don’t–”
“They can just pump my stomach, right, Kendall?” she says, smirking.
After a beat, Stewy laughs. He can’t help it. He would buy season tickets to see Kendall’s baby sister give him shit.
“Ice cold,” Roman says, and bumps knuckles with his sister.
“Yeah, well, take it from me, that is super unpleasant and you don’t want that,” Kendall says, serious as ever. He gets up from the coffee table, takes the joint from Stewy, and wanders over to the window to smoke more, looking out over the lawn, and the dark shore beyond.
They hang out for another hour or so, until they finish both bottles of champagne. Shiv’s starting to fall asleep, taking up most of the couch, Roman crammed on the other end by her feet. Stewy’s moved to the floor, next to Kendall, and Connor and Ellie each take an armchair on either side of the fireplace. Kendall keeps trying to make the conversation about the ongoing acquisition deal because he’s a total drag, but Roman and Connor help steer the conversation toward reminiscing and friendly arguments to entertain the two non-Roys in the room.
“This place we’ve had since my mom was in the picture,” Connor’s saying, “and this was before your time, when we bought it, and it really– it needed some updates.”
“Oh, really? It was a real dump?” Stewy asks, smirking.
“Yeah, the windows were so old, drafty. My mom ripped those out and replaced them all first thing.”
“Fascinating,” Roman says. “Can we get more booze? If I have to listen to Connor talk?”
“No, we got a big day tomorrow,” Kendall says, and rolls his head over to shoot Stewy a hard-to-read look.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Ellie asks.
“Nothing, Kendall’s just got a hard-on for this stupid fucking tennis tournament,” Roman says. “And I’m already disqualified so there’s no reason to not be hungover tomorrow.”
“I think this is your year, Ken,” Connor says, and it sounds suspiciously sincere.
Kendall must think the same, because he stares at him for a moment before he says, “Uh, yeah, I feel good about it. Thanks. Well. Who’s gonna get Shiv to bed?”
“I’m not asleep,” she mumbles, eyes still closed, her cheek pressed to the cushions.
“Go to bed,” Kendall says. “Go on. Drink some water, too. Mom’ll kill us if you’re hungover.”
“She’ll kill me,” Shiv says and drags herself up and to her feet. “I didn’t even drink that much. Goodnight.”
“Okay, goodnight. Are you good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She waves to them over her shoulder as she leaves the room.
“I worry about her,” Roman says before she’s out of earshot. She flips him off.
Kendall follows Stewy all the way back to his bedroom which leaves his skin itching. There’s no one else in the hallway with them, so they slip into his room and close the door behind them.
“So…” Stewy says, turning to look at him. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah, can I have some of that…?” He makes an easy-to-follow gesture.
“Dude.” Stewy laughs a little. “Thought we had a big day tomorrow.”
“Just a little,” Kendall says.
“Right before bed?” Stewy turns away to go through his bag. “Fine. Whatever. This is why you invite me here anyway, right?”
Kendall does a line off the top of the dresser, then falls back onto Stewy’s bed, arms spread wide. “God, my fucking family.”
“Yeah,” Stewy says, laughing. He untucks his shirt and crawls into bed next to him. “That’s what I’ve been saying, dude.”
Kendall’s lying with one arm over his eyes, knees bent over one edge of the bed, his body long and lean. Stewy shifts closer to him, before running one hand over his chest down to his belt.
Kendall takes in a sharp breath, and catches Stewy’s wrist. “Come on, man. Not here.”
Stewy freezes, slowly taking in the words. Not ‘not now,’ but ‘not here.’ He withdraws his hand and sits up. “Get out of my room, then. What are you still doing here?”
Kendall sits up, says, “Fine,” and leaves the room. (Calls his bluff, maybe.) Stewy lets him go.
No one’s hungover in the morning. They sit around the dining room table and are served coffee and quiche and orange slices. None of the kids let slip what they did last night, but Roman theatrically winks and says he “Turned in early,” so it’s obvious they got up to something. Caroline doesn’t ask for details.
After breakfast, Shiv, Roman, Connor and Ellie plan to go to the beach. It’s too cool and windy to swim, but they’ll walk around and sit in the sand or some shit. Regardless, they don’t have to keep playing tennis. Stewy’s stuck warming up against and then playing against Kendall. On one hand, he needs to give this his all to keep his pride intact, but on the other, he wants to let Kendall win so he can be done with this bullshit.
“Should we get started now?” Kendall asks as they’re finishing breakfast. “I can play Stew, and then Dad and Frank can play before lunch, and then the final round in the afternoon?”
No one says anything, forks and knives clinking against china.
“Yeah, whatever,” Shiv says.
“Dad, does that work for you?”
Logan glances up from the other end of the table, looking a little dazed as he always does when he’s directly addressed by one of his children, interrupting his very important train of thought. “Yeah, that should be fine,” he says distantly. “If anything comes up, we can bump it to tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, of course,” Kendall says. “Well, Stewy, should we get out there?”
Stewy knocks back the rest of his glass of orange juice. “Yeah, man, let’s do it.”
On the court, they warm up for a few minutes, rallying back and forth, before they get started. No one comes to watch them until they’ve already started. Caroline wanders out, dressed in all linens, mimosa in hand. “What’s the score, boys?”
“Thirty-all,” Kendall says, bouncing the ball at the baseline. “We’re on serve. Two-two.”
“Thrilling,” she says without passion, settling on a bench.
It continues on serve for a while, before Kendall breaks four-three. Kendall’s game seems better than yesterday, now that he’s up against a more evenly-matched player. When they start the second set, Logan and Frank come to the courts, to start their match. The very presence of Logan, even if he’s paying no attention at all to his son, immediately impacts how Kendall plays. He starts hitting the ball harder, which means his aim is worse, and he hits the net more often, or sends it outside the court.
Stewy’s not surprised at all, but it is frustrating. He wanted to get this over with so he could go take a shower and change into non-athletic clothes, and now they’re neck-and-neck again. The next time they switch sides, Stewy stops him by the net and says, “Just relax, okay? You’re getting in your head.”
Kendall seems confused, then defensive. “Why’re you giving your opponent advice? Some mind games, Stewy.”
“Yeah, I’m trying to psych you out,” Stewy says sarcastically, waving his hands. “Ooh, scary. I’m gonna win it all and then Daddy will love me the most.”
He keeps walking back to the baseline to serve. The thing is, if only Ken didn’t try so hard, he’d do a lot better.
Stewy still loses in the end, in straight sets—mercifully. He shakes Kendall’s hand at the net, and Kendall pulls him into a sweaty half-hug, patting his back. Then they chug some water and hang around to watch the rest of Logan and Frank’s match. Frank plays old-school, serve and volley, but Logan’s is a game of strength. He stays on the baseline, not moving any more than he has to, and slugging it back. The strategy works for him; he never loses his serve, and before long he has a break up, then two.
Frank laughs, tired and friendly, when he meets Logan at the net. “Good match as always. One of these days I’ll get you, old man.”
“Think you can take him?” Stewy asks now that the final round is officially set—confirming what everyone already suspected: father versus son.
“This is my year,” he says, then smiles when Logan approaches them on the sideline. “Good match, Dad. Looking forward to playing you later.”
Before lunch, Stewy convinces Kendall to go the beach and meet up with his siblings. The boardwalk takes them through the grasses, and then they lose their shoes to walk through the sun-warmed sand.
“Hey, bro,” Roman says when they catch up. His pants are rolled to his knee, hair wind-tousled. “What’s the latest?”
“Me and Dad in the final round,” Kendall says.
Roman groans. “Goddamn it. Stewy, you let him beat you, you piece of shit.” He kicks his heel through the shallow water, splashing in Stewy’s direction.
“Yeah, like I’d risk having to play against Logan,” Stewy says, laughing and splashing back at him. The water is cold and clear. “What’s the best outcome there? I lose and have to kiss his ass. Or I win and, uh… ” He makes a slicing motion across his throat, and the Roy kids laugh, knowingly.
“Yeah, Kendall’s the only one who can get away with beating him,” Connor says, and Kendall rolls his eyes.
“That’s not true.”
Following their walk on the beach, and a contentious incident where Roman tries to drag Shiv into the water, they return to the house for lunch. It’s a buffet with sandwiches and salads, and once everyone’s through the line and seated on wicker furniture on the veranda, Logan announces that the acquisition has been finalized.
There’s a brief round of applause, and Kendall starts pushing for details: what the final number was, when the wheels will get turning on this new venture. Logan brushes him off. “We’ll talk later,” he says. “Eat.”
Everyone goes to the court to watch the final match. It’s a sunny afternoon, dry and not too hot, and Kendall wears sunglasses, both him and his dad dressed in white. They rally for a minute to warm up, long, arcing crosscourt shots, before meeting at the net. Kendall spins his racket, and Logan gets the first serve.
The first set keeps them evenly matched for a while. Kendall has a tough time with Logan’s serve, but when it’s his turn, he plays smart, moving the ball around the court until the older man tires out. Kendall’s possibly too generous with his line calls. From where Stewy’s sitting, several of Logan’s serves look deep. Maybe he’s afraid to make too many ‘out’ calls, or maybe he’s too focused on returning what’s given to him to notice.
After a particularly good point, during which Kendall kept hitting crosscourt to Logan’s forehand before sending it suddenly to the opposite corner, Stewy can’t help but pump his fist in celebration. “Nice one, Ken.”
Caroline claps politely, while Kendall wipes his forehead on his wrist band and waits for the court attendant to toss him another ball.
Kendall manages a victory in the first set, six to four, but things take a turn after that.
“If they split sets, what happens?” Shiv asks. “Tiebreak?”
“Yeah, tiebreak,” Stewy confirms. And he knows Kendall’s biggest weak spot is his mental game so there’s no way he’s going to fare well if it comes to that.
As soon as Kendall falls behind, it keeps getting worse. He loses whatever edge he had earlier, and keeps hitting the ball right to his dad instead of making him move around the court. He insists on playing Logan’s game of strength, rather than playing to his weaknesses. Stewy’s practically pulling his hair out by the end of the second set, which Logan wins, six-three.
During the short changeover break, Kendall chugs water, mops his forehead with a towel. Avoids eye contact with anyone sitting on the benches, watching. Typical.
Kendall bounces on his toes, a few paces behind the baseline—in position for Logan’s killer serve—and he gets it back over the net, but barely, lunging to reach it. Then he’s practically off the court, and Logan hits it back deep to the other side, sending him running again. Kendall stays in it for a while but he’s on defense, never getting control of the point. It’s not much better when he serves because he keeps hitting it hard, back to the baseline, so: right to Logan. If he threw in a shorter shot he could trip him up, but he doesn’t, just keeps hitting the ball with all his strength.
Because he’s working so hard, he gets sloppy, starts making mistakes. It’s close in the end, but Logan serves it out to win the tiebreak, seven to five.
There’s a polite round of applause from the gathered family and family-friends and family-business-associates; Roman and Shiv exchange a look, eyebrows raised.
Kendall meets his dad at the net, to shake his hand. Logan claps a hand to his shoulder. “Good match, son. You almost had me, but you know what they say. Youth and enthusiasm are no match for old age and treachery.”
With a chuckle, Logan leaves the court, grabbing a towel on the way to sling over the reddened back of his neck. Most of the crowd, the adults—real adults, anyway—follow him inside, abuzz with talk of dinner plans. “You’ll get him next year, Ken,” Connor calls, as he heads off the court and back to the house, Ellie on his arm. Kendall’s brother and sister, and Stewy stay behind for a moment, sitting on the benches.
Kendall packs his racket and tennis balls away in his huge, black Wilson bag. “You know, I don’t really play that much,” he says, in his usual monotone. “Like, what would you say, Stew? Once a month? At most?”
“You’re all excuses, Kendall,” Roman says, tut-tutting with faux disapproval. “Talked a big game all weekend and now you’re, oh, oh, I– I don’t even play tennis.”
“I mean, I don’t really–”
“Oh come on, you’re fucking obsessed with this tournament,” Shiv says, rolling her eyes. “You’re the only one who even cares anymore, Dad barely gives a shit now that I’ve ‘plateaued.’”
“He’s hosted this tournament since before you were even born, Shiv. This isn’t all about you.”
“And he’s won every year,” Roman says, hopping up from the bench. “It’s rigged. Give it up.”
Kendall looks to Stewy, eyes wide, maybe searching for some backup. Stewy shrugs. “I dunno. You almost had him. You kept hitting right to him, though. You have to run the old bastard around.”
“I know that.”
“Then why weren’t you doing it?”
Kendall doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. He slings the bag over his shoulder. “I have to shower before dinner.”
He heads back toward the house, and his siblings scramble after him. “You’re a fucking masochist,” Roman tells him. “But I love watching you run face-first into a wall every Memorial Day weekend so keep it up.”
Stewy sits on the bench for a moment, watching as one of the attendants scurries around the deserted court, picking up stray tennis balls. This fucking family. He sighs and stands up, to follow them back to the house.