Chapter Text
If Roman had eaten anything this morning, he’s sure he would have thrown it all up over the side of the boat by now. He’s leaning over the railing, arm outstretched, thumb and pointer finger pinching closer and closer together as the city shrinks gradually in his eyeline. The spray of sea foam flicking onto his face feels almost pleasant.
Fuck you… fuck you… and most definitely, fuck you. Memories from this past week doesn’t make him flinch so much anymore, not when he’s this far out from the city. Failed audition, cursing out his agent, red carpet premiere for a C-list movie he had most of his scenes cut for. Typical week of making a fool of himself. The churning of the boat’s engine from under his feet just slightly blocks out Tom and Kendall’s voices, who are irritating him for different reasons.
“Hey.” Shiv punches Roman lightly in the arm as she approaches, leaning against the railing next to him. Her red hair flaps only slightly in the wind, held in place by a wide-brimmed hat that hides half her face.
Roman picks at a bit of fraying wood off the railing and flicks it into the water below. “Tom must be really fucking annoying right now if you’d rather be standing here talking to me.”
“Um… Tom’s going to write a book,” Shiv says, and Roman thinks she’s holding back a laugh, but he can’t really tell with the stupid hat she has on.
“Oooh, another Great American Novel from the Lord of Half-Finished Fuckery.” Roman glances back at his brother-in-law, now reclining in a deck chair with his iPod in. How dare he look so calm and content. “What’s this one about, another shitty man who hates his shitty wife and is secretly fuckin’… Batman or something?”
“Like you know how to read,” Shiv snips. Roman’s hit a nerve, and he smirks despite himself.
The city’s just a dot on the horizon now. Roman turns to lean against the railing, allowing the wind to bat his hair back. He doesn’t feel like throwing up so much anymore. Kendall’s pacing back and forth near the front of the boat, staring into his phone. Roman can’t make out what he’s saying over the rumble of the engine, but he can tell that Kendall’s talking in that weird, happy voice he puts on in front of his kids. “It’s been like half an hour. What is his problem?”
Kendall holds his phone up and pans it around his view of the boat, stopping on his younger siblings. Shiv waves. Roman flips the camera off. Kendall puts the phone down, shooting Roman one of his what the hell, man looks. Roman grins.
“There he comes. All hail the prodigal son,” he calls out as Kendall approaches. “So kind of you to finally join us childless peasants.”
Kendall slides his phone into his pocket. “Crazy idea, Rome, but maybe, uh - don’t flip off my 10 and 12 year-old.”
“Yeah, yeah. Great! Whole gang’s back together again.” Roman pats his sister and brother on either side of him in two clumsy side hugs. “I thought we should pre-debrief a little. You know, before we’re all in the nuthouse together. Kenny might have a little experience, but -”
“It’s not a nuthouse,” Kendall starts, almost defensively. “I was in -” He realises the mistake he’s about to make. “Recovery. I’ve been in recovery, and -”
“He admits it!” Roman jabs a finger at Kendall triumphantly, who makes a face and swats him away. “Ken’s been in the nuthouse. Whatever. So we know this isn’t just a… cute little family holiday where we all hold hands and sing kumbaya, right?”
Shiv sighs. “What are you on about?”
“Did you guys not realise that we’re on the ‘family therapy’ package? Did you even read the damn programme?”
Shiv and Kendall exchange a look. She shrugs. It’s not often, but Roman detests the times when he has to be the mature one of the group. “Wow. And Dad thinks I’m the dumb one of the family.”
“We have jobs,” Shiv says, so matter-of-factly in a way that has to be condescending.
Roman snorts. “Tough shit Siobhan, we all have jobs.”
“Yeah, uh, going on set to roll around and play dead for two hours of ‘work’ isn’t a job,” Kendall mutters.
For that split second, Roman feels like a kid again, stuck with that helpless, stupid little burst of angry humiliation he can never do anything about when those two gang up on him. Go away Roman, we don’t want you here Roman. But adult Roman doesn’t bite back a shit eating, lopsided grin at his big brother. “So you did watch my movie.”
Kendall doesn’t dignify that with a response. He sits on the deck chair next to Tom’s, sunglasses tucked into the crook of his collar so can squint at his phone screen. Shiv joins him.
Roman stays put, craning his neck, looking out. He’s stared at the damn programme too long the night before, he doesn’t need or want to scrutinise it again. They’re only a couple feet more to go, the pristine white roofs of the resort peaking out over the horizon. It’s big, and it’s nice, but nice in the way Dad’s newspaper buildings look nice. White, pearly tiling, symmetrically and evenly squared off glass windows on either side that glitter in the sun. Clean. Modern. He doesn’t like it.
Tom takes the earbuds out of his ear. “Oh, hey guys! What’re you looking at?”
“Fuck off, Tom!” Roman yells.
“Fuck off, Roman,” Shiv hisses.
“Okay!” Tom pops the earbuds back in, unnaturally cheery.
Kendall frowns. “What the hell is he on?”
“He’s going to write a book,” Shiv mumbles.
“Ooh, Kenny almost discovered a new drug he hasn’t tried before,” Roman mocks. “Keep it in your pants, freak.”
Shiv shakes her head, looking back up at Roman. “Okay, so Dad’s sending us all to therapy. What’s your point?”
Kendall has a finger in the air, eyes still trained on his phone. “Um, actually. It’s more of a… ‘relationship renewal, group optimisation and personal wellness course’.”
Roman can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Yeah, so, therapy!” He chokes back a humourless laugh. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you assholes about - what the hell are we going to do about it?”
Shiv’s eyebrows pinch together. “We?”
Kendall’s already looking out towards the island. “Where the fuck is Dad?”
Roman finds himself not knowing what to do with his hands. He waves them about, shrugging. “I dunno… I thought, we could game plan for the week, or whatever. Like are we taking this seriously, are we buying that this isn’t another one of Dad’s manipulation tactics - or are we all going to just feed them some bullshit and get through the week lying and throwing back mimosas trying to block out all the crap?” He’s finding it harder to keep eye contact. “I want to be on the same page. I don’t know. I hate you two. I want you both dead.”
Shiv has that sort of half-disbelief-half-pitying look on her face, the same face she’d use to put on when she saw a thunderstorm from Dad about to come rolling either of her brothers’ way. Pity, amusement - odd relief? Roman’s always hated that look. “Oh. I think I get it,” she says. “Roman’s terrified. He’s terrified of the prospect of having to talk about his feewings, and he can’t just - hide under the covers with mommy, which is why he’s been mouthing off the whole day.”
That weird feeling prickles at him again. Roman’s about to say something, but Kendall beats him to it without even realising. “Shiv, when isn’t he mouthing off…” He trails off, still fixated on the dumb programme on his screen.
“Yeah, yeah I get it, Roman’s not invited to the big gross Roy orgy. Why don’t you two just go off and fuck each other already?” he says, a little too forcefully.
Tom has his earbuds out again. “I’d really like to finish my audiobook before we hit the shore.”
Roman gestures at Tom dismissively without looking at him. “Okay? Then finish your dumb audiobook. I don’t care.”
Tom shoots him the diplomatic smile of a schoolteacher, and pops his earbuds back in.
The resort’s been pumped so full of a flowery perfume that they’re now close enough for it to waft all the way over. Roman wrinkles his nose at the smell, but it’s not entirely unpleasant. The closer they get, the less grossly clinical it looks. It’s colourful, at least. Flower stands, garlands, a handful of staff in bright summer shirts waiting to receive them as they approach the shore. One of the guys is freakishly tall, holding a clipboard at a height Roman’s guessing would be just where his own head would reach.
Roman goes to sit on the edge of the deck chair with his siblings. They’re all sharing it now, like three oversized children sitting on the curb, waiting for Mom and Dad to come pick them up after Sunday school. Shiv holds out a hand to Roman, in some manner of weird truce - he’s not sure if he’s meant to take it, shake it, or whatever, so he just flicks her away with a scowl.
Kendall’s the only one to apologise. He’s put his phone down, finally. “Sorry,” he says, to no one in particular.
“Do you guys remember that one family trip we took, uh - water pistols in Bali?” Roman asks. “When we were all going to squirt Dad in the canopy and you two fucks left me for dead?”
“I can’t recall,” Kendall says coolly.
“Mm, just like you can’t recall dog pound,” Roman muses humourlessly. “Look, I’m not going to be the asshole stuck standing there with his limp dick in his hand while you two are off being Dad’s special little babies of the week. So what are we going to do? Are we all taking this wellness trip with the crazies for real, or…?”
“I’m always open to bettering myself,” Kendall says, which isn’t so much a reply than it is just disgustingly self-important, and Roman gets the sudden urge to shove him over the side of the boat before they ever make it to shore.
Shiv isn’t listening. She’s got a hand over her brow, squinting against the sun. “Guess who still isn’t here.”
Roman blows a raspberry, pushing a stray hair out of his face. “Who fucking knows.”
“For someone who insisted we all come for family therapy he sure is taking every caveat to spend as little time with his kids as possible,” she continues.
“It’s not therapy,” Kendall insists. “It’s a holiday. And it’s fine. We all know Dad’s not here taking the boat with us because of me. Can’t stand my fucking face, you know.”
“Oh, yeah, just like how the rest of the world also revolves around you, Ken.” Shiv rolls her eyes, and there’s a childish puff of relief in Roman as he feels the constantly fidgeting triangle of petty alliance return one of its ends back onto him.
“We’re getting ready to dock,” some guy in a uniform calls out from the engine room or whatever it’s called. Fuckssake, Roman’s almost forgotten that there’d been another person in there.
Shiv’s leaning over the front of the boat now, shouting to make her voice heard over the sound of the sea churning around them. Roman can see her frown under her stupid wide-brimmed hat. “Is that - is that Greg?”
“Who the fuck is Craig!” Roman shouts back.
—————
Greg, as it turns out, is their babysitter for the week, and maybe their ‘therapist’, and also Uncle Ewan’s kid. Roman can’t remember the last time he’d seen Greg in person - someone’s birthday, or wedding, or something? Roman’s never been great with family events, and they almost never end pleasantly for anyone, but the Roys sure do love having a ton of them.
Greg’s not somebody that’s easy to miss. He’s tall, and gangly, and bumbling on about something meaningless in a way that’s amusing only Tom - Tom, who’s observing him with all the amused curiosity of one staring down the eyes of a bug in a petri dish. Fringe Roy family member means Tom’s not the lowest on the rung anymore, at least for this week.
They're greeted by Greg’s normal-sized colleagues, paper umbrella topped mimosas and luggage trolleys at hand. Kendall makes a big show of going for sparkling water like it’s supposed to mean something.
“Would they be serving alcohol at a recovery programme?” Kendall mutters, all barely concealed triumph, in that annoying I told you so voice that Roman’s been hearing his whole life.
“You are fucking delusional.” Roman grabs the mimosa that would’ve been Kendall’s off the tray, sipping from both straws at the same time. The resort staff holding the tray has the dignity to not look too judgementally at him. The hazy, syrupy buzz that kicks in does help to make the walk into the resort go faster.
“So, Greg!” Tom starts, earbuds swinging around his neck. “What exactly do you do here?”
“Um - well, I’m kind of a wellness consultant?” Greg doesn’t sound sure of it himself.
Kendall’s nodding along, like he gives a shit. “Like a life coach.”
“Sort of? It’s only been my first month. I uh - I mediate conversations, I guess.”
Roman finishes off the rest of his and Kendall’s drinks. “And this is something you go to school for, or…?”
Shiv’s reading the programme off Kendall’s phone, the mimosa in her other hand still untouched. “Delivering personalised wellness consultations and tailoring wellbeing pathways to support relaxation, mindfulness, and…” She scrunches up her nose in an expression that’s bordering on disbelief and disgust, something Roman’s been at the receiving end of since they were in diapers. “Sustainable… self-care practices.”
Greg snaps his fingers eagerly. “That’s it!”
“That doesn’t…” Shiv takes the first swig of her mimosa. “What does that even mean?”
Roman turns to swipe another glass off the tray, but there isn’t any left. “So you went to school for it and everything?”
“Not… not technically,” Greg shrugs. “It’s not… We’re really told to not ham up the - er… Legality of it all.”
Roman can’t help but choke out a laugh at that ridiculous response. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Greg thinks for a bit, bites his bottom lip in a way that betrays every inch of discomfort he’s feeling in that moment. “Well, um, I’m not a licensed therapist, or anything. I’m really more of a wellness - life - uh - wellness coach.”
Kendall looks weirdly liberated. He still hasn’t touched his sparkling water. “You see? It’s not therapy.”
“Yeah, Ken, but that’s worse.” Shiv puts a hand on Kendall’s shoulder, like she’s talking to a little kid. Roman almost feels insulted on Kendall’s behalf. “You see how that’s worse, right?”
Kendall shrugs Shiv’s hand off, looking past his sister and staring straight at her husband. Tom pretends not to notice. “Hey, uh, Greg, you guys do marriage counselling as well?”
“We’re actually not supposed to call it counselling, but…”
It’s such a base, petty swipe from Kendall, but Shiv, predictably, takes the bait. “Oh, Ken, you need a round two with Rava? You think Greg here could undo your cute little mid-life crisis?” A small, shit-eating smirk is twitching on the edge of Kendall’s lips.
“But that’s what I keep saying, I can’t,” Greg insists, “Legally speaking. I can’t. I can try… but. No promises.” The next few minutes of the walk passes in a heavy silence. Greg slows his pace so the others can keep up. Roman’s tailing near the back of the group. “I majored in zoology. So I’m not - I can’t legally say I’m a therapist. Which I’m not.”
“And I’m a movie star,” Roman finds himself muttering under his breath, and he waits for someone to undercut him, but no one does.
—————
The rooms themselves are okay. Not any kind of luxury that Roman’s not already used to. He throws his suitcase onto the plush couch on his balcony, overlooking a shimmering view of the sea and the orange-pink hues of the setting sun. The wheels of his suitcase trail bits of mud across its pristine eggshell covers.
Dad’s left one text in the family group chat. Dinner at the restaurant downstairs, 8pm. Don’t show up dressed like idiots.
Roman pops his suitcase open. What the hell does Dad even mean by that? He doesn’t know why Dad cares so much. They’re supposed to be on holiday - or therapy - one of it, neither of which is any kind of context where impressing outsiders would come into play. But he can never fully understand anything when it comes to Dad.
He throws his T-shirt to the floor and picks out a dress shirt - cuffed at the wrists, an inoffensive shade of blue. Buttons it halfway up before he’s digging for a jacket. It pinches him under the armpit as he pulls it on. He grimaces. Glances at the floor-length mirror behind him, tries to pat himself down a bit. How long ago did he get this jacket? He can already hear Dad’s little comments over the dinner table about the stupid fucking jacket, about him.
He doesn’t look that bad, he thinks. He yanks the jacket off, undoes a button on his shirt. Puffs his chest out like a bird sizing itself up before seeking a mate, trying to make himself look stronger than he really is. His hand hovers over his back pocket - he’s got a half a mind to maybe, maybe send something to Gerri, a vulgar little token of his affection to show her that he’s thinking of her, but then Dad’s face flashes through his head again and he finds himself pulling up his chat with Kendall.
hey fuckface, i need to borrow a jacket
His last text to Kendall had gone unanswered too. Six days ago - hey, you still in NY? my stupid movie’s premiering tomorrow. come with?
Roman forgot he even sent that message. It’s embarrassing and it’s pathetic. It’s pissing him off. He throws his phone onto the bed and stalks down the hallway to Kendall’s room.
“Ken.” Roman pounds at the door with a closed fist, already impatient. “Don’t be naked. Or do. I don’t care.” He waits all of two seconds before barging in.
Kendall is half dressed, headphones on, back to his unlocked door. He’s mouthing rap lyrics into a bathroom mirror, slippers squeaking around the floor in some weird pass at dancing, and Roman gets the distinct feeling that he’s intruding. He has the sudden urge to bring up the premiere text - but just as quickly decides that he doesn’t want to have this conversation right now, so he wordlessly strides over to where Kendall’s luggage is laying open on his bed.
Kendall spots him in the mirror. He doesn’t have the dignity to look even a smidge embarrassed. “Oh, hey Rome. What’re you looking for?”
“Check your phone, dickbag.” Roman rummages through his things, yanks at something that looks vaguely blue.
Kendall’s across from him now. “Hey, um -”
And then a hip flask falls onto the bed. Roman thinks now might not be the best time to take a jab at his brother’s history with sobriety, but then he’s blanking on anything else he can say, and seeing Kendall’s hands hover self-consciously over the open suitcase makes him realise that saying nothing would be much worse.
“You uh - you got soup, in this thing?” Roman’s not sure himself if it’s meant to come off as a joke.
“Wine.” To Kendall’s credit, he’s never been much of a liar. “Nothing - crazy. It’s like a diet.”
“Yeah.” Roman’s trying to be encouraging, but it just makes him feel pathetic too. “They say it’s good for the… skin?”
“Basically breakfast.”
God, Kendall can be so fucking painful sometimes. For a moment Roman thinks he should give Kendall the dignity of a diversion from the conversation, anything else to talk about - but then his mind leaps to how Ken hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge that he’d stood Roman up at his own shitty premiere when he could’ve really used a friend, and fuck, it’s definitely not worth it.
Roman’s out the door in seconds. “See you at dinner! Don’t be drunk!”
—————
Roman had turned 18 while on summer vacation at their mother’s English country estate, three days before Kendall was due back in Harvard and two before Roman was shipped back to St. Andrew’s. Ken had woke him up before the sun was up, dragging him into their mother’s car and driving it down the hill into the next suburb over, a middle-of-nowhere town where hard liquor didn’t cross the three digit margin and nobody knew who they were. He’d waited in the car as Roman marched proudly into the off-licence with his continentally of age ID, returning with an armful of hard liquor and a handful of sour candy belts. It wasn’t that Roman hadn’t drank before that day. He is a Roy. He has spent his childhood sneaking sips off the bottle from the help that he had learnt very early in life he could bully in ways he couldn’t with real adults. But Kendall had insisted on doing the silly little birthday rite of passage thing with him, so here they were. Roman was freshly 18, and Kendall was turning 21, and they were now adults in a place and time untethered from consequence.
They showed up to Roman’s birthday breakfast hours later splotchy-faced and giggling. Maybe they were making a scene. Roman couldn’t tell. The ceiling was spinning and he couldn’t hear a thing Dad was saying, but a wordless shared glance across the table at his equally graceless big brother - oddly untouchable in Dad’s shared contempt for the two of them at that moment - was enough to send them both into fits of laughter.
Kendall asks for a sparkling water again at dinner. He doesn’t even like the stuff. Roman doesn’t understand why Kendall insists on that shit, like there aren’t other non-alcoholic options available. He probably thinks it makes him look refined, because only normies drink still water, and the heir to the largest newspaper company in the state is most definitively not a normie. He is their father’s most special, most favouritest, number one boy, made alike in his image.
Then Kendall catches sight of a guest sitting at another table and swipes a gulp from Roman’s cocktail once Dad’s back is turned.
Roman picks at his food, mashing expensive cuts of fish and scallop with his fork in a way that turns it into something quite ugly and unrecognisable. Nobody comes out and asks Dad, why are we here, because nobody is expecting an answer that’s honest or not humiliating.
Tom flips through the resort brochure and makes small talk. He wants to go snorkelling or whatever. The conversation turns to politics and Dad insults Shiv’s new boss.
—————
Kendall, Shiv and Roman’s rooms are all on the twenty-seventh floor, within meters of each other’s. Dad’s on another, nicer floor, and it’s probably for the better.
They step into the elevator. Shiv stabs at the closed doors button, inches away from beating a dent into it. “He’s such a fucking piece of work!”
“The karaoke night thing sounded pretty fun,” Kendall starts.
The elevator doors close in on them. Tom had gone missing at some point, so it’s the first time since the boat that all three of them have a private audience with one another.
“Therapy karaoke…” Roman muses.
“Just karaoke,” Kendall insists, and Roman snorts.
“I don’t even have to be here, and I’m doing a favour for him just by being here, and he fucking knows that,” Shiv continues. Her hat from this afternoon’s gone, hair now pulled back in a bun, and Roman can see the beginnings of tears start to glass over in her eyes.
Kendall puts a hand on her shoulder in a way that’s meant to be comforting. “Maybe the… session’s going to be good for him.”
The lift ticks upwards. They stand in silence for a bit. Shiv brushes at her eyes with the back of her hand.
Roman can’t help himself. “You mean the therapy?”
“He’s not licensed!” Kendall snaps.
“That is not a good thing!” Shiv yells. “That is a bad fucking thing!”
The lift dings to a stop at the eleventh floor. An elderly couple in matching Aloha shirts shuffle in. Kendall offers them a polite smile, and the woman smiles back. Shiv stares determinedly out through the glass at the holidaygoers on the ground below, small as ants.
“Even if it was or wasn’t therapy,” Roman mutters. “You’re a bit of a higher pay grade than the rest of us, Ken.”
Kendall shoots a scathing glare at him. The lift dings to a stop at the sixteenth floor and the elderly couple alight.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kendall asks, as soon as the lift doors close on them.
“It means you tried to drown yourself in front of your son,” Roman says, and Kendall starts laughing in that uncomfortable, unnatural way he used to do when they were teens and he had to try discrediting some kind of accusation of misbehaviour levelled against him. Dad, Kendall broke my Gameboy. Dad, Kendall made the house smell like weed again. Dad…
“I fell asleep on a pool floatie Rome, not everything has to be like the fuckin’ - the fucking movies, you know.”
The words come out before Roman can stop them. “You saw my movie.”
It sounds like an accusation. Kendall takes a second. “What?”
“Shiv?” Roman turns to his sister. “Shiv. Did you see my movie?”
She looks just as caught off guard as Kendall does. “What are you on about?”
“Did you see my fucking movie or not, Shiv?”
She takes a breath, idly scratching the back of her neck. “Kendall and I saw it together.”
“Then?” Roman’s not sure whether to feel betrayed or ecstatic at the revelation he’s finally needled out from the two of them. Simultaneously the best friends he’s ever had, and also the worst. “Thank you? Wouldn’t kill you to say…” He puts on a bad impression of Kendall. “Uh - uh - fuckin’… good job Roman, or - I dunno, even…” Then he puts on a bad impression of Shiv. “You made a movie, Roman - that is a literal and factual thing that has happened, Roman.”
The lift ticks up to the twenty-first floor. Roman runs an exasperated hand through his hair, for the lack of something, anything, to do with his hands. “Woah! Really? Nothing? Nothing at all?”
“Dad…” Kendall begins, but Shiv has to finish it off for him.
“Dad said we’re not to encourage you,” she sounds almost apologetic on their father’s behalf. “He wants you to get a real job.”
So you two just… The thought dies on Roman’s tongue, so he shifts focus onto something else instead. “What, with the - the newspaper?” Twenty-third floor. Roman’s fingers are drumming incessantly against the side of his leg. “His actual favourite child?”
Kendall tries to be the responsible one again. “Maybe this week will be good for all of us.”
“Yeah, because you’ve got so much experience,” Roman shoots back, weakly.
“Yes.” Kendall doesn’t take it as an insult. But then he keeps going. “Maybe. And I’m the only one who’s actually started his self improvement journey, so -”
Shiv rolls her eyes. “Oh fuck off Ken, you can’t just win at therapy.”
The lift dings to a stop and the doors crank open. Roman’s the first one out. He strides down the hallway, putting on his Kendall voice again. “Uh - I’m like, in a phase of radical self-rebirth, so uh - I’m not gonna waste my mental clarity in texting you back, so uh, fuck you -” There’s a glamorously dressed young couple staring at them from the other end of the hall. Roman shouts at them. “Hey, we're all in the nuthouse together, yeah?”
“Roman,” Shiv catches up with him. “It’s not - there’s regular guests too.”
The couple hurry into their room. Roman stops at his own door, digging into Kendall’s jacket pocket for his keycard. “I don’t care, Shiv. Goodnight.”
“Love you,” Kendall offers from behind Shiv. Roman flips them both off and slips into his room.