Gin and Gin

The reunions of my mother's family have predominantly involved cold beaches and card games and alcohol. This one was no exception.

My grandparents had been told of one of their closest friend's death the morning of the day we arrived, so my grandma went through crying spells and my grandpa went on a bender.

"I've had too much to drink, Bugsy," he said, using his pet name for me and my mother. He put an arm around my shoulder.

"I lost my best friend in the world today," he said with new treble in his voice. He looked down at me. "You knew Sarky," he distantly said.

I did not know Sarky. I nodded.

He looked back ahead of him, eyes glassy. "But tomorrow's a new day," he said flatly. He took a slug of his gin and set it on the counter.

"C'mere, Ivy," he said, motioning to my cousin. He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed us tightly, looking down at us. "I think I have the prettiest granddaughters in the world."