Make Nice: A Novel - Hardcover

Effgen, Ryan

Hardcover

ISBN 13: 9798217208128

Verlag: Knopf, 2026

Inhaltsangabe

Sandwich meets The Wedding People in this irresistible comedy of manners as three generations of a family—a snail scientist, a soon-to-be divorcée, her teenage daughter, a hapless con man, and their feckless patriarch—descend on a ritzy Lake Michigan vacation island.

"Engaging and charming, perfect for your own summer vacation."
—Elin Hilderbrand, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Hotel Nantucket

When the Pickford siblings arrive at The Grand Hotel—a nostalgic tourist paradise of horse-drawn carriages, muddled cocktails, and white sweaters on the tennis court—they have every intention of spending the long weekend making nice. Pete, the nation’s foremost expert on gastropods (mollusks), is keen to wade around the lake in search of a rare and exciting Carthusian snail. Viv, reeling from the secret revelation that her husband is gay, is determined to put on a brave face for her daughter. And Corey, a charming, handsome grifter, has lucked into five pounds of cocaine he plans to sell to the first dumb rich guy he can find.

But when Pete falls for the alluring mother of a local kid, when Viv’s daughter gets up to teenage trouble, and when Corey finds the wealthy guests less interested in party drugs than golf clubs and waffle cones, the long weekend of family bonding veers into disaster. Why did their father bring them to this cushy island resort in the first place? And why does Corey, the biggest screw-up of them all, seem to be the only one who knows the truth? As secrets spill, old flames are fanned, and an innocent snail is crushed beneath the unrelenting heel of a hiking boot. In a story that is as sneakily wise as it is absurdly funny, Ryan Effgen’s debut shows how sometimes the people who bring out your worst—your family—can also be the ones to bring you out of your shell.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

RYAN EFFGEN’s fiction has appeared in Best New American Voices, Fiction Magazine, Painted Bride Quarterly, and elsewhere. He has earned creative writing fellowships from the Virginia Commission for the Arts and George Mason University. He works as an instructional designer and lives in Virginia with his wife and children.

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one

Hugs!” Viv announced before throwing her arms around Pete, smothering him in a warm, familial embrace. Her boobs mashed into the zippers of his safari vest, but so it went with hugs. Pete wasn’t a hugger, so she always gave him fair warning. She stepped back and looked him up and down. Little brother. Rosy-­cheeked and unwed, well into his thirties. The safari vest perhaps wasn’t helping in that regard, but that was Pete: Life was one big nature hike. Her gaze finally settled on the brown fedora, clean and not at all broken in. A new purchase for the trip and a bold move for Pete. She resolved not to tease him about it, and not to let their father do so either. “Weird being back here, right?”

“It is weird,” Pete said. “Familiar and strange. Like a dream.”

They’d spent much of their childhood summers on the island before their parents sold their dinky little summer home, explaining to the kids that they’d outgrown it. None of the Pickfords had been back until now. They both took in the scene. The island airport terminal was small, white, and more charming than an airport ought to be. Regular airports and their impersonal shittiness at least gave off a no-­nonsense vibe: We’re here to get a job done. This place, from the outside, looked like it might be a golf pro shop or a small café where wealthy people ordered egg-­white omelets. Out front, an American flag flapped at the top of a tall pole. A nice little breeze came from Lake Michigan.

“Did that outfit come with a compass?” Viv asked. “You wanna lead us to the hotel?”

“The hotel sends carriages, actually,” Pete said. “With a driver and everything, though I read that the horses can get you there on their own. They know the island like the back of their, well, I suppose, hoof.”

Viv punched his shoulder. “Back of their hoof. Classic Pete.” How was this adorable, brilliant dope alone? A loss for any number of women out there who surely would be as fond of him as he was of snails, sea slugs, and other moist, aquatic things. He was a scientist. Who wouldn’t want to date a scientist? For a time, Viv worried he’d come to regret being so consumed by his work, the double career of slogging around in the muck, panning for specimens, then getting cleaned up and mentoring grad students. But now she had to envy him. A single duffel bag and no one to worry about.

She tilted her head back. “My god, I forgot about the air here. I’m retroactively grossed out by how Chicago smells.”

“It’s the lack of cars.” Pete took a deep, nostril-­flaring breath. “And the negative ions from the lake.”

“The what, now?”

Pete shifted to explanation mode, as if there were a whiteboard behind him. “The force of the crashing waves produces negative ions. Which is a good thing! It filters out pollutants. Boosts your mood a bit.” He gave the brim of his fedora a little tug. He seemed not to have settled on how it ought to rest on his head. Viv was already won over by it. It was easy enough to picture him leading a troop of students on a nature center hike, as he often did in his spare time. A spiffy hat was just the thing to distinguish him as the leader.

“Can we talk about the hat? Because I love it.”

Pete quickly took it off and shyly turned it in his hands. “High praise coming from you.”

Viv that day wore a floral sundress, shockingly bright, the pattern like campy, vintage wallpaper. Red-­framed sunglasses and lipstick to match. Beside her were a pair of roller suitcases, polished aluminum ones that gleamed in the sun. The cases were fitted out with a pair of locks that you were meant to turn in unison, as if she were transporting plutonium.

Pete looked around. “No Warren?”

“Nope. There’s some mega-­crisis at his work.”

“The whole week?”

“The whole damned week. Blah blah merger. Streamlining the synergy. I’m making it sound cooler than it is. But he’s been put in charge of stuff, so, yay?”

“You holding up okay?” He meant about their mother, who had passed away some three months back. Returning to the island had actually been their mother’s idea and had been on the books for some time. The island and their former home had been her thing, and she’d been insistent on having everyone attend this little reunion. Her insistence surprised Viv, as her parents had been tight-­lipped about the abrupt sale of their former island home; kids eventually learned not to ask. Then her mom’s sudden passing transformed the week into a tribute. Their father decreed, via email, there’d be no mourning on this trip. This was to be happy, family time.

“Holding up, for sure. A bit worried about the old man finding his way forward. She handled the little stuff, you know? It’s like, he paid for that big house, but does he even know how it works? When we were home for the funeral, I caught him pouring Palmolive into the dishwasher. I had to explain the difference between soap and detergent. His fault for just now learning this stuff, but it kinda broke my heart.”

Pete bit his lip and nodded. Then, turning his head. “Is that Ashley?” motioning toward the young teen seated on a white bench beneath the airport’s curtained awning.

Viv took a breath before answering. “Ash, not Ashley. She’s become very insistent about it. Got all of her teachers well trained.”

“Oh! Okay. Is this—­can I ask—­is this a gender thing?”

“More like an I-­hate-­my-­name thing. We have entered the defiant years. Which, really, is all we’ve ever had with Ash.”

“Apple doesn’t fall far,” Pete said. “And how is Ash doing?”

“As well as any high school sophomore, which is to say: not amazing. She had a falling-­out with her friend group, and she’s acting like she doesn’t care, but she does. I’m hoping our time on the island will do her some good. It gives you distance, you know? Like, the bullshit back home can’t find me here. It can’t travel over water. Ash! Come say hello to your uncle!”

Ash looked up from her book. “Science uncle!”

Viv said to Pete, “Hope you like the moniker. For a while, we were referring to our other sibling as ‘wayward uncle.’ Sometimes ‘prodigal uncle’ or ‘struggling uncle.’ ”

“Struggling. I think that’s fair. Makes it sound like he’s trying to do better.”

“It’s generous is what it is.”

“I like that I’m ‘science uncle.’ ” He looked at Ash fondly. “Actually, I’ve got a little surprise that might interest her. It involves mollusks.”

“Well, color me intrigued.”

Ash joined them and they surveyed the half-­dozen horse-­drawn carriages, lined up and waiting. “So we’re supposed to just pick one or what?” Viv approached one of the carriages, gesturing at the pair of horses with her chin. “Those two know where the Grand Hotel is?”

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “The Grand, huh? Just a sec.” He summoned another driver, whose carriage, previously hidden by the others, emerged, led by a massive pair of steeds....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Knopf
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2026
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 13: 9798217208128
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 336
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar