My cleaning lady had oiled the dining room table. The kitchen counters smelled of lemon zest. I’d boarded my German Shepherd for the night. My terrier puppy had received an oatmeal shampoo and a brushing at the groomer’s. Ken’s sister, Brenda, and her husband, Cliff, were coming over for game night.
We’d finished eating the pizza Ken had picked up at our favorite tavern and were playing cards when it happened. The puppy stuck his nose into Brenda’s purse, bit a twenty-dollar bill, and ran out the dog door into the backyard.
Ah, yes, the perfect way to make a good impression.
Thankfully, we retrieved the cash, and Brenda handled the incident with good humor, quickly cementing my affection for her.
Ken and I moved not long after that fun evening and have since seen little of his family, but this week we attended a reunion in Estes Park, Colorado. Although Ken and I have been married for four years and a couple for more than twice that, I’m still the new kid on the block, worried about the impression I make on his family.
Not only am I eighteen years younger than Ken, but we’re both in our third marriages. None of his siblings (one brother and four sisters) have divorced, and all have been married for 30-plus years. I fear being like Cousin Oliver on The Brady Bunch, who joins the show in the final season and doesn’t quite fit in.
But his family is kind and welcoming. We exchange hugs. I feel especially comfortable with Brenda and Cliff, and I am happy when they join Ken and me for a hike in Rocky Mountain National Park.
Together, we trek the 4.9-mile Beaver Mountain Loop Trail. The men lead the way. They laugh and talk about fishing, politics, and the pros and cons of electric vehicles as we admire the distant mountains and watch for elk.
Brenda tells me about her children and grandchildren. She’s a chatterer, like Ken, which I appreciate because I’m often quiet and struggle to put my thoughts into words. When she falls silent, I try to encourage her with questions. I’m especially interested in learning about Ken’s parents, who passed away before I had the chance to meet them.
She shares a story about their father.
“I was on the basketball team in high school. He came to every game. Then, one game, this girl leaned on my back the whole time. Wouldn’t get off. The referee didn’t do anything. Finally, I pushed her to the ground.”
She then describes how she was benched. Their father screamed and yelled at the ref until he was kicked out.
“We told him it was best not to watch me play anymore,” she laughs.
“Which of you is most like your mother?” I ask, curious about the matriarch.
“I’m not sure. My mother was sweet, but strong.”
She goes on to describe how their mother not only raised her own six children but also took in her niece, a girl the same age as Brenda, while Ken’s uncle was going through a difficult time.
“They were such good parents,” she says. “Growing up, we were like The Brady Bunch, besides the whole blended family thing.”
Their parents married young and remained together until their father’s death.
She also describes how their father could be grumpy as he aged and the challenges of caring for their mother when she became ill.
We walk on and reach an area of downed, scarred trees. The remnants of a wildfire. Cliff stops, then walks back to us and offers Brenda a snack.
“What happened to my bromance?” Ken calls. Soon, Cliff catches back up to him.
After nearly three hours of walking past green juniper, sagebrush, and pine trees, we reach a breathtaking view of mountain peaks and conifers.
The way forward is steep. Ken and I had promised the whole hike would take only three hours, but we haven’t reached the turnaround point on the loop yet. We’d parked far from the trailhead, adding miles to our journey. We all wish we had brought more water, and we decide to turn around.
When we finally spot our rental car parked on the side of the road in the distance, we realize we can shorten our trek by cutting across a field of shrub grass. We hesitate. It’s a no-no to go off-trail, but Ken starts across, and we follow.
I trip over bitterbrush. Cliff takes Brenda’s hand as the hillside steepens, yet we reach our destination quickly.
Later, Ken explains to me his decision to cut the trail: “I was worried about Brenda. We’d gone so far, and she doesn’t complain.”
I kiss him for his sweetness.
That night, we play rummy with his oldest sister and her husband. I’ve never played before, but I win. His family hoots and hollers.
“You go, girl,” Brenda says, and smiles.