The Most Fun We Ever Had (Reese's Book Club Pick)

Every family has its own private mythology, a collection of stories polished smooth with retelling. There’s the story of how the parents met, a tale that often acquires a cinematic glow over the years. There are the anecdotes of childhood mishaps, each one a shorthand for a daughter’s defining trait—the adventurous one, the responsible one, the wild one, the quiet one. These stories become the load-bearing walls of the family’s identity, the narrative everyone agrees upon. But what happens when a new story, a secret one, is suddenly excavated? A story that doesn’t fit the established mythology can feel like a tremor, threatening to crack the very foundation of everything the family thought it knew about itself and each other. The official history says one thing, but this new, unearthed truth whispers something else entirely, forcing everyone to question whether the home they built was ever as solid as it seemed.

This gap between a family’s public folklore and its private, buried truths is precisely what fascinated Claire Lombardo. She was intrigued by the concept of a long, celebrated marriage—the kind that becomes a central sun around which children and grandchildren orbit—and wanted to explore the immense pressure such a legacy places on the next generation. In her own life, Lombardo saw how family histories are curated and how certain narratives are elevated while others are quietly left in the attic. This curiosity led her to spend nearly a decade crafting her debut novel, a sprawling, immersive story that peels back the layers of one seemingly perfect family to reveal the messy, complicated, and deeply human reality churning just beneath the surface.

Module 1: The Myth of the Perfect Family

The Sorenson family looks like the ideal from the outside. David and Marilyn are the sun. Their four daughters—Wendy, Violet, Liza, and Grace—are the planets that orbit them. But Lombardo immediately shatters this illusion. The central idea here is that family life is a performance of normalcy masking a web of private struggles.

This becomes clear at the very start of the book, during Wendy's wedding. It’s a joyous occasion. A picture-perfect family celebration. But look closer. Violet, the second-oldest daughter, is nursing a hangover and hiding a one-night stand from the night before. She feels a mix of superiority and envy toward her sister. Liza, another daughter, cynically describes her family to a groomsman as a "vast hormonal hellscape." And Marilyn, the matriarch, isn't basking in the joy. She’s overwhelmed. She’s worried about each of her daughters’ hidden burdens. The happy wedding is just a stage. The real drama is happening off to the side.

So what's the actionable insight here? Lombardo suggests that true connection requires acknowledging the mess. We often feel pressure to present a flawless version of our lives, especially at work or in our families. We curate our successes. We hide our failures. But this performance creates distance. It prevents real vulnerability. The Sorensons love each other deeply. But their inability to be honest about their struggles is the source of their greatest pain. The first step toward stronger relationships, the book implies, is dropping the act. It’s about creating space for the messy, uncurated truth.

Building on that idea, the novel shows how this performance of perfection is exhausting. Grace, the youngest, feels so much pressure to live up to her family’s expectations that she constructs an elaborate lie. She pretends she got into law school. She fabricates a new life in Oregon. Why? Because she’s terrified of disappointing her parents, who see her as destined for success. This lie isolates her completely. She avoids calls from her family because every conversation is a painful reminder of her failure. Here's the key: maintaining a facade of success is more isolating than admitting failure. The energy Grace spends on her lie could be used to ask for help. But the family myth is too powerful. She feels she has to go it alone.

Module 2: The Gravity of a Great Love Story

Amidst all this chaos, there is one constant: the love between David and Marilyn. Their relationship is the novel’s emotional anchor. It's portrayed as a force of nature, an "unfathomable orb" of love that their daughters both admire and resent. This brings us to a core principle of the book: A strong central partnership can be a stabilizing force, but it can also set an impossible standard for the next generation.

At Wendy’s wedding, while everyone else is performing, David and Marilyn find each other under a ginkgo tree. He embraces her and says, "I missed you." In that moment, they create a private sanctuary. They shut out the noise of the wedding and reconnect. Their four daughters, scattered across the lawn, all pause to watch them. This shared moment of observation shows how their parents' love is a touchstone for the entire family. It’s the one thing that feels solid.

But flip the coin. This epic love story becomes a burden. The daughters feel they can never measure up. Liza, struggling in her own relationship, mourns that her child will never experience the "ironclad suburban security" of a home built on a love like her parents'. Wendy accuses her parents directly. She says, "We’re all emotionally stunted because you and Dad love each other more than you love us." It’s a harsh accusation, but it gets at a central tension. The very thing that makes the family feel secure also makes the daughters feel inadequate.

This leads to a really interesting insight for anyone in a leadership position, or anyone building a team or a family. Your personal standard of excellence can unintentionally intimidate others. David and Marilyn’s love isn’t a flaw. It’s their greatest strength. But its sheer power makes their daughters feel like they’re constantly falling short. The lesson is to be aware of how your strengths are perceived. It’s about actively communicating that others don’t need to replicate your path; they just need to find their own.

And it doesn't stop there. The book shows how this central love story evolves. It’s not static. Decades into their marriage, Marilyn finds herself looking at David and feeling a flicker of annoyance, a lack of desire. She thinks, "I don't need you." But she immediately corrects herself. She distinguishes between practical need and a deeper, molecular connection. She realizes that long-term love is about navigating cycles of independence and need. There will be moments of distance. There will be periods of frustration. But the foundation remains. This is a powerful counter-narrative to the "happily ever after" myth. Real love is a verb. It's an ongoing practice of choosing to connect, even when it’s not easy.