“My useless sister was just the same. I told Mom to get rid of you, but did she listen? No. And you and your bullshit and your homicidal fucking boyfriend ended up getting her killed too!” The woman isn’t saying anything I haven’t heard before or eventhought at times. Her words still hurt, however. She draws her arm back again, hand flat and ready to let fly at me again. This time when she goes to swing, however, I catch her wrist and keep it in a tight grip.
“No,” I say in a firm voice. “I gave you the first one, but that’s all you’re getting.”
She pulls her hand out of my hold. And I let her go.
“I am sorry your daughter is dead. But I don’t know who killed Grace or why,” I say and it’s mostly the truth. Theories and guesses aren’t going to give her any closure. “You should leave now, Aunt Beth. Go back to New York. There’s nothing for you here.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” The way her nostrils flare as she straightens her shoulders. “Don’t come to her funeral. I don’t want you there.”
Noah: Further to previous conversations re our relationship, communication while separated is of utmost importance.
Me: Why are you texting at me like you’re a lawyer?
Noah: I am now getting greens out of the walk-in fridge.
Noah: Thinking of working on a new sauce next.
Me: Okay.
Noah: I would kindly request that you take this seriously.
Me: My apologies for any perceived slight. I’m updating order codes for a customer. Which basically means I am sitting onmy behind and inputting numbers while drinking my third coffee of the day.
Noah: What are you doing now?
Me: Still inputting numbers.
Me: How about you?
Noah: Still thinking about the sauce.
Me: This is amazing. I feel so close to you right now.
Noah: Yeah. I am usually right about things. Best for you to know that now.
Noah: How are you really doing?
Me: Honestly I am having a day. But you made it better.
Noah: Tell me all about it later?
Me: You got it.
“Grace’s body was found about half a mile from her car. She was killed by a single bullet to the back of the head,” reports the podcaster.
The second dude says, “Such a shocking turn of events for all of us here atMisled.”
“It certainly is, Steve, and our thoughts and prayers go out to her family and friends. While we have issued an invitation to Grace’s mother, we have yet to hear back from her. But we hope to have her on the podcast real soon.”
I snort. “I highly doubt that.”
Hana, Muriel, and I are seated on cushions around the coffee table. Some nights are sitting-on-the-floor-and-eating-your-feelings sort of occasions. We ordered palak paneer, chicken saag, shrimp biryani, cheese naan, rice, and raita. Auggie sitsbeside me watching every bite of food like his life depends on it. As if he’s starving and hasn’t been fed in forever. The drama is real.
I haven’t told my friends about the visit from Aunt Beth. There’s no mark on my face and honestly, I would rather forget it ever happened. I will, however, tell Noah due to his honesty-is-best policy.
“So, who do you think did it?” asks Steve. “Because you know who my money’s on.”
Hana shakes her head. “This pair of dicks.”
