“Oh, good—you remembered the blue cheese dressing. Can you heat it up?”
Hot blue cheese dressing? My mouth contorts into a grimace. “Absolutelynot!”
Aunt Edna cackles again. “Oh, my wittle Julie. Still such a fussbudget prissy pants.”
She wipes at her tearing eyes, which are a startling bloodshot red.
“Jesus, Aunt Edna—what’s wrong with your eyes?”
“I’m eighty-four years old. What’s right with them?” She opens the box of loaded fries first, sniffs it appreciatively. “God, I love Wawa ham chunks.” She picks one off the cheesy pile and throws it to BonBon Jovi, the ridiculous shih tzu fluff ball nestled between Aunt Edna’s knees. “Best chunks in town.”
The tiny, ninety-pound woman proceeds to destroy that box of fries. She eats with the gusto of a starved person, or a fourteen-year-old boy. My brow pinches as she makes actual carnivorousnoises.
“What’s going on here?” I whisper to Mom, who’s smiling fondly as Aunt Edna tears into the cheeseburger with barbecue sauce next.
Even after three years in the ER, I have to look away.
“This is the first time she’s had an appetite all week.” Mom holds up a paper shopping bag stamped with StrangerDrugs.“Thanks to Nomi.”
“Aunt Edna’shigh?!”
“If it’s good enough for Martha Stewart, it’s good enough for me,” Aunt Edna says between gruesome bites. “Come sit with me, Julie. I’m gonna die soon, and you’ll wish you had.” She says this with zero fear or concern, like she’s just remarked on the forecast or someone’s unfortunatehaircut. She slices an entire quarter off the burger and gives it to BonBon, who eats it one vicious gulp, then promptly farts.
“God bless you,” Aunt Edna says.
Mom and I pull up chairs and TV trays to her bedside, close enough to hear each other, but far enough to avoid the barbecue splash zone. Though nowIhave no appetite, I pull out my garden salad with grilled chicken. It… looks normal? I check for pubic hair—judging by the Wawa man’s knuckles, that man must shed like a dog—but find none. Tentatively, I arrange the napkin across my lap, then pour an exact measure of oil and vinegar across the greens.
Aunt Edna watches me, her face incredulous, as I sprinkle the tiniest amount of salt and black pepper last. “Oh, Julie. Your butthole must be so tight—”
“Edna!” Mom spews out, laughing. Laughing so hard, it’s rather suspicious, now that I think about it. “Can we not discuss my judgmental son’s butthole at dinnertime?”
My lips thin into a severe line. “Are you high, too, Mother?”
This makes them laugh even harder, but now my heart’s hammering in my ears. I feel—betrayed,yes,betrayed—by Mom smoking pot. She lived in the same house I did, watching Dad waste away in the garage. Our power getting cut off in the winter when all our money went toward his weed and prescriptions until Mom called Aunt Edna or Uncle Rocco for help. How can she smoke it now, knowing what it did to Dad? What it did tous?
I exhale through my nose and cut my chicken into neat, even squares.
“Listen, Julie, I have wisdom to impart.” Aunt Edna wipes her mouth daintily on one of Wawa’s brown napkins. “Are you listening?”
“Is it about my butthole?” I arch an eyebrow.
Aunt Edna lifts her finger. “You must learn to loosen it.”
Mom clutches her stomach and emits one long, high-pitched squeal.
“Okay, that’s it.” I throw my napkin down on my salad. It’s probably covered in norovirus anyway. “I’m done.”
“Your whole life, you’re too uptight. Your entire existence is one long Kegel,” Aunt Edna continues with no regard to how Mom is struggling to breathe. “One day, you’re gonna be old, and you’ll look back and ask yourself, why did I live my life with this tight butthole?” She presses her hand to her chest, looking philosophically into the distance. “Where did this tight butthole get me?”
“I don’t have to take this.” I shove the TV tray back into the little stand meant to hold it, surely the most unironically American piece of furniture that’s ever existed, and brush nonexistent crumbs off my pants. “Thank you and goodnight.”
“You sit that tight butthole down, young man!” Mom wheezes.
“Sit, sit, I’ll be serious.” Aunt Edna throws her hands in the air.
I groan. “No, you won’t.”
Aunt Edna eyes me sternly, and I sink into my seat.
