“There’s always time for bacon,” says Rachel.
“Even on your metabolic health journey?” I tease.
“It’s protein.” She shrugs and she pats my shoulder, and Kate beelines for the scones, her shopping inquiries forgotten, and is it really a lie if it brings so much joy into the world? I think not.
We load up our plates and I mix us a few mimosas, distributing them and clinking our glasses in cheers, inviting everyone to chow down.
It’s all very brunchy and breezy and fun until Rachel, champion ruiner of nice things, says, “Not to be that girl at the party, but…” She sets down her fork and sighs—drama power move. “We need to decide what to do with the remains.”
“There won’t be any,” I assure her. “I will personally lick every one of these plates clean.” I force a laugh, but it’s like that whole tree falling in the forest thing, and no one else seems to get it.
“God,” Kate says. “I never thought we’d be sitting in our dead mother’s house having a conversation about her remains.” She sets her fork down too, and now I stand alone, solo-forking my frittata, desperately trying to ignore the lump forming in my throat. It has no business lodging itself there, making my eyes water as if I should give two flaming shits about the remains ofsomeone who ditched us. If that woman wanted a proper burial, maybe she should haveremainedwith her children.
“I thought she was already cremated?” I ask.
Rachel had gotten that news from the medical guy right away—that the body was cremated, in accordance with our mother’s wishes. Ever since then, I guess she’s been sitting in an urn in some funeral home, waiting to be dealt with.
“She was,” Rachel confirms. “We’re supposed to pick her up.”
I take a swig of my mimosa. Then another. Lump is sadly unaffected. Probably needs more champagne. I grab the bottle for a top-off.
No one’s saying anything. No one’s eating. I can practically hear the bubbles in my mimosa bursting.
If for no other reason than to break the deafening silence, and serve myself another maple scone without looking like a total asshat, I say, “What about Dad? Should they be, like, together?”
I have no idea where—or if—my father was buried. It’s another Bonnivarde family taboo, but I figure if ever there’s a time to bring up Dead Dad, it’s when you’re already on the topic of Dead Mom. Two forbidden cats out of the same family-trauma bag.
The table, ever so slightly, begins to rumble. Like a train is passing by too close to the house. There aren’t any trains around here. I glance up at the ceiling. The rumbling stops.
If my sisters find it odd, they don’t let on.
They do, however, exchange their favorite secret glance. The “don’t tell Lizzy” one.
“You guys realize I’m twenty-six now, right?” I shove in half the scone. “I can handle it. Just be straight with me for once.”
Rachel picks up her fork again. Another sigh. A delicate bite of frittata. Then, “Dad was somewhere overseas when he died. Our mother never… she didn’t bring him home. Or couldn’t, I’mnot sure which. She didn’t share the details, only that it he’d have to remain where he’d fallen.”
“Fallen?” I ask.
“That’s the word she used. Fallen.”
“And you didn’t ask for clarification?”
“Lizzy. I was, like, nine years old. She’d just given birth to you and was completely exhausted. Kate was inconsolable. No, I didn’t ask for clarification. What the Hell?”
The lump of grief turns into shame. My cheeks burn. I dodge her gaze. “Right. Sorry.”
“Regardless of what happened in the past,” Kate says, “we still need to decide about the remains. And despite everything, I don’t feel right just… getting rid of them.”
A flicker of light in the corner, and I glance up to find Calista lingering in the archway, watching us. Watching me. As if she’s trying to tell me something. There’s no judgment in her face; only a sadness.
God.
I’m probably going to regret this, but…
“There’s a cemetery,” I offer. “Out in the back woods. I kind of… came across it on a walk the other night.”
“Hawthorn Cemetery? That’s still there?” Kate smiles, breaking a bit of the tension. Tipping her glass toward Rachel, she says, “Big sis used to party back there.”
