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?I FULLY EXPECTEDConner to pick the place that had what he’d previously called “the best curly fry game in town,” but once we’d gotten back near the house, Conner directed me until we were pulling into a parking lot for a strip of stores that included a Starbucks, a nail salon, and the grocery store I never went to.
“You know I’m always down for coffee,” I said. “But I don’tpay eight dollars for a soggy prepackaged sandwich unless I’m at an airport. Sometimes not even then.”
“Not there.” He nodded toward the grocery store. “We’re going in.”
My hand paused on the door handle. “No, we’re not.”
“Ifyouget to drive me to the middle of nowhere to a literal serial killer’s house,” Conner said, “I get to make you go to the grocery store you avoid.”
“Because our daddiedthere.”
“Exactly,” Conner said. “It’s time we pay tribute. Come on.”
From the outside, there was nothing sinister at all about it. An older couple were crossing the street slowly to enter on one side, a woman exiting the other side with one of those shopping carts that looked like a race car, twin toddlers at the two steering wheels that would be a bonkers design choice were it a real race car.
“Conner,” I said. If I could’ve literally dug my heels into the pavement, I would’ve.
“I promise,” Conner said. “This will be good. Five minutes. Okay?”
He looked at me, his eyebrows raised. And I knew, however irritating my brother could be, that if I truly said I couldn’t do it, we’d turn around and walk right back to the car. But I also knew he was probably right. It was silly to avoid a grocery store. There may have been a small part of me, deep down, that had never fully put my father to rest, even after the funeral, even after going through all the things in his house. If this would help, then maybe it was worth it.
So I followed him through the automatic doors, past the sales items at the front of the store, and to the cleaning aisle. Connerseemed to know exactly where he was going, which surprised me. We’d never really talked about it, not even that night before the funeral when we’d both gotten drunk off our asses, but he’d been living only ten minutes away when it had happened. Possibly he’d been called to the store before the ambulance had left.
“Dish detergent,” Conner said once we were standing in front of the display, picking up a bottle of blue liquid. “He always used the same one. It says it cuts more grease, so less scrubbing, but don’t you think people kinda do the same amount of scrubbing no matter what? Like muscle memory. You don’t slack off just because the detergent says it’ll pick up more of the load for you. They’re always saying that.”
“Can’t be trusted,” I agreed, looking at the bottle. Such a mundane item. “Do you think he was in a lot of pain?”
“The doctor at the hospital—the one who told me he was dead—said no. Dad lost consciousness when he collapsed, and the doctor said it had all happened pretty fast. Maybe they’re just trained to say stuff like that, but I think it was true. I doubt Dad had the chance to be scared or anything.”
I think Dad was the most afraid person I’ve ever known. It was true, I realized, even though growing up I’d always thought thathewas the scary one, the way his face turned red when he yelled, the way he could flip on a dime. It was a relief to think that maybe he hadn’t had to be afraid when he died.
I hugged Conner then, wrapping my arms tight around him. “I do love you,” I said. “You’re a huge pain in the ass and not as charming as you think you are, but I do love you.”
“You can put it all in your best man speech,” Conner said. “Maybe more compliments, though.”
“Wait.” I pulled back. “What?”
“Best man,” Conner said. “Or Best Person, I guess, whatever you’d call it. Of course it has to be you. You’ve really been there for me and Shani this summer. I don’t want to stand up there without you. You’re my big sister, Pheebs.”
I hugged him again, and probably would’ve kept doing it for longer, only I could feel him trying to nudge the bottle of dish detergent into one of my hands.
“What are youdoing?”
“Shani said I’m supposed to get you a gift when I ask you,” he said. “Actually, according to this website she found, there are, like, a hundred gimmicky ways you can invite someone to be part of your wedding party, and she’s planning something special for her friends. But I don’t know, man, I’m tired! That proposal took it out of me. I need a break from that Pinterest shit. So maybe you’d take this dish detergent, and call that your gift?”
“I don’t need any gift,” I said. “But I don’t know if I want a bottle of overpromising liquid that you’ve been waving around as a prop for the story of our father’s death.”
“Oh,” Conner said. “When you put it that way.” He placed it back on the shelf. “Want to grab a couple subs and some snacks, eat them back at the house? I left the small TV set and PlayStation there, so we could play someCrash Bandicoot.”
“Sounds perfect,” I said.
“Hang on,” Conner said as we started down the aisle. “Is there still a toaster, or will I have to eat my Pop-Tarts like an animal?”
TWENTY-FOUR
BY THE NEXTmorning, I was all packed up, except for the desk and Lenore. Conner was supposed to help me load the desk on my car the night before, but we’d ended up staying up a lot later than we’d planned, talking and trying to beat every level of the original Crash game, even the ones that required secret keys to open. We hadn’t succeeded, even after I gave up and looked up an ASCII art–riddled walk-through from the late nineties that explained which levels to beat for the colored gems and in what order.
Lenore was still prowling around the house, clearly unsettled and eyeing her carrier very suspiciously. I was delaying putting her in it for her sake, but for mine, too, because I knew once she was in she’d probably pee everywhere within the first hour of the trip.
